I was only nine years old when I heard "pull over kid." That's right, I was asked to pull over by a policeman in a cruiser. No, I didn't steal my Dad's car, if that's what you are thinking. My odyssey began a few weeks earlier, when my oldest brother, Bob, came into possession of four soap box wheels with axles. Enlisting the help of my middle brother, Jack, they began scrounging up all the necessary parts to build their own soapbox racer: Boy's Life, (it had the blue prints), paint, wood, wire and an old steering wheel plus other assorted parts. Sometime during construction they realized their creation was not working out as they had planned. That's where I came into the equation. I was chosen to be their driver (later I realized I was more like their test dummy.) A course it didn't take much persuasion on their part. I was more than eager to pilot their contraption.

The day finally arrived for my maiden trip down the steep alley near our house. To make the car faster, my brothers found an old clothes line pole that would be used to give me a big running push. As I got into the car, Bob offered me his old football helmet, adding "just to be on the safe side if something should happen."

With pole in hand, I was launched down the alley at a breakneck speed. All was going as planned until I got near the curve at the end of the alley and suddenly it dawned on me, - I was going too fast to make the curve successfully and to top it off, I had no way of stopping. In all of my brother's wisdom, they had forgotten to install BRAKES! Having no way out of my fast approaching predicament, I hit a rock that catapulted the front part of the car right through the middle of a split-rail fence.

And as for me - I was lucky the steering wheel had stopped me from striking the fence. My brothers raced down the alley to happily find both the car and their little brother no worse for wear. Then Jack offered up a bit of wisdom saying "maybe we should have had brakes." "Now he thinks of it."

After a few more successful trial runs down the alley, - this time with a hand brake, - my brothers concocted a new soapbox challenge. They envisioned my racing career taking on a steeper hill. The only problem: - the hill was a long winding street located a few blocks from our house. It sounded like a cool idea to me. What could possible go wrong?

After tinkering with the car, my pit crew (my brothers and now Ron one of their friends) tied a rope to the front of the soapbox car and began hauling it to the crest of the hill. Ron, our newest crew member, was to be stationed at a stop sign to signal me if it was all-clear to run it.

Arriving at the top, they hurriedly gave the car a final inspection; after which, Bob handed me my trusty helmet, which I had painted a fancy bright red. This time they didn't need to give me much of a send off (push). The hill would get me up to speed quiet quickly. All was going as planned. As I was blazing down the street, Ron flashed the go-ahead signal, and I blew right through the stop sign. No problems so far, I was having a blast. But my luck ran out when I heard a loud siren followed by a shout of "Hey Kid Pull Over!"

It had to be the police - and it was! Again I heard "Pull Over!" What did he think I was driving, a car? I tried my handbrake but, like in a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, it broke and I was left holding the lever in my hand. I had no choice but to let gravity run its course. Eventually I slowed to a stop.

The officer got out of his cruiser and yelled "Hey kid why didn't you pull over?" That's when I showed him what was left of my handbrake.

To my surprise, he just laughed and told me when he was my age he had built a soapbox car himself. The officer then gruffly added "I should run you in." He began giving me a stern lecture, but, seeing tears welling up in my eyes; he took pity on me and said "I'll just give you a warning this time" followed by "I better never catch you doing this again." I said "I won't officer and thank you." The drama mercifully ended when his car radio sent him somewhere else. As he drove off, I looked for my brothers who had vanished without a trace. Imagine that?

After getting home, my pit crew was sitting on the front porch just howling with laughter. They composed themselves long enough to innocently yell, "Hey little brother, what happened to you?" I didn't answer as they knew darn well what had happened. I just ignored them. But, as I was hauling the racer to the back yard; I heard, "hey did the cop give you a ticket"- followed by more laughter?! I wish I had a great come-back, but, I just said "no, he just gave me a warning and by the way thanks for helping me bring the car home!" Consequently my soapbox racing odyssey was over. I thought to myself, the next great idea my brother's come up with - I'll just walk away.