April 13, 1999 — “Did he sign a release?” yelled Freda Elliot as I began to mount her son’s riding lawn mower this past Sunday.
Yes. I signed a release. Everybody at the lawn mower racing track on Funny Farm Road in Cleveland must sign a release.
“I don’t mean to be an old stinker,” said the 62-year-old Freda, mother of Russell Edge, who co-founded the North Georgia Lawn Mower Racing Association last year. “But we’ve got a lot riding on this. A lot of liability.”
Freda has a right to be concerned. She owns the 30-acre plot of land on which the track — home of the NGLMRA — sits. And, while fooling around on the track with Russell last year, she experienced first hand just how powerful these souped-up mowers can be.
“It was November the 29th on this turn right here,” remembered Freda as she walked me along the short, curvy dirt and grass course. “I was doing so good. I was staying way ahead of him and he tried to pass me on this turn. I said I ain’t going to let him do it. And I cut it too close.”
Freda’s front wheel rode up onto the barrier. She flew off. And the mower flew on … her.
“It bounced on me three times,” said Freda. “I don’t know how it did that.”
Well, it did. And it broke Freda’s tailbone in the process. Since then, safety has been the No. 1 priority at the Funny Farm Racetrack.
Especially so on Sunday, when the track held it’s first-ever lawn mower race open to the public.
Freda’s name tag read Chief Steward, and she kept a watchful eye over the track all afternoon, ready to black flag any rule violations. To be honest, however, she would rather have been racing — but that darn tailbone keeps acting up.
“Every time I ride a lawn mower it hurts,” Freda sighed.
Now that may sound like the perfect excuse to many a lazy homeowner. But not to Freda. She truly loves to mow grass. Always has. She likes to watch the grass shoot out from under the mower. She likes to smell the freshly cut blades.
So last year when Russell, 33, who repairs lawn mowers for a living at Sears, told his mother he learned of something called lawn mower racing on the Internet …
“I thought we had died and gone to heaven,” exclaimed Freda.
Thus, after Russell talked some friends into getting involved (which wasn’t too difficult), the North Georgia Lawn Mower Racing Association was born.
And these aren’t your daddy’s John Deeres, either. That became clear to me when Russell started up the engine of his Red Rider, the mower I was about to take for a test spin. Imagine the roar of a miniature NASCAR car.
“It takes a while to get the hang of it,” warned Russell as he handed me his helmet. “It takes a while to learn how to throw your weight into the turns. I end up not even sitting in the seat during the race.”
Helmet on. Kill switch attached to my belt loop. I was ready.
“Just don’t wreck it,” pleaded Russell. “Please.”
Freda’s story fresh in my mind, I wasn’t planning on going too fast anyway.
I took the turns slow, and still experienced the shakiness Russell told me about.
I opened it up a bit on the straightaway, and felt the surprising power Russell built into his machine.
I began to feel like a race-car driver, and realized why Russell is drawn to this grass roots sport.
And then I remembered that I was riding a lawn mower. And I had to laugh.
I had my fun. Now it was time for the real sod warriors to take the stage, with a surprisingly healthy crowd of about 50 there to cheer them on.
They came from all over, searching out an unmarked, one-lane dirt road in the mountains of North Georgia, wanting to see with their own eyes this odd sport they read about in the paper.
Ernie Lockhart of Cleveland was part of this crowd. The 58-year-old sat stoically in his lawn chair, prepared to pass judgement on a bunch of grown men racing lawn mowers around a dirt track.
“I’ve wasted a buck on a lot less than this,” he said, staring straight ahead, before the racing action began.
Then Freda’s husband, Chris Elliot, 46, the track’s public address announcer, introduced the racers — Russell, Paul Hughes, of Mt. Airy, and Tim Sutton and Alan Elder, of Gainesville — and dropped the green flag.
Fifteen laps and even more dirt clouds later, Alan, riding Wormburner, crossed the finish line victorious.
“It feels good,” said Elder, co-founder of the NGLMRA. “It’s not like winning at Indy or something, but it feels good.
“I think we may have something on our hands here.”
Maybe so, Alan. Maybe so.
After the race, I caught a glimpse of Ernie Lockhart driving away in his truck, back down Funny Farm Road.
And the man was laughing. I swear it.