It was a couple months ago when I first heard about Georgetown hosting a pinewood derby. There was a group of guys talking about the race, actually they weren't talking about the race that was coming up but rather they were comparing races of the past, races that occurred maybe 10 or 20 years ago.
A common experience seemed to be shared among many. These guys talked about the weeks it took them to build their car, how they were given a block of wood and created a car, not just a car, but a pinewood derby racecar.
These guys talked about working with their dad, but it was their car, their idea, their design, and they felt totally proud. That was until race time came about and some kid would pull out his sleek car that relied on physics and aerodynamics rather than the power of a rubber band. In some cases, joy quickly turned to bitterness.
The Georgetown Pinewood Derby might have been the official name, but the unofficial motto was 'Your daddy can't help you now.'
You were either going to try to repeat the glory days, perhaps seek revenge, or just get a do-over from years gone by.It didn't matter why people entered the race; the fact is that people did enter, many people.
Marty Chavez, the event creator, had been mulling over this idea for quite some time, wondering why kids were the only ones who got to participate in the derby. He toyed with the idea of creating a race for adults, and, judging by the number of entries, adults wanted a race, their own race.
November 18 was the date for the derby and 9 lb Hammer was the sponsor. Meander up to the bar and for $30 you got your kit, a sticker and the official race t-shirt. Of the 100 kits available, 97 were sold.
Our kit sat on the dining room table for weeks, unopened. My friend Holly researched different models and investigated various tricks or "tips" that might help our car get down the ramp. There were some high hopes in our household, but time got the best of us. Time and the fact that my birthday fell on November 18 didn't help matters. The birthday celebration trumped the pinewood, and though we opted not to race we still looked forward to watching.
Check in began at noon. I arrived a few minutes after and already there was a line out the door. Dozens of people stood, gripping their cars, wanting a chance to race. Apparently there are strict guidelines for pinewood racecars, specific length and weight restrictions. Each car was measured and weighed. The bacon car was on the scale when I approached. It was a half an ounce over the limit. I'm not sure how many calories that translated to, but it was too much. The creator removed a back panel, a thick-cut center slab, I believe. That did the trick, and she was in.
When you walked into 9 lb Hammer, you knew this race was serious business. All of the tables and chairs were removed from the bar. A beautiful wood track was now center stage. The pool table remained, but pool cues were off limits. Instead, the pool table served as a showcase for the art cars. More than a dozen pinewoods graced the felt, ranging from an elaborate whirly gig to an amazingly sculpted foot: rumor has it the latter won second place.
Marty expected about 97 people to race, but they ended up having about 20 to 30 additional entries. Several dozen people reintroduced cars from their childhood and wanted another chance to race their now vintage pinewoods.
For six hours, people packed a bar and watched as cars were dropped down the ramp, heat after heat. Some cars flew down and others tumbled, and some didn't manage to cross the line. All got the chance to race, and judging from the buzz, the event was a resounding success. So much so that Marty might make it a biannual event. He's thinking of doing this again in July.
If that's the case, we just may open that kit that is sitting on our dining room table.[[In-content Ad]]
