By DYLAN GOFORTH
When I woke up early Sunday morning, I was a Tulsa Tough neophyte, a total virgin.
I didn’t know where Cry Baby Hill was, exactly. I didn’t know what really went on there, outside of drunk people watching bicycles zoom by.
Hours later, I left a veteran. I’d been pushed behind the orange line by a Cry Baby Hill referee, I’d had beer sprayed on me by a group of shirtless bros and I’d watched a group of cyclists wipe out on a wet turn onto Riverside Drive.
As I was walking back to my car (at 15th Street and Cheyenne Avenue, ugh,) a group of girls ran up to me and asked, “Are we close to Cry Baby Hill?”
“Not really,” I said, as I turned and kind of pointed up toward where they needed to go. I could see the disappointment in their eyes. It was still hot outside, despite the fact that about 10 minutes of rain just got dumped on everyone.
“Just follow the people and you’ll find it,” I told the group. “Once you smell weed, you’ll know you’re close.”
Their eyes brightened, and then they took off at a jog.
Sights and Sounds
For someone who had never seen Cry Baby Hill before, it was quite an experience. My goal was just basically to wander around until I found it, which was easier than I thought it would be.
I saw a guy in a shark costume who was carrying a beer in one hand, and I very creepily followed him until I got my bearings. As he was walking, he passed by a house where two old guys were drinking on the porch.
“That’s some shit you wouldn’t see at Sea World,” one of them said.
Cry Baby Hill has a theme every year, and this year’s – Under The Sea – provided for some very entertaining costumes. There were sharks, there were dolphins, there were sea captains, mermaids and even mermen — which, as Zoolander taught us, are real (and horrifying) things.
I saw large plastic pool in a front yard that was dubbed “Climax Corner,” which is a name that really scared me off from entering that water.
The coolest thing about Cry Baby Hill is that the party really knows no upper age-limit.
At one point, I saw a (probably high) shirtless kid cross the street a little bit too early for the refs’ liking, so they tossed him back across the line. When the racers blew past, he resumed his little jaunt across the street doing some kind of Arabian Nights-style dance.
About five minutes later, I saw an old guy with a green tank top and an umbrella hat doing the same dance with one of the referees. To which I say “party on, old man.” At that point, I was so sunburned and tired that I was really debating going back to the weird sex pool for a dip, so watching someone 30 years older than me live it up was kind of inspiring.