It’s almost 1 a.m. on a sweltering Thursday at downtownnightclub TSI. Inside, a DJ spins Roy Orbison, while kids intight T-shirts and studiously mussed hair consume beer andcigarettes. Outside on Bay Street, a doorman doles out wrist-bands and collects the cover charge. The night air is heavy.Other than the hiss of passing cars and snatches of conversa-tion, it’s quiet. Really quiet.

Then someone shatters the silence. “No f *cking way! PinkMan!” In an instant the scene goes from mundane to surreal.A small man sheathed in pink spandex flashes by, a silver capewhipping behind him. He disappears into the long, dark corridor leading to the club, then emerges into the light at theopposite end of the tunnel. He turns and pivots, fluttering hishands, then flapping his arms. He looks like a flamingo onangel dust.

It’s a strange spectacle — stranger than the first glance suggests. Not only is he wearing a skin-tight hooded pink unitard, he’s riding a goddamn unicycle.

It’s easy to miss as Pink Man zooms past,a neon blur beneath the streetlights. But ashe stutter-stops and spins, drifts and hovers,his wheel carves a path through the smallcrowd. He whirls about, smiling big andscary. He utters a manic laugh. He sings histuneless theme song: “Pink Man, comingoutta nowhere/Pink Man, rollin’ on awheel/What do you think, man?”

As his audience makes room for thisherky-jerky sideshow, Pink Man dips off hiscycle long enough to slide his head betweenthe legs of a female bar patron.

“Oh my God!” she screams as he posi-tions her on his shoulders, rises up onto theseat of the unicycle and rockets down thealley toward Bay Street. Covering her eyes,the woman gasps, then thrusts her handsskyward as Pink Man picks up speed. Theynearly tumble out onto Bay Street whenPink Man stops short, spins his body andshuttles back through the tunnel. His pas-senger, unscathed, is elated and terrified.

Pink Man dumps her off where severalothers have gathered, does a few morestunts. Then, in a blast of sweat and color,he’s gone.

About a year-and-a-half ago, residents ofJacksonville’s Five Points neighborhoodbegan sharing a mass hallucination. At theoddest times, in the oddest places, a skinnyman in a pink bodysuit and pink high-topswould appear on a unicycle. In the middle

of the night on a side street, at peak drink-ing hours at dive bars, at 3 in the afternoonin local parks, he’d show up, pedal aroundcrazily, then vanish.

That was around the time MichaelMaxfield came to town. His arrival inJacksonville was just the most recent stop ofa two-decades-long journey. He’s been onthe road since his early 20s, unicycle, back-pack and guitar his only companions. Parttraveling minstrel, part performance artist,Maxfield has traveled on three continentsand in most major U.S. cities, bringing hisapolitical routine to the masses.

Born in the small town of Leominster,Mass., Maxfield grew up in what he describesas an average, working-class family. He beganriding his brother’s unicycle at age 13 andliked it enough that it was one of the fewthings he took with him when he left home.

In 1982, in search of a place to expresshimself, Maxfield took a bus to SanFrancisco. He began to explore riding as aform of entertainment — years before don-ning his pink suit. Taking his unicyclearound Bay area neighborhoods and onBerkley College campus, Maxfield wouldspin around poles and street signs, flappinghis arms, messing with students and passers-by. The experience was freeing, but it wasn’tuntil he joined a commune in SouthernOregon that he really discovered his creativeside. There he lived in a teepee, read bykerosene lantern, wrote music, picked berriesfor breakfast and meditated. He also co-authored a children’s book called “Children

RIVERSIDE’S ROVING UNICYCLIST “PINK MAN” IS ON A ONE-WHEELED QUEST FOR REDEMPTION

Pinky and the Brain

COVER STORY JOHN E. CITRONE themail@folioweekly.com PHOTOS BY WALTER COKER

16 FOLIO WEEKLY September 5-11, 2006

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for Peace,” which he promoted on a cross-country tour. While on the road, he enter-tained by singing songs he had written andby giving people rides on his shoulders whileriding his unicycle.

