I took the boys to one of the local parks. This park has two areas of climbing zones: one area has a small “footprint” but is tall and intricate — steps, ladders, tunnels, etc.; the other area is more spread out with slides and a bridge.

The Calvesgrit wanted me to play tag with them, and I obliged. It was a mild day, so we weren’t wearing coats. I tucked my cell phone — which usually sits in a holster on my belt — into my pants pocket, and I took off after the boys.

We were playing in the taller play set, which I like the best, and they would climb up into it, through the tunnels, up the ladders, and then down and around into the dungeon-like area underneath. I, instead of following the expected paths through the structure, climbed up on top of the tunnels, leaped up the ladders, and swung down on poles to reach the bottom. I absolutely love climbing around on that place.

When I’m in my zone, climbing, leaping, swinging, chasing, and catching the boys in that play set, I feel like Spider-Man — all I need are web shooters and a tall building. Calfgrit4 would try to escape me by crawling through a tunnel, but when he came out the other side, BAM!, I dropped down in front of him. Calfgrit8 would try to outrun me around the play set, but when he got to the other side, BAM!, I swung down in front of him.

I could only keep that activity up for 10 minutes at a time, and then I had to calm it down for a couple minutes. After that breather, I’d leap back into action. The boys, however, never needed a moment to rest. They can run wide open for an hour.

Whenever Cowgrit sees me doing this stuff (she’s not usually with us when I take the boys to the park), she worries that I’m going to hurt myself. And she’s right to worry. I mean, I may be crazy, but I’m not too dumb to know I’m over 40 years old, and one slip of the foot, one missed grab on a pole, and I could really hurt myself. But God, it’s so fun.

At one point, I was up on top of the play set, where there is a 8-foot-diameter platform. Calfgrit8 was “it,” coming up after me, and Calfgrit4 was down on the ground running around the circumference of the play set. I was slowly backing away from Calfgrit8, who had his hand out to tag me — I was going to let him tag me — and I took a bad shuffle down a step behind me.

My ankle twisted and I started falling backwards. Everything slowed down. I immediately knew I had hurt my ankle, badly, but my main concern was on where I’d fall. I dearly did not want to fall dangerously on my back, or hit my head on something — and there were steps, ladders, and rails all around me. I managed to catch a rail with my left hand, and this let me fall safer than just a blind collapse.

Once I was down, and I hadn’t hit my back or head, the pain in my ankle became terrible. It hurt like crazy. I hadn’t heard a snap or pop, so I thought I might not have broken it, but it had twisted pretty bad. Calfgrit8 realized I was hurt and he came to me with concern.

“Are you alright, Dad?” he asked. He sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee.

“Ow, ow, ow,” I answered. “I hurt my ankle real bad. I need a time out.”

“OK,” he said, and the look of fear slowly left his face. “But just for the game,” he added, “I tagged you before you called time.”

Despite the pain, I had to chuckle. “Noted. Now please go find Calfgrit4 and sit or play with him for a minute while I get right.”

My oldest son left me and climbed down from our top level. He found his little brother and they sat on a bench watching me struggle to get up off my back and down from the play set.

Damn but my ankle hurt from that twist. Luckily it was my left foot, so I would be able to drive the van. “Crap, crap, crap,” I said under my breath. Man, it hurt. I thought if it wasn’t broken, it sure was a waste of pain.

I managed to get down from the play set and told my boys I’d be OK. I just needed to rest my foot for a while. I sent them back to the play set to play without me. I propped my foot up on the bench and let it rest. Surprisingly, the pain subsided fairly quickly. Within 10 minutes I could walk on it, with a limp.

I followed the boys to the other part of the park and walked around for another 5 minutes to work out the injury. Soon I was chasing the boys again — but just chasing them on level ground, not jumping around on tunnels and ladders and rails.

Half an hour later, when we were all ready to leave the park to go eat dinner, we all raced back to the van in the parking lot. I was very happily surprised that my ankle was all better. I’m not Spider-Man, I thought, I’m freakin’ Wolverine! Healing factor FTW!

