He was planning on taking home a few awards once the night was through, and his Big Brother, Zack Bearden, was there to see the car in action.

Nash had been working on his derby car in a meticulous fashion. He spent several hours tinkering and painting his car before the race. At the end of several races, Nash realized that the car was nowhere near as fast as it appeared.

Before the derby car, Bearden and Nash used their time together to work on several other projects.

“He likes crafty stuff,” said Bearden. “He likes building things and seeing the final product. We’ve created a set of wood blocks for his little sisters. We do a lot of turning nothing into something-type of things.”

The Big Brother and Little Brother duo also created an end table for Nash’s mother, and when they’re not working on a project they focus their attention on video games or throwing the football around.

“He’s a positive kid and he’s helpful around the house with his brothers and sisters,” said Bearden. “He doesn’t complain or whine about certain situations. It seems each time we finish a project he’s learning what it takes to get to that end result.”

Nash’s end result at the derby race wasn’t what he had planned. His car wasn’t able to win a race and it looked as if he would return home empty-handed.

A week after the race Nash and Big Brother Bearden attended the awards ceremony. A week prior Nash’s vehicle did not win a single race, but Nash walked away that night with the “Best Overall Car” award.

“When they called his name he was pretty ecstatic. It was fun getting to see him win in the end. I think he was more excited having the best overall car than anything,” said Bearden.

First Published in Reporter News – Your Abilene Online

 
I told myself I wasn’t going to be one of those dads. You know the type. The guys who will stop at nothing to make sure their kid wins the big game, or has the coolest project at the science fair.

But most of that went out the window when my son lost one of the regulation axles needed for the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby.

While searching the internet for official axles, I stumbled upon a high-tech pinewood derby replacement part and customization industry that would have been unimaginable 40 years ago when I was a kid. They have everything you need to make your car go fast – from pre-polished axles to de-burred wheels to a magic substance called “tube-o-lube”. This is the special dry graphite lubricant all the other dads had been talking about – the only type of axle lubricant allowed under Boy Scout rules.

By the time I hit the “Buy Now” button I had spent about $20 – on axles, lubricant, and the all-important lead weights. Pinewood Derby cars can be no heavier than 5 ounces – and ideally should hit that number right on the nose to maximize potential energy at the top of the track.

As is the case with most fathers of seven-year-old scouts, I ended up doing most of the work on the car. But the design was all his, and, ultimately, it was that cool design which got us to the finish line first.

That and the tube-o-lube!

Originally posted by Greg Gillette at
www.cnhillsborough.blogspot.com

Last weekend, Bubby’s Cub Scout troop held its annual pinewood derby. All of the little boys got to build wooden cars to race at the event and Bubby was stoked to be able to combine two of his favorite activities: racing cars and using power tools.

However, at the derby, he soon noticed that one of these things was not like the others.

Bubby's Car

Bubby’s car, which Big A helped with, but allowed Bubby to take the lead on design/appearance, etc…

The other cars.

Bubby and Big A were surprised to find out that the other kids hired professional car designers to build their derby cars. Actually, we’re pretty sure most of the kids helped their parents build their cars and not the other way around.

Bubby’s car, although not the nicest or shiniest and definitely not shaped like a train or a fish, won the first few heats, but then got eclipsed by some faster models. And Bubby, quite embarassed and deeply disappointed that his car didn’t look as cool as the others at the derby, managed to hold his tears in until they got back to the car where he broke down. He was more upset that his design and paint job paled in comparison than how fast or slow his car was.

I wasn’t sure how to handle this one (and actually, I didn’t have to handle it right away… I was living it up at our church’s women’s retreat and didn’t find out about it until later that night). The week before the derby, Big A gave Bubby several opportunities to repaint his car and make it a little neater. But Bubby felt it was good enough. On the other hand, even if Bubby did his absolute best and worked hours to make it perfect, he never would have achieved what the others did. Because he’s not 30 years old. And he’s not a wood carver.

So when I got home, after Big A had already diffused the situation with Pizza Hut, a trip to the park and a game of kickball, I tried to reassure Bubby that I’m proud of what HE accomplished, and that next year, he can let Big A do most of the work.