After the book tour, Maxfield returned toSouthern Oregon, where he married andhad a couple of children. What seemed likethe beginning of a happy, conventional lifein fact turned into a very dark period forMaxfield — one that ended in divorce andthoughts of suicide. But it also prompted hisdecision to relocate to Eugene, Ore., wherehe first began to build his public persona. Itwas there Maxfield perfected his routines,creating odd moves and actually dancing onhis unicycle. Though he loved the socialaspect of his rides, he felt like doing some-thing more substantial, along the lines ofperformance art.

“What I came up with was, I thought Iwould be a guy from outer space,” saysMaxfield. “A spaceman on a unicycle.”While looking through a dancewear cata-logue, he stumbled upon a pink unitard.“And I’m like, ‘Holy cow.’”

He took a trial ride in the unitard at theUniversity of Oregon, and immediately peo-ple began yelling “Pink Man!” as he passed.

Pink Man was born.Maxfield began “pinking” random bars,

restaurants and nightclubs. (“Pink is a verb,”he insists.) He traveled to Portland, where,within 10 minutes of his arrival, a TV newscrew picked him up for a story. As a resultof the short segment and the political over-tones of his chosen color scheme, Pink Manwas hired to appear at a Portland Pride soc-cer game at the Memorial Coliseum.(Though often mistaken for being gay,Maxfield is emphatic that he is not.) He cre-ated havoc on the field with other costumedcharacters, including a mock Barney, whosehead fell off and was kicked into the goal.The clip ended up on Dick Clark’s “TV’sBloopers and Practical Jokes.”

Though Eugene was a great place to testhis new moves, Maxfield found it confining.He returned to San Francisco and beganpinking Haight-Ashbury. He came up withslogans — “I pink therefore I am” — that

he’d shout as he’d buzz the unsuspecting.Unlike street buskers, who remain station-ary, performing for a finite amount of time,Pink Man would zip in, twirl and spin, singa quick song, then disappear. Not only didthis type of hit-and-run performance arthelp Maxfield deal with crowd anxiety, italso deepened the mystery of Pink Man.

“I like to be really enigmatic,” saysMaxfield. “I love that it takes a while forpeople to fathom what just happened.”

As word spread about the wacky pinkguy on the unicycle, Maxfield began work-ing fairs and parades. He garnered TV cov-erage and newspaper profiles. He led thefirst “How Berkley Can You Be?” paradeand was dubbed a “clown, superhero,flamingo” by The Berkley Daily. In the SanFrancisco Chronicle’s annual readers poll,Pink Man was ranked third in the categoryof favorite local personalities — behindWavy Gravy and Jerry Brown.

Maxfield was on his way to reaching folkhero status. He decided to ride the momen-tum to Los Angeles.

Mike Maxfield’s Riverside apartment is near-ly empty. There’s a pyramid of TVs alongone wall; only the top one works. There’s asofa, an acoustic guitar, an electric keyboardand one lamp. His unicycle leans by thedoor. Maxfield lives here rent-free inexchange for his services as quasi-groundskeeper. That’s how Maxfield makeshis way — staying with friends, squatting,living off the kindness of strangers.

He’s broke and over his head in debt. Hispink high tops are falling apart, and heneeds a new unitard. He relies on a coupleof big-money gigs in each city to get him by.Most of the time he performs for free.

Thin, with large eyes and expressivebrows, Maxfield looks like a comic bookcharacter even without his pink suit. Hisbalding pate and boney face turn a rosy huewhen he gets excited, and he often getsexcited — when talking about his travels,

his exploits andthe sheer joy he gets from being Pink Man.

“Check this out,” he spits as he boundsfrom the sofa to the kitchen. He returnsholding a sapling he recently dug up frombehind his building, its root embedded in aFlorida license plate. The plate looksancient, but the markings are clear: 13P.

Maxfield is moved by this coincidenceand uses it as a launching pad to explain thelegend of Pink Man. “Pink Man is from the13th dimension,” he explains. “M is the13th letter of the alphabet, and my initialsare M.M. And I [was] born on the 13th.Also, you know what’s crazy? In scrabble,take the underlined M — so you know it’snot a W — if you put that underlined M onits side, it’s a 13. How about that? AndMassachusetts, which begins with an M, has

13 letters.”According to Maxfield, Pink Man hails

from a universe where the beings have nolegs, only a spinning vortex on which theyhover. He contends this extraterrestrial bondis what generates the “amazing” coincidencesof Pink Man. The license plate, for example:Maxfield says the P stands for “pink,” andthe 13, well, that’s self-evident. Another

Pink Man lifts a pint at downtownJacksonville’sLondon Bridge. It’spast midnight, but he’s just getting started.

