My Writings

Grandma Rides a Go Cart

Grandchildren have a hard time visualizing their grandmothers as a young child like themselves or a young woman, like their mothers. Occasionally, the stories told while sitting by a crackling campfire or at the dinner table on Sunday open up their minds to the fact that Grandma was surprisingly a “kid” once, too.

This comical story comes to mind when my grandson’s are talking about their dirt bikes and go-carts. They want to hear over and over again about the time that “hot rod grandma” rode their fathers’ homemade go-cart many years before. My two sons, then aged 12 and 8 and the neighborhood boys about the same age worked very hard piecing together a “motorized vehicle” called a “go cart”. This neighborhood project brought fear into the hearts of the mothers of these young boys. Hoping that it was only a distant dream because of their lack of expertise, we didn’t sit around biting our fingernails in dreaded anticipation of it running around the dirt track someday. Somehow, they managed to scrounge together 4 tires, the frame, axels and lastly a motor for this vehicle that they were creating. Pooling their meager allowances, they accumulated enough money to buy the throttle and brake cables, a new spark plug and a gas tank they needed to finish their “wonder cart”. The bright red paint I had donated was left over when I had painted their “trikes” only a few years before. I had a tendency to call my children tricycle motors and now they had graduated to a more dangerous mode of transportation.

The day that I dreaded had come too soon. Silence in the neighborhood became a thing of the past. To my dismay from behind the garage, I heard the roar of the engine, saw a cloud of blue smoke and delirious cheers from these little apprentice mechanics. They finally succeeded and their go-cart was running. Oh no, now my worries became a reality. Suddenly, I felt gray hairs sprouting and my first wrinkles appeared.

As each boy took his turn driving, I watched this streak of red machinery with those darling little boys at the helm, driving way too fast, dodging trees in the woods where they had cut a path for their race track. I couldn’t bear to watch these future, “NASCAR Stars” take their lives in their own little, greasy hands. I was no longer in control of their safety.

A crowd began to gather to watch the “spectacular” new entertainment that had emerged in the neighborhood. As I stood there watching the exhibition, they noticed the scared look in my eyes, I was worried. Trying to console me, my sons begged me to drive their masterpiece because it was “Fun Mom, Not dangerous”. Right, I thought! Rationalizing and trying to be a “good sport” I agreed to the challenge set before me. I had always enjoyed driving snowmobiles, four wheelers and minibikes so I thought,”What would it hurt?” I would not realize what this little ride had in store for me.

The seat needed adjustment, then detailed instructions on how things worked and I was ready for my once in a lifetime test drive. With my body crammed into this go-cart with only space large enough for a small child, I was ready to begin my unexpected thrills.

Slowly, I pressed on the gas pedal to get the feel of the power it had then checked the brakes to make sure they worked and began my bumpy ride down the gravel driveway. There was virtually no traffic to the South so I headed that way and I was actually having fun. I sped down the road, the wind blowing through my hair and put the pedal to the metal a few times. This was lots of fun, they were right. Not knowing how much gas my boys had in the tank which was gas that they had siphoned out of the lawnmower, I turned the go-cart around to head towards home which was only a mile away. On my way back I figured I was not any worse for wear from my daring excursion, but I wasn’t home yet.

Soon my relaxed ride became a tad more hectic. A very large German Shepard burst from his dog house and I could see he was heading my way across his lawn. I was the object of his pursuit so I assumed he was not running towards me to give me a friendly, neighborhood welcome. As he caught up with me, he was now running full speed ahead, trying to bite the tires of my noisy little vehicle. Sitting on this go-cart, my hind end only 6 inches off the ground, I was pretty much at eye level with that snarling, large animal. I could feel his hot breath and frothy wet saliva splashing on my leg and shoes and I was afraid he was going to take a bite out of me. I could feel my heart throbbing. I instinctively pressed the gas pedal down as hard as I could to get away from my uninvited traveling companion. I must have stomped down too hard because I heard a loud snap. Oh, no! I had broken the make shift gas pedal and the throttle was stuck wide open. Faster and faster, I traveled down the blacktop. I was going at top speed when I pulled away from the panting, breathless dog as he finally gave up the chase and turned to go back home. I was relieved. Now I could relax, right? Wrong.

With the German shepherd gone I decided I’d better slow down and take control of myself and this speeding machine. I pressed on the brakes and guess what? No brakes. Panic! No brakes at all

I could see in the distance, 8 little boys watching as I finally came within sight of my driveway. “Help….No Brakes” I yelled at the top of my lungs. My adrenaline had kicked in as I passed my home and driveway plus my applauding little racing fans. Now I was driving like I was the leader in the Indianapolis 500 Race and had no control over my vehicle in the process. Not knowing what to do and to avoid going into town with the possibility of getting hit by a car. I headed for the intersection about a half mile from my drive and decided to use my tennis shoes as brakes. Not a good idea. I put my feet on the ground and my soles started to get very hot. I thought my feet were on fire but it did slow me down. I yanked the steering wheel to the left and swerved around in a circle hitting the gravel like a professional stunt driver. I put myself into a sideways slide which slowed me down enough to make a circle in the opposite direction. With the throttle still stuck, I was throwing gravel and rocks 20 feet behind me and stirring up a dust cloud that was unbelievable. I made a spectacular U turn and headed home again, screaming, “Stop Me, No Brakes”. I looked like a crazy woman. The boys were cheering me on like I was winning a million dollar race. They thought I was showing off. Now I was going uphill and to my relief, I had finally slowed down. They saw the terror in my eyes as I narrowly missed my mailbox. I turned sharply, sliding sideways into my driveway. Instructions from the roaring crowd couldn’t stop the “Speed Demon”. Realizing that they had to stop me, they grabbed this little red speedster as I passed by someone managed to kill the engine by pressing something on the spark plug. I collapsed with relief.