(I feel like I just encouraged my son to cheat?)

Maybe there’s some unspoken rule of pinewood derby that the parents must take over so the cars will be fast, shiny and super creative, but we never got the memo. And while Bubby could have done more on his car, he couldn’t have done that much more.

Like I said, I’m sure there’s a lesson here somewhere, but I’m still trying to figure it out. Hopefully I can do that before the big race next year.

And if you’re thinking, “man, she’s just being a sore loser like her son was,” you may be right about that.

Just so you know.

This story was originally posted by Kristy K at www.kristyblogs.com

Visit the Derby Monkey Garage

My apologies for the hypey headline… but I just couldn’t help myself.

I have a little “Aspie Heroes” sidebar on this blog. And it should include my son, NJ.

This past weekend, he took 1st place among dozens of Cub Scouts competing in the Osceola District Pinewood Derby.

For anyone who doesn’t know… The Pinewood Derby is an annual event sanctioned by the Boy Scouts of America. The Cub Scouts participate by crafting their own homemade wooden cars and racing them down a gravity-fed track.

Each heat involved four race cars. And they keep racing until a champion emerges.

Before I get to what happened this weekend, and last weekend… let me give you some background.

I was a Cub Scout myself. And I remember my Pinewood Derby experience like it was yesterday. For whatever reason, I crafted my car almost entirely by myself. The BSA gives you a kit that includes a square block of pinewood, about 7 inches long with grooves for axles. You get four nails for axles. And you get four plastic wheels. Other than that, you can do whatever you want within the rules to make your car the fastest.

I worked hard on my car. And then I went to the derby all excited. And my car came in last two races in a row and was summarily eliminated. In fact, it didn’t even make it all the way down the track – either time!

For a seven-year-old, it was totally disappointing. And then I learned that like ALL the other boys there were using graphite to lubricate their wheels. I kind of knew what graphite was – the stuff in pencils? But I had no idea what this had to do with anything viz race cars.

As it turned out, the other boys had worked on their cars with help from their dads. This is an acceptable – and encouraged – arrangement. My dad preferred for me to do all the work myself, to build character I suppose.

But the sting stayed with me for, oh, about 33 years.

Until this year…

Now. I know you’re not supposed to live through your kids. I know you’re not supposed to carry stuff around with you. And I’m here to say: that’s not what I’m about to describe.

Instead, NJ and I agreed to work hand-in-hand on this project.

He would have to be involved in EVERY step of making the car. Designing. Cutting out the body shape. Sanding. Etc.

First thing we did was have NJ sit down with a big piece of blank paper and design his car. He had been thinking about it. “We’re going to make it look like a skateboard,” he said. I taught him that you need the side view… the front view… the top view… So he drew the different views of the design.

And he even drew the design details – the paint scheme, etc. I mean, we’re talking Frank Lloyd Wright here people!

But the plans were good. And we used them to cut out NJ’s car body.

While I did let him practice using the electric jigsaw on a piece of wood for a minute, I did the primary cutting of the body. But then I turned him loose with the electric finishing sander to shape and smooth the body. He was REALLY good with the sander.

Next we polished the axles. We polished the wheel hubs. NJ painted the car with his mother while I was away on business.

The next morning, we went to the Pack 308 Pinewood Derby. And lo and behold… NJ won every single race!

He took first place, and was rewarded with a nice big trophy. They had Olympics-style music playing. The spotlight was on him and the other top-3 finishers. I mean, it was a big event. There were hundreds of people in attendance. NJ literally skipped away from the racetrack with a smile on his face.

And I couldn’t help but feel that a big circle had been closed. I got the chance to give NJ the Pinewood Derby experience I never had… and it played out beyond our wildest dreams… beyond anything I could have planned or imagined.

It was, in short, a God thing. And so is NJ.

Posted by Jay Aspie at http://aspiepride.blogspot.com/ at 9:30 AM

She said that there were a few dads  that finished 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd every year.  They consistently boasted and bragged for all to see… strutting around the gym floor like roosters.  She once overheard one of the boys say that his dad uses oil on his car.  Only graphite was legal.