Sitting in his apartment,Maxfield fast-forwardsthrough a DVD of him

pinking Tokyo. Suddenly, he freeze-frames on a youngwoman, her eyes wide and

mouth agape. “[It’s] like shejust saw a unicorn,” says

Maxfield, overcome with joy.“I feel so blessed that I can

have that effect — just screwing around.”

September 5-11, 2006 FOLIO WEEKLY 17

prized possession is a plastic pink keyMaxfield found after meditating on VeniceBeach. (“Pink key,” he says. “Pinkie! Getit?”) He calls the trinket a “gift from the universe.”

There’s more. Much more. Maxfield hasa mental library of coincidences and anec-dotes — the time a pink flamingo flewover his car as he was leaving Miami, thefact that International Pink Week falls onthe week of his birthday — which he usesto build the backstory of his alter ego.

Maxfield admits there’s an element ofescapism in Pink Man. It’s evident in theway he carries himself off the unicycle.When holed up in his apartment, Maxfieldis jittery, gnawing at his cuticles andchuckling uneasily. But when he’s on aride, Maxfield is in complete control. Hismovements are fluid (his trademark hand-flap, his superhero glide) and staccato (hisstutter stop, his rolling pivot). He seemsunaware, or maybe unconcerned, that hisbody suit is so revealing. Every contour,every bulge, is well-defined. Sweat is anissue, too. Within a half-hour of hard rid-ing, his spandex suit is sopping wet; peoplesometimes recoil when he hugs them. Buthis confidence is endearing, and most arethrilled to be fondled, tickled andembraced by the man in pink.

Of course, his unicycle skills are captivat-ing. Maxfield is capable of executing triplespins, backpedaling, riding down stairs, andhe is always adding new tricks to his reper-

toire. That’s not to say the performance iserror-free. Maxfield has had his share ofspills. One wipeout at Park and King streetssent him sprawling into the intersection. ButMaxfield regards a fall as legitimate drama,and he works it, waving at passing cars asthey honk at his apparent misfortune.

It’s all about the show, and Maxfield ishappiest when Pink Man is entertainingpeople. He wants to spread joy. He needs tomake people happy. It’s part of his redemp-tion, part of leaving his painful past behind.

There are some things you just can’t livedown. No matter how hard you try, nomatter how sincere your efforts, no matterhow far you run.

For Maxfield, it was the summer of ’91,a period he says was marked by “episodicdysfunctional behavior.” After engaging inconduct he declines to discuss other thanto say it was “unacceptable” in nature,Maxfield crossed the line. While babysit-ting two prepubescent girls at his home inSouthern Oregon, Maxfield, as he puts it,“touched them for a few seconds” whilethey slept. When the girls stirred andbegan to wake, Maxfield “backed off andleft the room.” The encounter was brief,but the damage was done.

Pink Man always gets the girl: An expert at his craft, Mike Maxfield hastaught himself to dance on his unicycle.

Pinky and the Brain

18 FOLIO WEEKLY September 5-11, 2006

Maxfield spent the evening in a fog,questioning himself and his potential torepeat the behavior. He says he immediate-ly understood the gravity of what he haddone and wanted to seek counseling, but ittook several months of painful introspec-tion before he mustered the courage tocome forward at a self-help workshop.

It wasn’t unusual that the girls were leftin his care. Maxfield was married at thetime and had children of his own in thehouse. The parents of the girls were friendsof Maxfield and his wife.

After the incident, Maxfield felt like hehad to do “whatever it took to ensure thatit would never happen again.” He con-fessed to his wife and the girls’ parents.Maxfield says it was agonizing for every-one, but miraculously his wife and the par-ents of the girls supported him.

Maxfield was never arrested; no chargeswere filed. But word slowly got out. Hisrelationship with his wife deteriorated, andthey eventually divorced.

