Gentleman, start your engines!

Once the green flag was waved high into the air signaling the beginning of the race, the contenders peeled their tires speeding down the track heading into the first turn of the competition.

No, I was not at a NASCAR speedway!

I was spending an exciting afternoon with my first grade desk mate Bobby Kuhn and his little brother Max as we whipped our Hot Wheels around an elaborate racetrack set up in their bedroom.

Barely a month into the new school year at Bentleyville Main Street Elementary School, I was given permission to walk over to my newfound friend’s house, which was just a hop, skip and a jump from my own.

Upon entering the two-story dwelling and kicking off sneakers, my black-haired classmate and his younger brother introduced me to their mother before we tramped up the wooden treads like a herd of cattle giggling all the way.

Once these playmates reached the bedroom at the end of the hallway, a large racetrack was set up across the floor at the end of the beds near the windows. After pulling out a green and orange Hot Wheels automobile from my blue jeans pocket, Bobby handed me his prized diecast model car, a dazzling yellow automobile with a hood, as we checked out each other’s fastest racer.

Looking over at my newest companion, I gave the mischievous young chap a sly grin while raising my eyebrows up and down as I revved the engine from the pole position.

“Are you ready to lose this race,” I asserted while sprawling out on the bedroom floor getting into a comfortable position. “Cause I think I might just have to mop the floor with you.”

“Do you think you can take me,” replied the happy-go-lucky tyke as he sat down in the imaginary dirt next to me. “My car is pretty fast; so I think I might give you a run for your money.”

The unflinching whippersnapper’s vehicle was rocking on all cylinders as he glanced over with pursed lips and shook his head acknowledging this dimpled lad’s obvious challenge.

While his older brother and I prepared for a battle of supremacy, the curly blond-haired four-year-old acted as the grand marshal for the auto race.

When Max waved the green flag indicating the beginning of the race, we put the pedal to the metal leaving skid marks in our wake whipping around the track at a high rate of speed. With our diecast model cars barreling down the speedway with the finish line in sight, we could sense the sweet smell of victory.

When the checkered flag was waved marking the end of the short race, my adversary was all smiles while taking a victory lap before entering the winner’s circle.

As the dynamic duo stood to their feet, this dimpled lad knew I met my match when the black-haired lad’s Hot Wheels vehicle crossed the finish line first. With the initial contest under our collective belts, we proceeded to engage in a series of matches in a tournament of champions.

At one point, this trio of stock car racers lined up six of the diecast models on the double track as we placed our hands one on top of the other before slamming the lever down. The miniature automobiles moved swiftly down the plastic course as they ran out of road and flew off onto the hardwood flooring.

Some of the four-wheeled toys flipped over as they “crashed and burned” while others reached all the way to the hallway.

“That was totally groovy,” commented the afternoon host as he crawled across the floor to snatch up his Hot Wheels vehicle. “My car did a complete flip over my little brother’s car before it came to a rest right side up no less.”

“Did you see my car,” I interjected about to stand up to retrieve my miniature car. “It went all the way to the other side of the room and out into the hallway.”

“My car helped push your car,” spoke up the curly-haired tyke as he put his hands up to stop me from walking to the opposite side of the room. “I’ll go get your car for you; so you don’t even have to get up.”

“Thanks Max,” I replied thanking the little shaver when he brought back the diecast model car. “That was a really great race for all three of us.”

Bobby’s little brother also took this minister’s son to the cleaner’s when the curly-haired blondie bested me in a series of three auto races in a row.

The 4-year-old jumped up and danced around the room raising the roof during a one-man parade for his trifecta victory.

Just when this dimpled lad thought the fun was over, the green-eyed nipper put together another racetrack with two separate starting gates with a loop in between. It was going to be a battle against wills as two diecast model cars would shoot up the spiral track on a path for a head-on collision course.

With eyes as big as saucers, my jaw dropped while looking at my fellow conspirator and asked if it was wise to subject our Hot Wheels cars to such punishment. The wide-eyed little bugger assured me it was perfectly fine; and even stated that he and his little brother did it all the time.

But then my heart sank when I watched as my new buddy’s vehicle blew completely asunder with parts flying in all directions. I frantically tried to put the clunker back together; but it was no use. It was only good for parts as it waited for the car crusher in the junkyard.

The black-haired young nipper didn’t seem to be phased by the ruined model car. He had many more at his disposal; and we went back to flinging Hot Wheels from one track to another for the remainder of the afternoon.

Mark S. Price is a former city government/county education reporter for The Sampson Independent. He currently resides in Clinton. If you’re interested in reading the extended version of this story in his novel titled, “Little Church at the Top of the Hill,” just type the title into the Facebook search engine and scroll down to Chapter 26, Behind the Wheel at Rockingham.