The three young women sat off to the side, shoulders hunched, heads lowered, working steadily through the task: cutting, gluing, folding with a kind of quiet urgency. When they were done, they placed their diorama at the far end of the table, joining a growing lineup of collages pieced together from magazine pages gathered at each checkpoint of the scavenger hunt.

The instructions for the night had been simple: Bring scissors and glue. Bike parts—old hubs, broken derailleurs, brake levers—began to accumulate around the entries as voting tokens, small metallic endorsements dropped one by one. By the time judging wrapped, theirs was the clear winner.

It was the Angry August Alleycat race, and it was an invitation to rage. Perhaps agitated by the sweltering summer heat or inspired by the appeal, an impressive crowd gathered at Swanny City Park in Moab, Utah, astride old townie bikes.

“What are you angry about?!” the announcer yelled as he surveyed the people circled around him.

“I’m angry about authoritarian regimes!” someone yelled back, before hand-drawn maps of the route were tossed into the air, sending people scattering.