Soon after, Maxfield moved to Seattle,Wash., where he became suicidal. Feelinglike he needed his family, he headed backto Leominster and tried to get his headtogether. He began riding his unicycleagain, building his self esteem and findinga modicum of happiness in his daily jaunts.But Maxfield missed his kids, so he relocat-ed to Eugene, Ore., close enough to visithis children but far enough from what hecalls “the story.”

Soon after, he began riding at theUniversity of Oregon, first in plainclothes,then in his pink outfit. Pink Man became ahit, and newspapers and TV stations fromsurrounding cities started doing features onMaxfield’s flamboyant alter ego.

But his visibility was his worst enemy.Two days after the local paper ran a front-page piece about Pink Man and his appear-ance at the “Eugene Celebration,” anotherfront-page story appeared in the samepaper documenting his troubled past.Turns out someone close to the family rat-ted him out to the publication.

He retreated to his girlfriend’s apart-ment and kept a low profile. A few dayslater, the police showed up, questionedhim and searched the place, but found

nothing incriminating. A neighborhoodchild had claimed Maxfield molested him,identifying him as the “guy from the news-paper.” Maxfield was out of the state dur-ing the time the incident allegedly tookplace, and he was never arrested orcharged, but his name was mud. Again, hemoved on.

In 1998, Maxfield was hired to performat the Orange County Fair, titled “In ThePink,” in Southern California. The firstfew days were great — parents and kidseating up his shtick, positive press for boththe fair and Pink Man. Then a local publi-cation picked up the Oregon story, whichwas titled “Troubled Past Catches Up WithPink Man,” and he was forced to resign.The alternative newspaper OC Weeklycame to his defense with the front-pageheadline, “He’s Gone! We Say That Sucks!”Letters to the editor ranged from vitriolic(“You child fag molesters will never printthis. Your balls are in each others’ mouths”)to sympathetic (“While it is certainly diffi-cult to dismiss his former life … I can only

For the past decade he has stayed on the move,

traveling from city to city,alternately anonymous andhigh-profile, both cherished

and vilified. “That’s the punishment,” he says.

“That’s the big cost. Youcan’t imagine how

that feels.”

Maxfield is most comfortable as his alter ego. More an extension of his personality than a costume, Pink Man makes it easy for Maxfield to connect with people.

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hope that he has redeemed himself via hispinkish existence by bringing joy and hyste-ria to a cynical public”). CNN, then in theprocess of doing a feature on Pink Man,dropped the piece when the story broke.

And so it has gone for Maxfield. For thepast decade he has stayed on the move,traveling from city to city, alternatelyanonymous and high-profile, both cher-ished and vilified.

“That’s the punishment,” he says.“That’s the big cost. You can’t imagine howthat feels.”

Maxfield makes no secret of his pain.His emotions are less stable than his gyrat-ing unicycle, and he is prone to nervouslaughter and full body fidgets. Sometimeshe cries. His guilt is tremendous, his fearpalpable. And yet his compulsion keepshim in the public eye.

Though Maxfield spent a year-and-a-half in Jacksonville, he’s received relativelylittle media coverage. The Florida Times-Union approached him about doing a fea-ture, but according to Maxfield, when hementioned that he didn’t want his past dis-closed, the reporter balked. Maxfield decid-ed to come forward in Folio Weeklybecause, he says, he is tired of running,tired of letting others control his fate. He

also hopes to dissuade others who areplagued with similar desires.

“If you are doing something abusive ortaking advantage of children, you gottastop. You gotta come forward,” he says.

Maxfield has entertained the idea ofspeaking at local churches and colleges inhopes of helping others by telling his story.He even wants to publish his autobiogra-phy, a story he says he’s been working onfor the past seven years. But he is realistic.

“No matter what, it doesn’t end until Idie,” he laments, his hands beginning toshake. “The reason I am still on this path is

“As I was backing away fromthem, I was just cracking

up,” says Maxfield. “It’s like I popped out of my body,

and I saw Pink Man getting his ass kicked by theJapanese Elvises. And that

is funny stuff.”

Pink Man gives a lift to club goer. He’s capable of carrying three people, ifthey are small enough — one on his shoulders and one on each arm.

Pinky and the Brain

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20 FOLIO WEEKLY September 5-11, 2006