Kensington’s kitschy, creative flair and pride were on full display at the 17th kinetic sculpture derby

Just before they were set to make their derby debut, Jake Poeske and Jack Gentry suffered a crushing blow: Their package of bird costumes was stolen.

Last-minute Big Bird Halloween onesies would have to suffice.

The duo had welded, papier-mâchéd, and crafted their way to the start line of the 17th Kensington Kinetic Sculpture Derby, a uniquely Philadelphian tradition where absurd human-powered contraptions — no motors, no nothing, just people — travel a three-mile course with obstacles, and then face the final boss, a mud pit.

The derby was the centerpiece of Saturday’s all-day arts festival on Frankford Avenue, celebrating the East Kensington and Fishtown corridors’ creative, kitschy flair and pride, said Marc Collazzo, executive director of the Fishtown Kensington Area Business Improvement District, which puts on the event.

“There’s unfortunately a lot of negative views of what this neighborhood is,” he said, “and it doesn’t give enough highlight or spotlight on the people that are here — the people that really have invested their time, talent, and treasure to live, shop, and work here.”

Collazzo added: “We have people coming from all over the region to really see the good that Kensington is.”

Poeske and Gentry’s entry, “The Early Bird Doesn’t Catch the Worm,” was a punny nod to the Philadelphia Eagles. Poeske welded two bikes side-by-side, built a steel frame wrapped in chicken wire and stuffed it with twigs and hay, creating a bird’s nest. Gentry donned a handmade cockatoo head, while Poeske was an eagle.

Two worms rode alongside. Francis Poeske fashioned pink pantyhose stuffed with towels and shirts to his helmet and repurposed a pink velour The Cheetah Girls outfit for his grub couture.

But before the derby kicked off, a rivalry was already brewing: Travis Schattle, a kinetic artist, also channeled the Birds for his rig, an eagle sculpture whose wings moved in tandem with his bike.

“We don’t have worms — you can quote me on that,” he said.

Schattle, who’s competed in the derby twice before, was in pursuit of glory this year: Make it through the mud pit in style. (Schattle originally envisioned Jason Kelce as the rider, and said he even reached out to the Kelce brothers’ beer company for a sponsorship to no avail.)

“We just want to make it to the mud pit,” Gentry said.

“What happens in the mud pit? We will see,” said Poeske.

Building a slurry, sloppy mud pit on a main drag requires roughly three tons of soil and lots of water, said George Mathes this year’s pitmaster and owner of neighborhood business Thunderbird Salvage. The mud is a staple of the derby, and the pit’s consistency received harsh scrutiny from spectators.

“The mud needs more water,” one woman heckled. Eventually, the crowd demanded, “Hose it down! Hose it down!”

Still, the mud pit claimed a few victims. Prophetically, a SEPTA train got stuck. The shark from Jaws — or “Jaw(n)s,” as it was aptly named — and his tuba accompanist sank. A Newsies-esque barkeeper who attempted to make cocktails along the route was ejected from his carriage, then dove and flopped into the mud.

By Schattle’s turn, the crowd was amped, and the air smelled of Philadelphia Brewing Co. beer, incense, and brisket. Schattle’s eagle elicited many chants of “Go Birds” and “E-A-G-L-E-S” from festivalgoers, as he soared across the mud pit.

Glory achieved.

“We flew to victory,” Schattle said postgame. “We got people flapping their wings.”

While roller-blading worm Kangeun Seo wiped out, Poeske and Gentry successfully flew their coop over the pit.

“I accomplished what I wanted to do: I made it through the end and we made it through the mud,” Gentry said.

A panel of lab-coat-and-goggle-wearing judges scored the participants’ pit performances based on design, durability, and dynamism. Schattle ultimately ended up taking home third place. Poeske and Gentry got second — one point short of the champions, The UnderTowed barkeepers, who earned a perfect score.

Accepting their trophy, one barkeeper dangled a cigarette from his lips and held up a Pabst Blue Ribbon.

And any jocular rivalry between the dueling birds seemed quashed.

“There can always be more birds in the city,” Gentry said.