More than a Jurassic lark

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 07/10/2023 (917 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s Thanksgiving weekend, so let’s kick things off with an expression of gratitude to a contingent of Winnipeggers that regularly spreads cheer by visiting daycares, public parks, charity events… even Blue Bombers games dressed in colourful, inflatable dinosaur costumes.

In August the group, which brands itself Jurassic Walk and whose members prefer to go by their first names only (the first rule of dino club is you do not talk about dino club, it would seem), were contacted by a woman whose young grandson is living with cerebral palsy.

Not only does he adore dinosaurs, his birthday was right around the corner, she explained. She was wondering if anybody associated with Jurassic Walk, which she discovered on Facebook, had time to pop by his house, to attend an outdoor party his parents were throwing for him.

Nancy, one of Jurassic Walk’s administrators, replied affirmatively, and promised to do her utmost, to get a few people to come along. When the day-in-question rolled around, not one, not two, but 14 Tyrannosaurus rexes and pterodactyls were in the family’s backyard hoisting yellow balloons and shimmying to the strains of Baby Shark, while the birthday boy looked on, smiling from ear-to-ear. (Wait, what? Not T Rex’s Bang a Gong?)

“We were there for the better part of an hour, and when it was time to go, his parents couldn’t thank us enough,” Nancy says, seated in a Polo Park-area coffee shop where, moments earlier, she and a half-dozen others who arrived for a scheduled interview in full, prehistoric garb were slowing traffic along St. James Street, as they waved to passing motorists.

“Except we were the ones feeling thankful, for being invited in the first place,” pipes in Evelyn, who, when she’s posing as a flying reptile, as is her wont, answers to Pteri. “It’s such a great feeling to make somebody’s day like that, especially a kid’s, and I think I speak for all of us when I say it took us a second to agree to go (to the birthday party), when Nancy put it out there.”

Like a lot of people, Nancy, in her mid-50s, missed interacting with friends and family after pandemic restrictions focused on gathering sizes went into effect in 2020. At the time, she was following the antics of a Californian who, as Ralph the Rex, entertained his tens of thousands of Instagram fans by donning an inflatable T-Rex disguise while performing everyday chores such as taking out the trash or heading to the grocery store.

That looked like an absolute hoot, she thought, so in December 2020 she ordered a comparable-looking getup from Amazon. Next, she convinced a friend of hers, Barb, who already had a dinosaur costume hanging in the closet, to join her for a New Year’s Eve romp around Kildonan Park, close to where they live.

After all, she told Barb, how better to adhere to social distancing protocols than by encasing one’s self inside an eight-foot-tall, polyester bodysuit? (In case you’re curious, adult-size models come with a clear plastic shield in the throat area, so the person wearing it can see where they’re trudging.)

That night, Nancy and Barb spent two hours — about the maximum time their battery-powered inflating devices work before they need to be recharged — walking through the park, all the while high-fiving passers-by and posing for selfies. They had such a blast they repeated the practice in the ensuing weeks, by slipping into their costumes before boarding Transit Tom or strolling through the mall. The same as what occurred on New Year’s Eve, onlookers’ reactions were universally positive.

“I think it was in March (2021) when somebody told me a friend of theirs was doing something similar, and that the three of us should meet,” Nancy says, showing off a custom-made T-shirt she wears over her ensemble that reads “kindness is not extinct.”

“I agreed, and that’s when I started thinking about forming a group that would dress up like dinosaurs that would randomly show up at various places for fun, like a flash mob.”

Tammy was one of 15 or so participants that attended Jurassic Walk’s first official gathering in May 2021, at the intersection of Portage and Main, just outside the Richardson Building. It was serendipitous, she says, as her husband had bought her a dinosaur costume for Christmas a year earlier, after she’d gone on about a TikTok video she enjoyed that showed an elderly woman greeting her grandchildren at the airport dressed as a triceratops.

She recalls members of her family puzzlingly asking her where she intended to wear her gift, as she removed it from its packaging. She told them she wasn’t sure yet, but that she was certain the right opportunity would present itself sooner or later, she says with a laugh.

Meghan joined Jurassic Walk last September, just ahead of a planned outing at that month’s Banjo Bowl CFL game at IG Field. She wasn’t surprised her youngest son Will, 11, who hopes to become a sports mascot one day, agreed to accompany her dressed as a T-Rex, only she didn’t expect her 18-year-old, Alex, to sign on, as well.

“I definitely get that it might not be seen as cool or whatever to go out with your mother dressed as a dinosaur, but the beauty of Jurassic Walk is that when you’re in costume, you’re completely anonymous,” she says, tousling Will’s hair.

Now, if you’re reading this, thinking it’s a Winnipeg-only phenomenon, not unlike our predilection for honey-dill sauce and the ’70s movie Phantom of the Paradise, think again.

The group Dinosaurs of Plymouth, based in Plymouth, England, was formed in 2021 and presently counts 5,600 Facebook members.

“The whole look about them is just funny and they’re absolutely hilarious to wear around and I think we have just as much fun wearing the costume as people do seeing us,” one of the Plymouth group’s organizers told a British reporter.

In August, more than 200 people dressed as dinosaurs competed in a 100-yard-dash held at a horse-racing track in Auburn, Wash. A month earlier, the town of Dundurn, Sask. (population: 670), set a Guinness World Record for the largest gathering of dinosaur-clad individuals, when close to 1,200 revellers — some of whom travelled from as far away as Wales and Whitehorse — showed up for a Canada Day celebration.

“That’s definitely something to shoot for, isn’t it guys?” Nancy remarks, scrolling through her phone to show a video of the Dundurn meet-up.

The same as most charity-minded groups, the members of Jurassic Walk come from all walks of life. Tammy is a retired teacher, Nancy works in the aviation industry, a 22-year-old named Drake volunteers with underprivileged children… just don’t ask them much more about one another than that, they laugh.

“The thing is, it gets so warm inside the costume — even in the winter when all we really need is a windbreaker — that when an event is over, we all go our separate ways, so we haven’t gotten to know each other on too personal a level, yet,” Evelyn says.

“I’m sure that will come over time,” Tammy pipes in, “but yeah, usually we all want to get home as fast as possible, to jump in the shower.”

That’s an easy one, Nancy replies, when asked what she enjoys most about Jurassic Walk, as the group closes in on its three-year anniversary.

First and foremost, it’s putting a smile on a person’s face, young or old, she says. For example, there is a four-year-old boy on her block who’d never uttered a single word to her when she was in the front yard raking leaves or doing whatever else. Then came the morning she emerged from her house dressed as a dinosaur, at which point he came scampering down the sidewalk, to throw his arms around her knees.

“Secondly, I get so much out of it for myself,” she continues. “I’m definitely an introvert by nature and approaching people in public? No, that’s not me. But when I’m in my outfit, I can be anybody I want to be. I can dance and sing without caring if I look dumb. It’s difficult to put into words just how freeing a feeling that is.”

david.sanderson@freepress.mb.ca