Go-Cart Memories

Every boy deserves to have an uncle who’s bigger than life. An uncle who rides wheelies on motorcycles. An uncle who drives a racecar and has a room full of trophies to prove it. An uncle who can build anything. An uncle who dreams big and makes those dreams come true.

For me that was Uncle Van Ray. Uncle Van Ray is my mother’s younger brother and he did all those things and more. He lived near my grandparents so going to see them meant going to see him. A fact that made the almost 15 hour drive from El Paso to Livingston (northeast of Houston) a little bit easier for a young boy to handle.

It was always fun to discover the latest incredible invention or project Uncle Van Ray was working on. In many ways it was like having Caractacus Potts, the dad from Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang, for an uncle. Except that Uncle Van Ray’s inventions worked.

Some of the larger-than-life things I remember Uncle Van Ray building are: a racecar, a jeep, countless deer hunting stands, both battery and solar powered deer feeders, remote control racecars (I mean he designed and built the whole car), a racetrack for driving the remote control cars on and of course my go-cart.

I was in about the fifth grade when Uncle Van Ray invited me to come to his house and build a go-cart. For me, this was a dream come true. Not only did I get to spend a couple of weeks with this man whose life and abilities seemed magical to me, but I got to work right along side him and bring home a go-cart. It was a win, win, win situation.

I had always been in awe of, as well as a little afraid of, Uncle Van Ray’s shop. To a wide-eyed, young, impressionable boy with a love of anything mechanical, it’s metal walls and massive awnings only added mystery to it’s already haunted castle appearance.

Before this invitation, I had only managed to sneak the occasional glimpse into this, the Disney World of workshops. This time, my trip to the Mechanical Magic Kingdom would be much more than a few stolen glances as the massive doors slid closed, I would be working side by side with Walt himself. I was more than just a spectator, I was in the game.

Inside his workshop, there were more power tools than I had ever dreamed of before. Along with a huge assortment of toolboxes, workbenches, and every sort of mechanical “do-dad” you could imagine hanging on the walls. The main room housed several different sizes and kinds of floor saws, drill presses, a metal lathe, a welder, a cutting torch, and a couple of machines I had never heard of.

The back room had my uncle’s collection of wood and metal salvaged from who knows where that he used to create his incredible inventions. At different times throughout the go-cart building adventure, Uncle Van Ray would disappear into the back room and emerge with an odd assortment of metal pieces that he would craft into some specialized element for one of the go-cart’s intricate parts.

I arrived to find the basic frame of the go-cart already welded together. The raw, tarnished metal lay flat on the floor and we got to work measuring and marking the various pieces that we needed.

During the day, while Uncle Van Ray was at work, my grandfather and I would fish, run errands and organize the materials for the evenings visit to the go-cart factory. We didn’t do much, if any, of the work until Uncle Van Ray got home.

I don’t remember there being any kind of blueprints or plans for the go-cart, but I’m sure there were. Even if my uncle only had them in his head, which I doubt, I can only imagine how detailed they must have been.

This was the 1970’s. The only go-carts my friends or I had ever seen were the ones with a 3-horse power engine and six-inch diameter lawn mower wheels. While they looked fun, they were nothing compared to the monster go-cart we built.

It was huge. It had a chrome steering wheel with black cushioned handgrips, a roll bar, a 5-horse power engine, and 13-inch diameter off-road tires. We painted it metallic blue and it looked more like a miniature racecar than a go-cart.

Time and a head injury have erased many of my memories of those days, but I’ll never forget my first ride on that go-cart. Uncle Van Ray pushed me out of the workshop onto the awning-covered carport and the engine roared to life with only a single pull. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. I hit the gas and made a 300-yard blurry blue loop around my grandfather’s house and back up to the workshop.

After I got back we cleaned up the workshop, but I couldn’t get my mind or my eyes off my new toy. After what felt like a lifetime, but was really only about five minutes, Uncle Van Ray told me I’d better go make sure she was still running right. For the next two days that go-cart only stopped if it got dark, or I really had to go to the bathroom.

I had never spent that much one-on-one time with Uncle Van Ray before this go-cart adventure and I really never have since. I’m not sure that Uncle Van Ray was prepared for the number of questions I had about everything. And I had a million. But Uncle Van Ray took the time to make his nephew’s dreams come true and, possibly unknowingly, sparked a kind of mechanical "Do-it-your-selfism" in the life of a young boy.

He taught me how to see a completed project from the beginning and then build what you see, a skill I would pull off the shelf and use countless times throughout my life.

I like to believe I taught him a thing or two about relating to a young boy, a skill he would pull off the shelf and use years later when his grandsons was born. At least that’s what I like to believe.

I still have that go-cart, although it has gone to live with my cousin and his two boys down on their few acres near Waco. I’m sure Blue loves his new foster family and I have an open invitation to come ride whenever I want.

Just like in the old days, I look forward to driving at full throttle until I run out of gas, or really have to go to the bathroom, whichever comes first. Maybe I’ll do just that next summer.

Thanks Uncle Van Ray for being wild, being crazy, and being creative. But most of all, thanks for making a difference in the life of your young nephew.