Wheeled Whimsies of Walnut Creek: Formula One They Aren’t

You’re cruising along California’s spectacular north coast on a lovely spring day when suddenly, out of nowhere, a huge, iridescent red fly appears, churning toward you on spindly wheels.

Good grief! A bloodthirsty alien species invading from a galaxy far, far away? A high school science project gone horribly awry? A runaway prop from a Hollywood B movie?

Actually, it’s just Ferndale’s annual contribution to California’s quirky reputation--the annual three-day Kinetic Sculpture Race, 42 miles this year, held annually since 1969 over the Memorial Day weekend.

Just like the Indianapolis 500, with which it shares the holiday, the race features odd-looking vehicles competing for prizes. In the case of Indy, it’s millions of dollars and the huge Borg-Warner trophy.

With the Kinetic Sculpture gang, it’s somewhat less--mainly the glory of beating a field of up to 70 handmade human-powered creations designed to traverse pavement, mud, sand and water while looking as surreal as possible for the thousands of fans who gather to watch and wonder.

Indy cars don’t often show up in art galleries, but 16 of the imagination-taxing animals, vegetables, bugs, crustaceans--even a 750-gallon septic tank--are appearing through January 17 at the Bedford Gallery in this tony community 30 miles east of San Francisco.

Perhaps the most bizarre of the group is June Moxon’s “Scratch’s Last Ride,” which features a metal framework over which is suspended a huge, mangy black and white spotted dog whose tongue lolls from its mouth if you pull the right string.

The real Scratch went with Moxon and her companion, Ken Beidleman, when they pedaled one of their creations across the country a few years ago. The pooch packed it in 1994, and “Scratch’s Last Ride” is her memorial.

A memorial that can hit speeds of 40 mph downhill.

“We made the sculpture in her memory,” Moxon said in a telephone interview from her home in Eureka. “It took about four months to build the chassis.”

Strangely, she says, real dogs seem to know what they’re looking at and will bark at Scratch as it zips by. Moxon often barks back.

So how do you get involved in creating some of the most bizarre moving artworks going?

“Well, I ran three shoe stores, and I learned how to do window displays,” she said. “I wanted to make the displays more permanent.”

She started working with metal, creating spectacular metal shoes. Then, years ago, she was given a seat on a people-powered bus entered by Hobart Brown, known as the “father” of the race because he organized the first one in 1969.

“The bus broke down a few blocks from the starting line, and we had to push it the rest of the way,” she recalled with a giggle. “I’ve been doing it for 17 years.”

Moxon, 46, who also created the giant fly, said the race experience transcends anything she’s ever done.

“Doing it by yourself is like nothing else in the world,” she said. “During one race, we were in the water and a breeze came up. The wings lifted. . . . It was like magic.”

Other creations in the gallery display include “They Come From Out ‘O Town,” Jinger Heffner and George Stevens’ green flying saucer with room for a human engine inside. Duane Flatmo has two exhibits, “Crawdude,” a huge, bright red crayfish complete with eyes on stalks and huge claws, and “Bass Ackwards,” a greenish fish with detailed scales and a fisherman sitting on top who has hooked the monster.

Beidleman’s speedy Yakima’s Water Melon World is also part of the exhibit; it features a gaping slice carved out of the front to provide a view of the road. The Styrofoam and papier-mache body is supported on the water by huge pontoons. A complex system of bicycle derailleurs gives the gizmo a total of 216 gears.

The Yakima in the name comes from a company that makes bicycle racks and other gadgets for the two-wheel set. The rest is a spoof of the Kevin Costner movie flop “Waterworld.”

The creations can cost $5,000 or more in parts, said Beidleman, 47. The building part is a labor of love.

The first race he was involved in was as an official. That year, winds of up to 60 mph battered the entrants, especially as they went into the water portion of the course.

“Watching them trying to get across a quarter-mile of raging water, I thought, ‘Those people are really nuts, no way you’re going to catch me out there,’ ” said Beidleman, who has aced the course 13 times--completing it without any help.

“I’ve been out there ever since . . . and in the same conditions.”