It is about that time again — time for me to work on the local lawnmower race, that is.

Of course, I am not the only one working on it, but I am the only one that writes this column who is working on it. That gives me the opportunity to talk about my part of it. The rest of them can tell you themselves.

We had a meeting earlier this year and are putting out fliers at different places. I really enjoy doing stuff like this, until it seems like everything and everyone is working against you.

It was pretty hard last year to figure everything out and fix up some rules and such. Last year was the first year the event has been held. I just knew everything was going to be a total disaster. It went over like a charm.

You know, you don’t really realize all of the things that you don’t know until it is time to drop the flag.

Last year, we came to race day and realized we didn’t even have a flag. We had to cut off a piece of the bunting stuff and nail it to a broom handle.

This year, we’ve already got a major sponsor and a new name — The CarQuest Mowdown.

It kind of has a ring to it, doesn’t it?

Since everything sort of worked last year and folks have started getting interested, the going is much easier this year.

We had trouble getting sponsors last time, but this time people seem more willing to support it. It is hard to get sponsors for something that no one has ever seen or even heard of.

I really enjoyed watching the race, but I was constantly worried that someone was going to get hurt.

Isn’t that crazy? These people, all grown men and women, entered knowing full well the possible dangers. But every time someone cut a curve too close or something, I wanted to close my eyes. When NASCAR drivers wreck, I get a thrill out of watching those cars spin around and smack into each other.

I guess it is because I don’t know any of them and you can’t really see them inside the cars. But here, I knew everyone in the race (more or less) and it was different.

I bet the people who know the NASCAR drivers don’t like to watch wrecks either.

I felt better after a man from the national lawnmower racing group told me that they had never had a serious injury in a race. I was awful glad to hear that.

They won’t be with us this year, only the local folks. I am glad they came last year, but they weren’t the highlight of my evening. I think I liked the pushmower race about as good as anything. We had a ton of people charging down the track with a pushmower just to try and win $50.

It wasn’t about the money. It was just having the opportunity to compete. It was fun to watch.

If anyone is interested in taking part in the race or helping get it together, they should come on out to the meeting on May 10 at 7 p.m. at the county office building. Even if you just want to see what it is all about, show up and find out.

At any rate, I was planning on entering a mower myself after I watched the race last year, but then I thought about it a little more.

I can barely drive a car on a good paved road. Why do I need to go careening around a dirt track on a mowing machine never meant to careen? I told my friend, the mechanic who was going to help me, that I just didn’t have time to do it.

I then went on to explain how busy I am with preparing the track and putting up hay bales and talking on the loudspeaker and everything else. (Like I said before, I am not even close to the only one working on this, its just that I am the only one with a newspaper column).

“I guess you are pretty busy,” he said. “Too busy to work on an old lawnmower with your old friend who fixed your car for free that time.” I knew I should have paid him for that. Now I’ll never hear the end of it, I thought.

“OK, you pried it out of me. I am afraid to go 65 miles per hour on that lawnmower.” I was pointing at the rusty no-name mower he had pulled out of the woods behind his house. I am guessing that it belonged to one of his ancestors. The tires were rotten and the entire body was nasty, rusted and leaf-covered.

Being the good and supportive friend that he is, he did what any good and supportive friend who works on lawnmowers would do — he used the guilt trip. “After I pulled this old mower out of the woods and did all this work on it, you’re going to tell me you won’t ride it?” he asked, a sad look in his eye.

“One question,” I replied. “Would you ride that?” “I would,” he said. “But I have to be the pit crew.” As he said this, he worked diligently at pulling hands-full of oak leaves out of the hole where the seat and the battery used to live.

“I will get you a pit crew and you be the driver,” I offered. Besides, I told him, it would look like I am cheating if I won myself after helping organize the race.

“Bok-bok,” he said.

When it comes to riding Noah’s lawnmower at 65 miles per hour on a dirt track with these boys, I think he may be right.

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