Bugs

A real soap box racer is a continuous source of pleasure even after it is obviously past its prime but definitely not past its sell by date. When I was a boy, we called these speeders that we built "bugs" and we must have built a bug every summer until bicycle ownership made us range so much further from home that making bugs just fell by the way.

            Our bugs were not nearly as fancy, just a piece of board for a bottom until plywood became universal at construction sites and two lengths of 2 x 4 for axles. Usually a bolt to pivot the front axle was not hard to find but the wheels were always a dilemma.  We sharp eyed kids would scrounge everywhere for wheels that didn't seem to belong to anybody. We never did actually rip wheels off the prams of sleeping babes but that was tempting. Usually we would make a trip to the dump on Como Lake Road and find some. Sometimes the rear wheels were bigger than the front ones so that the whole thing had a fast looking rake to it.

            In those days, there was real soap box racing once a year at the derby in Mission but kids from working class families, who didn't actually live in mission, did not get involved. Firstly, it seemed like such an American thing and secondly, money and time was just too scarce. There was no point even asking about it, even if we had known about the derby. "Build a what? Go out and play." or more likely come here you can help me with this.

            Steering was by ropes to the front axle like reins on a horse. These things could be fast, depending on the steepness of the hill, and woe to you if you dropped a rope or made too sharp of a turn because the axle could turn under the body of the bug. It was never pretty, as road rash was the usual result. Nevertheless, we would drag that bug all over the place to ever steeper hills and in our neighbourhood, Dawes Hill was the Everest of bugs.

            Dawes Hill was so steep that people test driving cars would use it to see how much power their car had. Busses would go around it because it was too steep. Dawes Hill was closed for traffic when snow came. If you fell off your bug, you rolled to the bottom. It was tear streaming, anus clenching excitement. You had to have a lookout to tell you when the coast was clear of traffic on Brunette at the bottom of the hill. If you chickened out part way down and put your feet on the ground for brakes, your runners would be smoking hot. Whoooeee!

            Later in life, we moved onto more mature thrills. Children, these are professionals. DO NOT try this at home.