I was never an athletic kid. Painting, drawing and art projects were my time to shine. If you would have told seventh grade me that I would complete a 15-mile bike race and enjoy it, I would have said you had the wrong kid.
However, that’s exactly what happened in April of 2003. My middle school, a small Catholic school in South Baltimore, participated in the Baltimore Kinetic Sculpture Race that year. The annual race, which started in 1999, is hosted by the American Visionary Art Museum and involves bikes made with recycled materials, usually with some sort of sculpture or art piece attached.
We created a giant duck called “Daley,” named after our physical education teacher. We made the gargantuan monstrosity out of caulking foam and plastic from milk gallon jugs. It was supposed to be a duck, but it resembled what I imagine Big Bird would have looked like after being microwaved 10 times over — goopy, deranged and begging to be put out of its misery.
We gathered in our tiny school courtyard on Battery Avenue three days per week to work on our sculpture. We would tie our cardigans and sweatshirts around our waists and toss our backpacks against the wall. We meant business.
My skinny little fingers grew callouses from cutting up milk jugs. The plastic from the jugs was cut and painted yellow to make hundreds of “feathers” for our duck sculpture. The frankenduck, slapped together by hundreds of sweaty middle school hands, stood over 10 feet tall with a slight lean. Its eyes, slightly crossed, drooped downwards, and it took several tries to get them to lay correctly. Schoolyard legend had it that if you stared into Daley’s eyes for too long you’d be cursed for life. One of the final steps was ripping open his torso and placing the welded metal bike frame inside.
We thought it was beautiful.
Race day was full of good weather and excitement. My father, also an artist, took me to the AVAM to join my friends and get ready for the race. My bike, a lime green Huffy brand mountain bike, was my chariot. Each of us got a “quacker,” which was a duck bill whistle that made a quacking noise when we blew into it. Looking back on this, I think it was a warning sign to all the pedestrians of Baltimore that day; we were fast, we were excited, and we weren’t sure how well those brakes actually worked.
We took turns riding in the stomach of Daley the Duck while the rest of the team rode their own bikes in tandem. If you aren’t familiar with the KSR, you should know there are several obstacles along the course: the steep hill at Federal Hill, the U-turn around the pier at Canton Waterfront Park and, finally, the sand and mud pits at Patterson Park.
I was doing amazing until the first obstacle. My skinny legs were no match for the steep hill, or any hill for that matter. I could feel the back of my calves roasting in the sun. The sweat on my forehead stung my eyes. I was miserable and still had over 14 miles to go.
Once we got past the hill it started to get easier. Daley’s lumpy caulk head swayed with each pothole we hit, getting dangerously close to detaching completely. Despite this worry, I felt more accomplished with each block, listening to the cheers of neighborhood spectators.
The Canton waterfront obstacle was easy for us kids since the adults did this part of the race, much to our dismay. Shortly thereafter, we made it over to the sand and mud pit obstacles.
We were Catholic school kids. That meant starched and pressed uniforms at all times. On normal days, plaid skirts, ties and loafer shoes dotted our school yard. This was not a normal day. It was race day, and we were there to get dirty.
None of us hid our excitement for getting covered in mud while pushing Daley through the pit. The biggest and strongest kids took their turn inside of Daley, pushing with all their might to get the wheels to turn. Socks and entire shoes were lost in the mud pit. I rode my bike from Patterson Park back to the AVAM barefoot. It was never a confirmed correlation, but I think this is what strengthened my immune system enough to survive a global pandemic almost 20 years later.
All of our hard work ended at sunset. We came in dead last and yes, there was a prize for that. My legs felt like noodles. I passed out in the car on the way home, my bare feet covered in mud and my hair stuck to my head from all of the dried dirt.
That summer that followed I got really into biking. I went everywhere on my lime green Huffy. I had a newfound sense of independence in accomplishing such a feat. Completing a 15-mile race wasn’t bad for the kid who always got picked last in dodgeball. The kid who was regularly impaled by her own butterfly clips in gym class completed a major athletic accomplishment. I was proud.
I didn’t grow up to be a world-class cyclist or anything of the sort. I did grow up to become a photojournalist though. For the last decade, I’ve covered the KSR and watched kids who were just like me beam with pride at their creations. Last year I documented a group of students at the Jemicy School while they created an entire fleet of bikes for the KSR.
This year’s race takes place on Saturday. It’s one of those quirky, quintessential Baltimore events you have to experience at least once. It’s not everyday you see a large 10-foot duck barreling down your block or winding through the park. Maybe it’ll inspire you to create your own monstrosity.