In politics, there are formal campaigns, and then there are revolutions made with spray paint, garage-sale bicycles and a little inspiration from the likes of Banksy and Sun Tzu.
Before I was a mayor, commissioner or columnist, I was a guy in a small town with a big idea — and a garage full of yellow bikes.
The Tenino Yellow Bicycle Project didn’t start as a political movement. It started as something much simpler and much more radical.
In the early 2010s, Tenino, like many small towns, was a little sleepy. Not broken. Not apathetic. Just ... disengaged. People were disconnected from the local government. Civic engagement was low. The town’s potential sat quietly, waiting for someone to stir things up.
I saw that. So did my good friend Adam Barr, a man who is more than just an artist.
Adam has what I can only describe as a genius for weaving subversion and whimsy together. He understands how to push buttons and make people smile at the same time.
If you don’t believe me, just ask anyone in The Chronicle newsroom who has been there for any significant amount of time.
To this day, his now-infamous "meth-fueled tiger escapes Tenino rave" hoax — a masterclass in absurdist local mischief — still confounds newly hired reporters when they stumble across the old articles and think it actually happened. And anyone who attended or worked at Tenino High School in the mid ‘90s likely remembers the infamous “cricket incident of ‘96.”
This is the mind I was collaborating with when the Yellow Bicycle idea took root.
I wasn’t thinking like a politician at the time. I was thinking like an organizer and a student of disruption. At the time, I was reading about guerrilla art and cultural movements. Artists like Banksy and Shepard Fairey who used simple, bold imagery to spark public dialogue fascinated me.
I also dove into books on asymmetric warfare and classics like Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. What stuck with me was this idea:
If you can’t win by traditional means, change the battlefield.
So one night, Adam and I hatched a plan. What if we could wake up Tenino with something part art installation, part social experiment and part playful rebellion?
We started small.
Old bikes from garage sales.
Cans of yellow spray paint.
Stencils reading “FOR PUBLIC USE” and “SHARE.”
Under the cover of night, we placed them in parks, along sidewalks under the street lights, and near the post office. By morning, they were everywhere, gleaming like neon breadcrumbs across town.
People didn’t know what to make of them.
Was it art? A prank? A protest?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was people were talking again.
Soon, kids were riding them. Parents snapped photos. Social media lit up. The town buzzed with debate, jokes and enthusiasm.
And this wasn’t a one-night stunt.
Over the course of more than a year, Adam and I kept it alive. At night, we rounded up broken or missing bikes and replaced them with fresh ones. Bikes of all shapes and sizes. Little bikes. Giant bikes. Weird bikes. It became a living, evolving part of Tenino’s landscape.
Not everyone appreciated it.
The old guard in local leadership scoffed at the bikes. They dismissed them as nonsense. They even tried to fight back — rounding up bikes and having them destroyed. But the more they pushed against it, the stronger it became.
The more they scoffed, the more people celebrated them.
It became a statement. This wasn’t about bicycles anymore — it was about reclaiming public space and creating pride in community life again.
By the time the project hit The Seattle Times, Tenino was fully awake.
Adam played his role perfectly, doing interviews with a bandana over his face and keeping the mystery alive. I stayed in the background — intentionally. This wasn’t about me. It was about us.
Still, that momentum gave me the platform to run for office, not as a conventional candidate, but as someone who had already shown that Tenino could embrace bold new ideas.
Looking back now, I see this as my first real act as a city leader.
Not passing laws. Not sitting at a dais.
But creating a spark that challenged people to see their hometown with fresh eyes.
Because in small towns, leadership often looks different.
Belief. Vision. Creativity. And the courage to stir the pot — for the right reasons.
The Yellow Bicycle Revolution didn’t solve every problem. But it sparked something lasting. It reminded people that their town was vibrant, worth believing in, and theirs to shape.
Today, that story has come full circle.
Adam now sits as a school board director, helping shape the future of Tenino’s children.
I serve as a Thurston County commissioner, working every day to strengthen the community that raised me.
And for anyone passing through Tenino City Park, right at the end of Howard Street, a reminder still stands.
A large yellow bicycle sculpture marks the spot — a symbol of a simple idea that became a movement.
Proof that when people believe in their town, they can transform it.
Sometimes leadership starts with a vote.
Sometimes it starts with a vision.
And sometimes … it starts with a yellow bike under a streetlight at midnight.
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Wayne Fournier is a Thurston County commissioner, former Tenino mayor, firefighter and lifelong community advocate. He believes that small towns are the last frontier of big ideas. He shares stories of civic creativity, leadership and community-building in his regular newspaper column.