She wanted to, at the very least, help her son finish in the top three this year but knew she would need some help.  She bought the Inferno EX kit and I gave her a few basic tips over the phone and wished them luck.  Her and her son built the car themselves… most of all… it was completely legal. 

A few days ago, she calls and is ecstatic.  They had just finished their Pinewood Derby races.  Her son won every heat and finished first overall… bringing home the biggest trophy of the derby.  She said her son won convincingly and left a lot upset dads behind.  The dads inspected the car and grumbled under their breaths… showing clear signs of poor sportsmanship.  She was so happy.

She talked about the entire process from building the car to check-in and through each race.  Then she said something that really caught my attention.  She said she was so nervous before the race because she wasn’t sure what holes to put the graphite in.  So I just had to ask… “which holes did you put it in?”  She said she put the graphite in the holes on the body where the axles go in.  I asked her… “did you put any graphite in the holes on the wheels where the axles go through?”  She said that she put no graphite on the wheels.  I asked… “are you serious?”… “do you mean to tell me that your son won every race with no graphite on the wheels?”  She said… “yes, and by a whole lot.”

I am going to share one of the most powerful mindset you need for success but first I want to tell you a story. My two boys and I are actively involved in Cub Scouting. Yesterday was the annual Pinewood Derby race. For those I you might not be familiar with the Pinewood Derby it is basically a toy car race.

Each boy receives a block of wood, 4 nails that are the axles and 4 tires. They then carve and shape the wood to look like a car and mount the wheels. Of course just like anything in life it gets pretty competitive so we ended up spending hours polishing the axles, painting the car and basically making it as fast as possible. So the day of the race my two boys were nervous with excitement and anticipation.

Each boy gets to race four times. It was interesting to watch their emotions as the races progressed. My oldest son came in third place on the first to races. He was getting upset because my other son had come in second in both of his races. Then in his third race my oldest son came in first! Oh boy, his emotions instantly swung the other direction and he was on top of the world.

I found it so interesting how their emotional state could swing so dramatically from the success or failure of their last task. This same situation seems to affect many adults as well as they begin to build their MLM businesses. The mark of a true entrepreneur is that they do not become so emotionally involved it each event. They look at each success or failure as a learning experience.

When you get to a point in your own mind that each activity is not judged as a success or failure but rather just one point in a journey to success, life becomes so much more fun.

The problem is that most of the ways we are taught to build our MLM businesses simply don’t allow us to reach this point. From my experience it really takes two things to happen in your business before you can get your mind around this. You have to place yourself in a position of lead abundance. If you have more leads than you can physically contact you don’t get as concerned over every rejection.

But you also must put yourself in a positive cash flow position. You simply cannot continue to lose money each and every month and have the mindset you must have to succeed. If you do not have positive cash flow you don’t have a business you have a hobby. This is the game I play everyday, and it rocks! So right now make the decision to not ride the emotional roller coaster of each race as my son did. Instead get started today building a real business where emotions don’t have to rule your life.

To find out more, be sure and visit the links in the resource box below.

by Paul Shirley

As a pre-teen growing up in a mostly-rural section of a mostly-rural state, my life was dominated by activities the rest of humanity now view as disgustingly quaint. I played Little League. I was in 4-H. And I was a Cub Scout.

Scouting had few attractive aspects. Meetings were never fun – I remember being terrified that I would screw up the flag presentation that kicked off the proceedings each week. And I never could figure out why we were so worried about snakebites; our meetings were in the basement of a Methodist church.

Outings were even less pleasant, especially because they usually involved fund-raising, in the form of bowling pledges and popcorn sales.

But there were occasional highlights. One of them was the Pinewood Derby.

For the uninitiated, the Pinewood Derby is a race among crafted and painted wooden cars of the five-ounce variety. Scouts are given identical kits that include a plain block of pine – pre-modified only by grooves for the nails that serve as axles – and four unattached tiny plastic wheels. In theory, an attractive and speedy wooden vehicle will be hewn from these modest beginnings.

hot dog pinewood derby

Winning is, of course, not the point of the Pinewood Derby. The point of the Pinewood Derby is the father-son (or mother-son, in more modern Packs) interaction: the learning of woodworking, of paint-application, and most important, of conflict resolution, after the son in question decides his car won’t be complete without an olive-green plastic army man (mortar included) glued to the top.