I was totally exhausted from my unexpected thrills but those 8 little boys were squealing with excitement because they thought that I was the neatest Mom on earth. I had gone faster than anyone had anticipated, had done some pretty fancy sideways slides and I caused such a cloud of dust at the bottom of the hill that suddenly I was a hero to them just like Evil Keneival. I was upset and scared but I burst into laughter with the rest of them when I finally came to a halt. My hair, glasses and clothes were covered with gravel dust. I looked a sight. After all was said and done, I guess I was the star of the day in what we all call, “Mom’s Go Cart Extravaganza”.

It will always be one of the family’s favorite memories.

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Cliff Jumping With Grandma

by Karen O'Byrne

Seems as though some experiences in your life stay embedded in your mind forever, especially humorous stories.

Fishing on the Blue Earth River near Mankato has been a favorite spot of ours since my children were very small. Near a little town called Rapidan this campground is located downstream from a large dam built during World War II. The walleye and catfish are the favorite catch and the wilderness is also a big drawing card for this campground. There are not facilities there. No water, no restrooms, no electricity which are features that we have found that we can get along without when we camp there. Dense woods, winding and rutted roads and the sounds of rushing water are facts of life there. With nothing to do for the children, no pinball machines nor a Mac Donalds, our children absolutely loved this campground. The children would occasionally walk down to the little store at the entrance of the campground called "The Dam Store by a Dam Sight" and buy a can of pop or some chips. Before they would leave, they would loudly tell us that they were going to the "Dam Store" which would be the only time that they could say a naughty word and not get reprimanded for it. When we would leave the campground, we would always buy a homemade, real ice cream malt at the store and eat it on the way home to Albert Lea. The dam is a working dam so sometimes the gates are fully open when we have been there so the water is deep, wild and treacherous. Every time we go there, the shore has a different shape to it because of the water moving so fast and the current moves the sand and anything unattached so every time we go there we are amazed at how it changes. Occasionally, there is no need for extra electricity in Mankato so they close the dam gates. At those times, the water fills the river bed practically to the top and at other times with the gates closed…a sand bottomed island, along with large rocks and rapids begin appearing in the beautiful river. We never knew when we would be fishing off shore or if we would be able to walk over to the island and fish. That was the excitement of Rapidan, you never new what is would be like until you got there.

This particular weekend, the dam had been closed so there was plenty of standing room in the sand at the bottom of the cliffs which would enable us to do some serious night fishing there. When all of the children were tucked in their beds, we adults would go down to the river’s edge and set up a "fishing spot". With a campfire built for light and warmth and our fishing sticks strategically placed in the sand, we were ready for a long night of fishing. We always always brought our cooler with pop and snacks for our "party" by the river. With hooks all baited and poles set up were all ready and pretty sure that our "fishing poles" could not be pulled into the raging river by the hungry "big catfish" that would surely bite on our hooks that night. We used "stink bait" which was purchased at the Dam Store before we came down into Davies Hole where we set up camp. This stink bait was carefully attached to the hook, being careful not to get too much on our fingers because we would smell like rotten fish guts the next day if we didn’t use caution. We would also purchase chicken livers that we carefully laid in the sun all day so that they would be "just right" and "terribly rotten" to attract the hungry catfish that night. Here we were ready for an exciting night of fishing.

Sitting by the rambling river in the moonlight, telling stories and reminiscing about past camping trips, time flew by. Soon it was around 2 o’clock in the morning and we hadn’t had much luck. I ,as the oldest fisherman in the crowd, decided that I was going back to camp and get some sleep. Mike had already packed it up and gone back a few hours before me. I methodically gathered my chair, fishing rod, tackle box and of course, my can of Coke and started back to the bus. The path up the steep hill was very sandy and full of roots and weeds so it was with great care that I started my upward trip. The hill was at least 12 to 15 feet from the main level but I had gone up and down that type of path many times in the 25 years that we’d been coming to Rapidan. The trick was to keep your momentum going once you started up the hill…don’t hesitate…keep going. I had made it up the path to where my head was just level with the main level of land when all of a sudden I heard the loudest roar coming from a bush at the top of the hill. Without hesitation, I turned around and "jumped" all the way down to the bottom of the steep embankment and landed…upright with all my equipment and didn’t even spill a drop of my Coke in my Olympic type stunt. I scared all of the kids at the bottom of the hill and they thought that I had "flipped my lid". They had heard the growl, too and after my quick return to the "fishing spot" we found out that Mike had made the "raspy growl" to scare me…which he did. We all laughed and laughed and the kids have always teased my about "mama and her break dance" at Rapidan. These kinds of stories are numerous as we reminisce and remember the "fun things" that have happened at Rapidan.

This past year, after 36 years of camping at Rapidan, the Rustic Camp has been closed to campers. We will never be able to go back and make new memories there with our family and friends but we surely have many of these memories to talk about forever.