Ovarian Psycos Radical Biking

Even a travelling sisterhood needs a headquarters. That's the purpose La Concha, a Boyle Heights community center covered by a rocky fa ade and guarded by a scarlet gate, serves for Ovarian Psycos bicycle brigade. La Concha is an apt name for the Ovas' ground zero. The word means shell in Spanish. It's also a briny euphemism for what's between a woman's legs, and the Ovas encourage the women of East Los Angeles and beyond to slide their conchas onto bike seats and go. Onlookers watch the pack coast down First Street, fly across tagged bridges, and sail past auto repair shops with hand-painted signs. Motorists and pedestrians watch the full moon bathe the army of sisters, moms, rebel daughters, and wives wearing helmets, braids, and pigtails. On beach cruisers, road bikes, and wrecks, the Ovas undo. They are decolonizing their neighborhoods one pedal pump at a time.

Christmas lights, political flyers, and stencils reminiscent of Jos Guadalupe Posada's prints festoon La Concha's walls, giving the place a punk woman cave feel. Ovas can be found clustered around the space's folding table, dialoguing, strategizing, and voting on brigade business. The Ovas function as a collective and they offer La Concha to folks hosting events in sync with their mission/vision. Their handbook describes this as feminism shot through with indigena understanding and an urban/hood mentality, and Ova-approved happenings include an eating disorder support group tailored to women of color as well as the Chingonadas open mic.

By describing their pack as a brigade, the Ovas become infantry. They cast themselves as warriors reclaiming public space from those who fail to share it or engage in transactional respect. Those fiercely in need of schooling include catcallers shouting, Hey, mami! gentrifiers shilling artisanal stupidity, and motorists panicking at the sight of brown women flexing in the passing lane. The Ovas core membership numbers fourteen, and Joss, a core member, describes the danger her community feels by simply stepping onto East LA sidewalks, This year, two girls were found murdered in Debs Park. It's getting intense for us in the streets. These types of things are happening all hours of the day. Our community is feeling the pressure and taking a stand.

While the Ovas dedicate rides to cultural and political themes, they also dedicate rides to people. This autumn, they dedicated a ride to Briana Nicole Gallegos and Gabriela Calzada, the teens killed in Debs Park. Their rides aren't only a sight to behold. They translate spectacle into sound. Ovas, some wearing bandanas outlaw-style, only allowing a peek at their eyes, chant, Whose streets? Our streets! and, in 2012, this dynamism and bravado grabbed the attention of two feminist filmmakers.

One of many flyers that have come to define the Ovarian Psycos punk aesthetic and ethos. Photo courtesy of Ovarian Psycos-Cycles

Director Kate Trumbull-LaValle turned her collaborator, Joanna Sokolowski, on to the Ovas after learning of them while she worked as an associate producer on No M s Beb s, a documentary exploring the Madrigal v. Quilligan sterilization case. [Director] Renee Tajima-Pe a mentioned them as community outreach partners who could spread the word about the film, says Trumbull-LaValle. Renee said, The Ovarian Psycos could have a ride for the movie,' and my mouth dropped open. Ovarian Pscyos? What?! I was confused and excited and intrigued by the name. She called Sokolowski and they proceeded to pore over every image, article, and Facebook post they could find relating to the brigade. The pair had been looking for a story to inspire a film and they knew that in the Ovas, they had found their pearl.

I've always been interested in immigration, says Trumbull LaValle, who was raised in San Diego by a Mexican-American mother. I have an affinity for stories about Latinas in the United States. Also, it excited me to see women of color feminists using a bike as an organizing tool. We thought this story would be an important addition to a national conversation about what feminism is and what it should look like.

Initially, Sokolowski and Trumbull-LaValle set out to create a super-heroine story that measured up to the Ovas' slogan: Ovaries so big we don't need no balls. However, their focus took a turn towards the brigade's behind-the-scenes lives where everyday struggles of single motherhood, student life, career, and community activism provided dramatic grist. Sokolowski says, We formed the core of the film around three women who generously shared their stories with us. We filmed very intimate aspects of their lives, joys and disappointments, and we never had any idea that we would build the kind of relationships that would take us into these women's homes and bedrooms. The pair screened The Ovarian Psycos, which spotlights three Ovas--founder Xela de la X, street artist Andi Xoch, and new recruit Evie--this March at the SXSW film festival.

Joss, who has been with the Ovas since their inception, recalls the night the brigade met at de la X's home to go on their maiden ride. It was really cool to see a bunch of women come together, she says. Not everyone was a cyclist. We came with beer and we had a good time getting to know one another and we were talking about what Ovarian Psycos could become and how our bikes could be our weapons and Xela took off not really holding onto her handlebars. She lost control and cracked her skull. Joss quips, We call that ride the Luna Death Ride since Xela almost died.

Part of the Ovarian Psychos radicalism is enacted in their occupation of streets. Photo by Joan Zamora.

Joss chuckles at this Luna lore, but the trauma was so sobering that all rides are now sober events, and while some women felt deterred by Xela's in

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