My entries into the Pinewood Derby were always respectable, both in form and function. And fittingly, their evolution reflected my own. As a new Cub Scout (I believe the term was “Bobcat”), my car was little more than a painted wedge. By my final year, my car had taken on exotic qualities – headlights made from push pins, paint that was creatively weathered, and half-ounce slugs of lead melted into the car’s base.

But thankfully, my cars were never too good. They never looked too well-made, because my father exercised restraint as we worked on my car. That is: He actually let me do some of the work, even though, I’m sure, he wanted to push me to the ground so he could take over the carpentry. The urge toward violence is inherent to woodworking with an 8-12 year-old.

Not all of my fellow Scouts were so lucky. I didn’t realize it at the time, but one could have divined much from those Pinewood Derby cars. Predicted the future, even.

The beginning of every Pinewood Derby was marked by a weigh-in. As my fellow Scouts and I waited in line by the spring scale, we watched nervously as cars that had been painstakingly crafted over the previous 3 weeks were torn to shreds in an effort to make weight. Quarters that had been painted into the décor were torn off. Washers were glued on. With the aid of the sawblade of a Swiss Army Knife, hatchbacks were made into El Caminos.

Once the first hurdle was cleared, a respite: every car was displayed in the north end of the elementary school gym, so participants could ogle the efforts of their fellow Scouts.

Mothers would exclaim at the creative genius of the Oscar Meyer Weiner Dog Car, while boys would snicker at the same craft, all thinking the same thing: “At least I won’t have to worry about that one beating me.” We may have been young, but we were not without at least a rudimentary grasp of the concept of “drag”.

Soon, we’d find seats on the wooden bleachers of the hosting elementary school and watch the proceedings. We were nervous about how our cars would do, and hoped our weeks of effort would be proven worthwhile. Our nerves bundled tightly, we watched as some of our cars won and some of our cars lost. That winning and losing had more to do with freakish chance and fortuitous lane assignments than it did with wind resistance, potential energy, and graphite-application. There’s only so much you can do to make a quarter-pound piece of wood travel faster down a 25-foot track.

Meanwhile, there was another form of winning and losing going on.

Before his race, each boy would walk to the display table, pick up his car, and take it to the track that was placed prominently at half-court of the too-short gym where, on Tuesdays and Fridays during the winter, JV basketball games would be contested.

That moment – when the boys picked up their cars – was when, if we’d been paying attention, we could have seen the future.

There’s one now: He’s eight, and his car looks like it was designed by a chassis engineer at Lamborghini. The paint fades gradually, exquisitely, from blue to red, in honor of his favorite collegiate sports team, the Kansas Jayhawks. The curves on his car’s body are smooth, sanded as they’ve been by a Drimel tool and a piece of oil cloth.

All is well in the world of boyhood activities, until we in the audience realize the meaning of the perfection we’re seeing. This eight year old’s fate is sealed: he’s got overbearing parents. His future holds a trip to the University of Kansas, the start of a curriculum in pre-law (because that’s what his dad did), and, eventually, thirty years of the wrong job, a bad marriage and, if he’s lucky, a heart attack at 55.

All because his parents couldn’t let him make his own mistakes. His Pinewood Derby car is so perfect that, even if it wins, it loses.

Wait. There’s another one. He’s eleven. His eyes shift under hooded lids as he sheepishly picks up his car which, unlike what his alcoholic father said, does not look like everyone else’s. The father had made his assured statement 18 hours before the Derby, when his wife had finally badgered him into helping his son with his car. Tired from the previous night, most of which had been spent shooting pool at the Oasis Bar & Grill, he’d sighed, gruffly, and reluctantly agreed to help.

