One year, I must've been about eleven or twelve, my dad gave me a go-kart for Christmas. It was kind of a mud cart, as opposed to a street cart. Designed for dirt roads, it had knobby tires, a two inch ground clearance, and a 4.5 horsepower Briggs & Stratton engine. Oh yeah! That was a kick. I rode that thing around our house, around the pasture, down the dirt lanes and back roads that ran behind the house. It was AMAZING! One year I even rode it in the Coburg Golden Years Parade. Jason Dull (who was my same age and went to school with me at Coburg Elementary, Cal Young Middle School and Henry D. Sheldon High School) had a street cart and we rode side by side in the procession. His cart was faster, but it was made for street racing, so it gripped turns on asphalt. I, on the other hand, could take mine anywhere and slid around gravel corners like a pro. In fact, one year, on Christmas, I took it to my cousin Scott's house (he's a year older and much wealthier now than I) and we raced. He had a little Yamaha motorcycle and we'd race around this makeshift track he had at his house on their farm, which was in Springfield, about 15 miles away. (I say ‘track,’ when in fact most of it was only a muddy road that circled the strawberry field in front of their house.) I always had to go around the jumps so I lost about every time, except the one time I just decided to win-no-matter-what. I jumped the jumps, which was hard on the frame, and I went right through the enormous puddle (more like a small pond) that straddled the course at one point. I won, but I was soaked and muddy which is not a good combination on Christmas morning when you're visiting relatives 20 minutes from the nearest change of clothes. Oh well. It was worth it.
I can’t tell you how many hours I spent with that cart, I can only say that it was amazing fun. It also gave me something to do with my dad. Dad was a total gearhead. Still is. I think the go-kart was his way of trying to connect with me. Although I never developed his love of all things mechanical, I loved working with him on the kart. There wasn’t much to do really; change the oil once in a while, clean the spark plug from time to time, gas it up and let her fly! But once in a while I’d need his help to set the mix in the carburetor, or weld a crack in the frame… Once I let a friend, Andy Gutowski, drive it and he wrecked it into our fence. Tore the carburetor right off the engine. What a mess. Dad was pissed. We eventually got it fixed though.
The last real memory I have of it is the day we destroyed the engine. We set the rear axle up on blocks and were trying to adjust the throttle when it suddenly threw a rod. It blasted through the engine block, missed my leg by about six inches and hammered into the fence about thirty feet behind us. Oil everywhere. Needless to say, that was the end of that. We were both just happy to be in one piece. I have to say that as disappointing as it was to lose the motor like that, it was awesome to watch. Dad eventually replaced the motor, but it was never the same.
