The full pumpkin
by Vince Darcangelo (buzz@boulderweekly.com)

It's Halloween night, and in a few hours, Joe and Mike and roughly 80 of their friends are going to run through downtown Boulder wearing nothing but shoes on their feet and hollowed-out pumpkins on their heads. No shirts. No pants. And with temps potentially dipping into the 30s, shrinkage is a foregone conclusion. For now, though, they are busy passing out pumpkins from their front porch and organizing a loosely connected, word-of-mouth group of runners into a unified team of streakers.

These are the challenges of putting together the Naked Pumpkin Run, a Boulder Halloween tradition since 1999 in which a mob of people run naked through the streets with pumpkins on their heads. That's right, naked... with pumpkins on their heads.

But the issue most pressing at the moment is the formation of the Naked Pumpkin Run's annual pre-party—an event that has finally come together in the last few minutes.

"We tried everything to find a party, and just now it came together," says Mike, a tall, fair-featured man wearing red tights, who is making his fourth Naked Pumpkin Run. "Two hours from now it's going to be full-on debauchery."

His partner, Joe—shorter, dressed in a blue lab coat and red skull cap and wearing a fake moustache—says this 11th-hour planning is part of the Naked Pumpkin Run tradition.

"Everything kind of falls together at the last minute," he says, this being his sixth time participating in the Naked Pumpkin Run and his fourth time serving as the event's local organizer.

Ultimately, he says, the Naked Pumpkin Run is about bringing people together. You'd think it'd be about the exhibitionism, or perhaps the deviance, or even the sociology of streaking. But truly, say the organizers, it's about the party and the social component.

"Most of the people who get involved just love the absurdity of the event," says Joe. "It's very peaceful and fun-loving."

After the pre-party, the runners gather at Eben G. Fine Park. The mood is light, giddy, the cold seemingly a non-factor, as easy conversation keeps everyone occupied. Garbage bags are passed out to the streakers so that they can carry their clothes while they run. Joe makes an announcement reminding everyone that this is a "leave no trace" event. Participants are expected to clean up after themselves and to be sure they don't leave bits of pumpkin everywhere.

Then the run begins, as the roughly 80 participants, fully clothed, walk from Eben G. Fine toward downtown Boulder, bags and pumpkins in tow, awaiting the signal to disrobe and give unsuspecting Boulderites a Halloween treat. Then the streakers hit the Pearl Street Mall in stride—a thundering herd of exposed flesh charging past the courthouse headed east toward Broadway. Passersby are in shock at first, then break out in laughter, applause and catcalls. Many reach for their cameras and start snapping photos. The Naked Pumpkin Run congregates in front of Old Chicago's, then turns around and makes one last dash toward the courthouse.

At the courthouse the runners whoop and cheer and quickly put on their clothes. Joe revels in the euphoria of the moment, saying it was even more ridiculous than previous runs. Mike is equally jacked up, like a linebacker after a big win.

"It's crazy. It's exciting," he says. "I love this right now, this feeling. I look forward to this night all year. No one's unhappy right now."

Certainly not Frank, who enjoyed his first Naked Pumpkin Run, though he offers a suggestion for next year's installment.

"It'd be great if people did a wind tunnel for us, and there was a finish line," he says.

That would make it more like an official race, perhaps with official times and shoe sponsors. Of course, that would create a logistical, and rather uncomfortable, conundrum. To what would participants pin their running bibs?

Frank laughs, thinks it over for a second, then offers one last suggestion.

"We'd use sticky tape."

For more information on the Naked Pumpkin Run, visit www.nakedpumpkinrun.org.

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