The two had retired to the garage, where the father cleared off a square foot of space on the work bench, which was really a door spanning a broken-down stove and a remarkably pristine sawhorse. After a futile search for the right tools, several more heavy sighs, and twenty minutes of hopeful silence on the part of the son, a light bulb had gone off in the father’s head.

Which is why we’re watching an eleven year old boy trudge to the head of the track carrying a car that is exactly the same shape as it came out of the box. The only differences: the wheels are attached (although imperfectly) and its body is now a dark shade of brown, the same brown, incidentally, as the garage door that is already peeling after the single coat it got last fall.

The two boys aren’t alone. There are other outliers on the Pinewood Derby bell curve. But unlike the outliers on any IQ graph, this one has failures on both ends.

Of course, these boys aren’t failures yet. Right now, they’re just…boys. They’ll try mightily to overcome their pasts and their over- or under-bearing parents. And some of them will.

But the others, including Eight – he of the wooden masterpiece – and Eleven – he of the wooden disaster – will always struggle. They won’t have a hard time because of the Pinewood Derby; the race is merely a manifestation of a greater tragedy.

The rest of us were luckier. The mediocrity of our cars was a sign that our parents had passed another test. Other tests had been administered at the drop-off for kindergarten, at the playground on the weekend, and in the gym at the YMCA. Our parents had passed in varied ways. Those who had resisted the urge to do too much hadn’t clung too long, hadn’t watched too intently, or hadn’t coached from the sidelines. And those that had resisted doing too little had stayed till the bell, had watched an extra trip down the slide, or had decided, at the last minute, not to let their child wear jeans to the first day of basketball practice.

None of these “passes” meant that we had won. Not yet. Our parents had other tests waiting for them. And we had tests of our own, waiting for us.

Just like the playground or the first day of school, the Pinewood Derby didn’t declare winners. Sure, medals were awarded and backslaps were given, but their recipients weren’t necessarily victors. We didn’t know it at the time, but the only definitive grades the Pinewood Derby gave out were failing ones. The only real predictions that were made were of the ominous variety.

I am not a parent. Not yet, maybe not ever. (Remember the mention of Little League? I took a lot of groundballs off the crotch.) If my turn on the parenting merry-go-round ever comes, I hope that I’ll be wise enough to let my children understand that, sometimes, you can win by losing.

Especially at the Pinewood Derby.

Article Courtesy of Paul Shirley

at http://www.flipcollective.com/paul-shirley/

Utilizing state of the art computer and laser technology, Lester Racing has created many Pinewood Derby car designs that are sure to get comments and plenty of stares.  These super cool body styles are becoming extremely popular.

Using this technology to create unique designs not only makes for some nice looking cars, but they are also winning designs!  Lester Racing Laser Cut wooden bodies are perfect for use in BSA Pinewood Derby, PineCar, and AWANA races.  Their bodies come cut and ready for you to create a racing masterpiece.

They also offer several other items that should be in every Pinewood Derby builder’s parts and tool boxes including Center Rail Guide Fins, Pinewood Derby Car Paint Jigs, weight flares and fenders.

Take a look at the Derby Monkey exclusive body designs by Lester Racing… as well as other parts and accessories designed and built by Andy Lester.  Click Here

Visit Lester Racing Click Here

Derby Monkey Exclusive Bodies by Lester Racing

Winning isn’t everything — it’s the only thing.

While he’s always been physically fit, he’s not an imposing guy, and certainly isn’t competitive. He seemed to feel no shame that I was a monumentally sucky athlete growing up, and never dwelled on winning and losing. On the plus side: I had a really nice dad. On the minus side: most of my friends’ dads were much bigger badasses.

Except when it came to the Pinewood Derby.

My quasi-hippie parents were never big on military order. Just a few years after the end of the Vietnam War, I can only imagine what they thought of my decision to join the Cub Scouts. But for my father, who has been known to read biographies about mathematicians in his spare time, the Pinewood Derby was something different.