But the next day, my left thumb was hurting. That was the hand I had used to catch myself while falling on the play set, so I figure I must have caught wrong or something. But while my ankle never again bothered me, that thumb ached for three days after the park outing. Somebody tell me how in the world that happens.

Bullgrit

Pinewood derby racing has come all high-tech. The track ramp has six lanes starting with a gate wired to the finish line timers. The timers at the end show which lane came in first, second, third, etc. The officials enter all the racer names into a computer, and the system automatically arranges the scouts into random heats of six cars. Each car will race six times –- once on each lane of the track. I think our derby was 36 heats.

The computer screen was projected onto a huge display high up in the hall, where everyone could see the scout names and the results of each heat. It’s very nice. The high-tech tracking and results contrasted the wooden track like a marriage of 21st century science and 20th century folk art.

I was proud of Calfgrit8’s patience with the whole process. He waited calmly for his turns (although he talked happily with his friends while waiting), he paid attention enough to get up and get his car from the storage table when he was supposed to, and he followed directions perfectly to place his car on the starting line and then go sit at the end of the track.

In his first race, he came in 4th out of the six cars. In his second race, he came in 3rd. He seemed satisfied with these results, and I was happy the car wasn’t coming in last place. I crossed my fingers that maybe his car could come in one place better for at least one race. His third race, he was back in 4th place. Then 4th place again in his fourth race. Well, the car was consistent. Then it came in 5th place. Oh shoot. Then for the final heat, it came in 6th place.

I was a little disappointed that it came in last place for the last heat –- hate to end the derby with a last place finish. But I was happy to see that in none of the races was the car way behind. One or two of the cars sometimes pulled out way in the lead, but most of the other cars stayed in a bunch. Even when our car came in last place, it was a close run –- all the cars were neck and neck.

The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners were those who had the best average time over all the races. I was surprised to see that the low, wedge-shaped, or narrow, rocket-like cars were not noticeably faster than the less aerodynamic designs. In fact, the 1st place winner of the races was a car that had barely been carved down from the original block. (Red arrows point to the overall winning car in the picture.)

I talked with the scout’s mom about it (they’re in our scout den), and that scout built his car completely all by himself. That was really great. I’m glad that car and kid won.

Bullgrit

Before leaving the house for the race day, I made sure the car was in proper working order — wheels turned, weights were secure, and total weight was 5.0 ounces. I took my drill with us, just in case I needed it. (I considered that the scale I was using might not be perfectly in sync with the official scale at the derby, so I wanted to be prepared — the Boy Scout motto.)

The hall for the races was packed with scouts and parents. There were probably around a hundred people there. The sounds of small power tools was a continuous background noise, behind the cacophony of voices.

We got in line for our class registration (Wolf and Bear Cut Scouts — 8 and 9 year olds). Once up at the table, our car was weighed: 5.05 ounces. The official scale measured to the one hundredth of an ounce — ours at home only went to one tenth.

OK, no problem, I have my drill. But how much is five one hundredths of an ounce? How much do I need to drill out? The official weighing the car said, “Oh, very, very little. Just a tiny amount.”

We took the car off to the side, where other dads were making adjustments to their sons’ cars. I pulled out my drill, put in a bit, and then thought, Wait, “Just a tiny amount.” Instead of drilling a hole, I took another drill bit and just scraped the bottom of the car a little — just some removed some shavings, really.

We got back in the line again and made our way back to the registration table. The official weighed our car again: still 5.05 ounces. OK, we went back to the work corner of the hall.

I chatted with some of the other dads and a couple of Scout Masters about it, “I don’t mind at all taking off the extra weight to get it fair, but I have no idea how much .05 ounces is.” I was told just a couple of holes should take care of it. I drilled three holes.

