No Guts No Glory

NO GUTS--No Glory

The year was 1962. The place was Hagar Shores Michigan. (now Lake Michigan Beach). We have a summer cottage here, and at the time my Dad, and uncle Earl were the owners since they built it together in the late 1920’s.
All summer long both my family, and my uncle’s family would spend the weekends going up to the cottage. We did not go every weekend, but almost every other weekend. Sometimes with my uncle’s family, and other time my family and friends. It was very small, but we managed to squeeze 22 people in it one weekend. People slept on pullout sofas, even mattress thrown on the floor.
I was up there one time with my cousin Jimmy, and his cousins Pat and Billy. We were all close in age, Jimmy being the oldest at 17, and Billy the youngest at 14. Pat and I were 16.
I do not remember where we came up with it, but we managed to get a go-kart frame, and an old engine from a lawn mower. Between the four of us we mounted the engine to the frame, jerry-rigging it to run. It had very bad brakes, and a piece of conduit for an exhaust pipe. We had no helmet or safety equipment, just a seat belt.
Once we decided it was ready for the road we slipped away from the cottage pushing the go-kart down the road where my cousin Jimmy waited with his car. His Dad had given him his 1956 ford station wagon when he turned 17. The next year my Dad gave me his 1955 Ford station wagon when I turned 17. Yes my Dad and his brother Earl were a lot alike.
Loading the go-kart in the back of the car we drove slow and quietly down the old sand road to the new state highway 196 that was being built about one mile away. The road was still closed, but the only thing that was not finished was the shoulders, and the stripes for the lanes.
Driving around the barricades we parked down on the entrance ramp, and unloaded the go-kart. With two flash lights taped onto the front and a full moon we thought there was enough light to see where we were going. The only way to keep the thing running was to keep a little pressure on the gas peddle otherwise it would die out, and you had to have someone pull the rope to start it for you.
Jimmy drove down the ramp, but when he tried to turn around he let off the gas and it died out. I tried but going down the ramp you pick up too much speed to turn without slowing down, and it died out for me too.
Pat said he could do it so he went next. All three of us watched as Pat went speeding down the ramp. I said, “He is not slowing down enough, and won’t make the turn.” Sure enough as he went into the turn the go-kart flipped over several times as sparks flew all over the place.
The three of us ran down there as fast as we could. There was gas all over, and the exhaust pipe was broken off with sparks shooting out because Pat still had his foot on the gas. As we ran to him we yelled, “take your foot off the gas”. He did and it died out just as we got there. Asking him if he was all right he said, “Yeah I’m ok”.
Jimmy tuned the flashlight on his face, and blood was running down from above his nose. We helped him out of the go-kart, and told him to get in the car. He did not want to get in the car because he did not want to get blood all over the seats. Jimmy gave him an old rag that he held against his face to stop the bleeding while we loaded the go-kart in the back.
Once in the car we had to decide what to do. We new we were in a lot of trouble because we were not suppose to take the go-kart out until our fathers said it was okay. The main problem was we had to find out how badly Pat was hurt. We drove about two blocks when Jimmy pulled over and stopped by the Italian restaurant. Jimmy said, “let’s go in the bathroom and see how bad it is”.
I think back now wondering how the people enjoyed their spaghetti dinner with Pat walking by with blood running down his face. That could not have been very appetizing. Once in the bathroom light we saw his face was not as bad as we thought. He broke open a place at the bridge of his nose, and this was where all the blood was coming from. We applied some pressure, and the bleeding stopped. Grabbing some napkins we left to face the wrath of our parents.
Needless to say they were not very happy, and that was the end of the go-kart. Our parents both agreed that we not ride it again, and get rid of it. This ended our dreams to be racing drivers, but it could have been worse if we would have lost Pat.

Now maybe my children will understand why their Mother yells at them to be careful.
It is because she does not trust their Father’s judgment considering his past performances.

Robert L. Murdoch

03/18/09