I have no idea how they run the Pinewood Derby now. I’m sure the overprotective fun police have found a way to ruin it, with all the cars looking exactly the same or every race ending in a tie. But in 1979 at Washington Elementary School in Burlingame, the Pinewood Derby was the Super Bowl, Oscars and the All-Valley Karate Championships rolled into one. I was the third-smallest kid in my class, and a Top 3 finish in the Derby would all but ensure that even the fourth graders wouldn’t be kicking my ass for the rest of the year.

The rules were fairly simple: The Cub Scout people gave everyone a block of wood to work with and four wheels, and required that we keep the weight under five ounces. Cars raced in a straight line down a long sloped track, with some kind of double-elimination format that still makes no sense to me.

It wasn’t impressive — until you looked under the hood.

While all the other kids were focusing on fancy paint jobs, working with my dad was like having both a NASCAR pit crew and Galileo on my side. He had a garage full of tools and the theories of every great physicist from the past millennium at his disposal. I suspect most Pinewood Derby participants were working with a whittling knife and paint and maybe some sandpaper. My father started out with a hacksaw, a high-powered sander, a soldering iron, a glue gun, at least three different chisels, rubber cement and several small chunks of metal and lead.

I don’t remember everything he did to tune that car, but I know he started out by using a saw to move the axle higher and get the wheel base lower to the ground. He also shaved the wheels slightly so there would be less area touching the track and sanded them rough for better traction. Most impressively, he hollowed out the bottom just in front of the back axle and glued in a chunk of lead, so all the weight would be at the bottom rear part of the car.

The controversial lead undercarriage.

It was the Pinewood Derby equivalent of Seabiscuit. From a distance the car didn’t look impressive, and it was smaller than its competitors. Other people’s dads painted their cars candy apple red with flames on the sides — “Grease” was in theaters, after all — and ours was a simple blue with a boring red stripe. But man, could that little f—er fly down the track. It was like a car from a Bruce Springsteen song. We must have raced it 18 times that night, and not only did it not lose, I don’t think we won a race by anything less than two lengths. If I was 18 years old instead of 8, and this was a real car instead of a 5-ounce chunk of wood (and rubber cement, and lead …), my Pinewood Derby car would have definitely gotten me laid.

It was the only first place trophy I would receive during my first 15 years on the planet, and to be honest it was more than I needed. It probably wasn’t quite as impressive, but in my distant memory, the awards ceremony was almost exactly like this.

This is what a kid who loves his dad looks like.

This story ends, unfortunately, with somewhat of an anti-climax. We went on to the regionals in Millbrae, where the track was built differently, and our car’s raised wheels didn’t make contact with the floor. We made some quick adjustments, but a few meddling competitors — I suspect it was a young Mark Fainaru-Wada and his dad — started questioning some of the performance-enhancing qualities of the car. We finished near the bottom of the pack, and didn’t advance further.

Whatever. Nobody was going to steal our joy. My goal is to give my sons one moment during their upbringing that’s the equivalent of the Pinewood Derby day that my dad provided. Then I’ll know that I did my job.

Article Courtesy of Peter Hartlaub

Bluegrass Nationals Open Pinewood Derby Race

Place: “The Center”
2292 South Highway 27
Somerset, Kentucky 42501

Date: July 24th & 25th, 2009

Time: Registration/tech-in from 3pm-10:30pm Friday Night. All cars must be inspected Friday, there will be no inspection/tech-in Saturday morning. Racing will start Saturday morning at 9am sharp !! Please be in line as early as you can Friday for inspection !!
Cost: $15 per car entered

Awards: Trophies will be awarded for 1st-3rd place in each Division. Pure Stock, Limited, Stock and Modified Divisions will be divided in adult/youth (17& under). Pro-Stock, Pro-Modified, Extreme Pro-Modified and Hot Rod 66 will not be divided into youth/adult.

This will be a PWDRacing Sanctioned Event for the purpose of rules/divisions ONLY !! No points/records will be awarded.

Cars will/must be inspected prior to being raced. All decisions by the tech-in/inspection team are final !! Cars can/will be re-assigned to a different division if they are found not to qualify for the division they are being entered.

All money will be due after your car(s) have been through and passed inspection.

Track: 42ft 6 Lane Best Track with a Micro-Wizard K-3 Timer

For more information click here