We got back in line and again made our way to the registration table. Weight: 5.04 ounces. “Jeez!” Then I had a thought, “Take the helmet off the driver and see how much that weighs.” Weight: 5.01 ounces. “Oh man!” I reached for the car, but the official said they could allow that weight.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I can work on it again to make it exact.”

The official said .01 was allowed. I asked Calfgrit8 if he minded racing his car without the driver’s helmet. To be honest, I didn’t want to work on it again — we’d already been there 20 minutes and hadn’t even gotten registered in yet. I was getting flustered in all the back and forth, and with all the noisy crowd around me.

But I didn’t want my little guy to be disappointed in his car — he specifically put that Lego mini together for this car. (The figure has the legs and body of a spaceman, the face of a knight, and the helmet of a stormtrooper.) CG8 said he was fine with the driver not having his helmet. He took the helmet and kept it in his hand for a while. Actually, I think he just wanted to hold at least part of the toy.

After passing the weigh in, a Boy Scout assistant official measured the width and length of the car, and then it was registered with a number written on the bottom. It was placed on a table with the others so far registered.

The picture to the right shows about half the cars in our class. There were some pretty cool designs; some looked like they’d be rockets on the track, and some looked like they’d be bricks.

Some were simple wedges, some were pretty elaborate. There were plenty of race car designs, of course, but there was also a shoe, a tank, a van, and even a Wii remote control design. Some looked like they were built by 2nd graders, some looked like they were built by college educated engineers.

Beyond the basic speed prize (1st, 2nd, and 3rd places) there were judges’ picks on design — most futuristic, most patriotic, most unique, etc. Calfgrit8 was disappointed to not win any design award (I didn’t expect to, and I didn’t even know that he was hoping for a prize.)

The coolest thing, though, about the prizes was which car won 1st place in the race. To be continued. . .

Bullgrit

I’ve mentioned that Calfgrit8 is in Cub Scouts, and this coming weekend is the Pinewood Derby races for the local pack. We got the car kit (a block of wood, four plastic wheels & nails) several weeks ago, but we hadn’t started on actually making the car until last week.

CG8 just hasn’t shown much interest in the event or in the idea of creating the car. He’s been attentive when I’ve mentioned it and talked about ideas, but he hasn’t brought up anything about it on his own. I think he just doesn’t have a real understanding of what the whole event is. I’ve tried explaining it to him, going off just what I remember from my Scout days — 30-some years ago. But I think it’s still only a vague concept for him.

I remember participating in a Pinewood Derby at least twice as a boy. My step-dad got the block of wood carved and sanded at the local community college, where he worked as a teacher (he wasn’t the carpentry teacher, though). I can only remember little snippets of making the car and of racing the car. When my mom moved out of her old house last year, we found one of my old derby cars. I don’t remember what we did with it — I might have just thrown it away, although, now, I wish I had it.

I don’t have any wood-working tools. I’ve got a bunch of useful household tools, but nothing really for woodworking other than a handsaw and a standard cordless drill. I have no carpentry machines. Two weeks ago at a Scout meeting, I talked to a couple of dads and asked them how they carved their cars.

“Oh, I just ran it through the shozim, edged it with my harriror, and then smoothed it over with my xizigy.” Yeah, I had no idea what they were talking about.

So last weekend I went to work on the block of wood with my handsaw, my drill, and some sandpaper. It took me an hour, but I managed to shape the thing into a decent car shape. CG8 came up with the ideas of adding a Lego figure driver, painting it red, and he picked out the flame decals for it.

I drilled big holes underneath the car to add metal washers to bring it up to the 5 ounces weight limit, and I think it’s shaping up to be a decent race car. Having seen a couple of other cars in our pack, and some of the design examples on the Internet, I have no hope that this car will win the derby, but it’s not a really bad looking piece of work.

Right now it’s still disassembled, waiting for the clear coat of gloss to dry, so I can’t get a picture of it. But the race is this Saturday, so I’ll have some pictures of the completed project to show next week. I hope after he sees what the whole derby event is like this time, next year he’ll have more interest in directly working on it.

Bullgrit