Post-race post

Well, the Pinewood Derby is officially over, and while Mark didn't place in any of the top spots, it was still a resounding success. His car looked good, the wheels turned (but didn't fall off) and it wasn't a square block.

We arrived at the park early. There was a three-step process to complete before you could actually turn your car in to race. Mark ran to the first station, Pictures, and scrawled his info illegibly on a card. "What's my den name?" he asked, as though he had no part in naming it.

"The Cobra Patrol," I reminded him. He promptly scribbled "Cobra Control."

"PATROL," I corrected. "Not 'control.'"

"Whatever," he answered, then wrote his car's name was "Shine," the phonetic spelling for "Shiny." Or maybe it was the French pronunciation, who knows.

It was on to the second station, triage. Mark weighed his car, which was underweight. We glued on weights until it hit the 5 ounce mark, then took it over to the final weigh-in/check in station. Final weight: 5.05 ounces.

"It's a little overweight," the man told us. Taking off a weight would bring it in under, so he sent us back to triage to get some holes drilled into it.

I watched sadly as the man drilled five holes into Shiny's beautifully-painted underbelly, but it didn't bother Mark. He was more interested in the handful of stickers he'd swiped from the check-in station.

It was back to check-in, where Shiny made weight and was placed on a large wooden table full of cars. There were some really creative cars -- one kid showed me his car, shaped like a hot dog. I saw a pencil car, a tank, a dragon, and even a bobsled car with four bobsledders in it. They were so cool!

We had an hour to kill until the first race, so Mark ran off to play with the other scouts. I helped our den with the concession stand, first rolling hot dogs, then working in the booth.

Mark took turns working in the booth as well. He couldn't stand it -- in addition to the hot dogs, chips and drinks, the table was loaded with boxes of candy. It held every kind of sour, sugar-dipped, neon-colored candy possible. If Mark couldn't eat it, he could at least be close to it, and help other kids choose their cavities -- I mean, candy.

I did kick him out at one point, however, when he tried to charge a mom $1000 for a hot dog. He wouldn't give up his post until I bought him a Charms Pop, and then he took off without telling anyone, leaving the cash box wide open on the table. Luckily, the Cub Scouts are an honest group.

Mark's first race went well; he scored a respectable second place, and quickly followed with a third place. That was in races 17 and 18; Shiny didn't race again until Race 73, so Mark ran back to the park where his friends were all wielding giant sticks.



I found him an hour later, all sweaty and dishevelled. "We're playing battles," he informed me. "Right now the Russians are battling the Native Americans. Guess who's winning?" I guessed incorrectly.

The races went quickly, and soon it was time for the finals. But before that started, the Pack Master reiterated one of the Scouts most important mottoes: Leave no trace. He sent the Scouts around the park to pick up trash, and each Scout returned with one piece of trash and seven big sticks.

"Wow, there's nothing boys like better than throwing rocks and collecting big sticks, huh?" I said to Mark, pointing out the obvious.

"And looking at dead animals," he added. Which reminded him about a dead squirrel somebody had seen. He ran off to find it.

The day finally ended at 3 p.m. Mark and I climbed onto our bikes, swerved around a group of menacing geese, and headed home, exhausted. It's a lot of work racing cars and selling hot dogs, but it was a blast.

Mr. Speed

Just to keep life interesting, Mark had not one but TWO big projects to finish this past weekend.

Besides the mission, we also completed his Pinewood Derby car. Mark actually worked on this over Christmas with my dad, so the car was shaped, sanded and ready for paint.

It needed wheels, too, but I saved that for the Cub Scout dads to help with, since last year I nailed them in too far and the wheels wouldn't move at all. (In my defense, they also didn't fall off.)

Luckily, the scout leader held a workshop at his house. He emailed us saying he had a band saw, a circle saw, some other saws and a power sander. To which my mouth dropped open, because really, unless you're a carpenter, I didn't know why you'd have all those tools.

I quickly responded that yes, we'd be there. Based on last year's experience, I learned that "just" painting the car is still waaaaaaay outta my skill set. (This was also confirmed when the scout leader said Mark could prime and paint the car during the workshop, and I responded, surprised, "You have to prime it?")

The workshop was mostly me watching the dads expertly saw and paint the cars with their keenly interested sons. My son, on the other hand, ran away at every possible opportunity, preferring to play on the swing set. I reigned him in a couple times, so he could run the paint can over his car as quickly as possible before playing again.

I brought him back to help the scout leader nail the wheels in. Mark and I watched him nail the first one in, and I asked Mark, "Did you see that? Can you do that for the other wheels?" Before Mark could shake his head no, the scout leader pointed out this was the make-or-break part of the process.

"If you don't do this part right, the car won't run," he explained. I nodded as if I didn't already know that from experience.

"OK, just watch Mr. Koch do it, then," I told Mark. Mr. Koch said Mark could watch if he wanted, which Mark understood to mean he didn't have to watch. He ran off without even saying goodbye.

When the car finally dried, it looked awesome. Mark chose a metallic bronze for the top, with black sides. We took the car home, where he painted and added a driver (a gorilla with road rage) and some decals.

"What's your car's name?" I asked as he added the last few stickers.

"Mr. Speed," he answered. "No, Shiny, because of the color. No, the gorilla is named Mr. Speed, and the car is named Shiny." He smiled and proudly held up his finished car.




Mr. Speed was pretty fast, too. Here he is zooming right out of the picture.




And of course, Mr. Speed needed to park Shiny somewhere. Conveniently, there was a nearby mission with an expansive front lawn that worked out well.

Mr. Speed was the perfect Catholic convert, as he completely forgot the sermon between church and the parking lot, and cut everyone off while leaving Mass.



We had great fun rolling Mr. Speed across the dining room table. He suffered one minor mishap when he fell to the floor and the gorilla broke in half. Luckily, we had a leftover bottle of Krazy Glue left, so we fixed him up in no time.

Can't wait for the big race on Saturday. Zoom zoom!