Toyz for the Big Boyz Also Toyz for the Baby Boyz
"The mamas don't like me very much when they first see what I'm doing to their babies," says Louie. Louie is a big man and a powerful figure on the shop floor.
I told Louie I could not for the life of me understand why a parent would want their four or five year old flying around a racetrack on a motorcycle. Louie admitted there were times when he asks the same question. He thinks it has something to do with culture and competition and being number one but his is not to reason why. Louie's reason is to race and that's why he started Toyz for the Big Boyz http://www.toyzforthebigboyz.com
At first it's the dads that push it and then the kid comes along and develops some interest and then the dad finds out how expensive it is and the kid realizes how much hard work it is to compete. They're both ready to quit but about that time mom has become fan numero uno and will hear nothing of it and that's when mama really starts to love Louie.
Strange. Louie is a gentle man with not a vengeful bone in his body. But he has picked a really funny line of work. Louie sends four, five and six year olds sixty to seventy miles per hour around a motorcycle racetrack. Louie has the ability to tune these mini-bikes into performance machines and performance is what Louie and pee wee competitive racing is all about.
I first met Louie Peverini when he had a store in the depressed area of downtown. He wouldn't open his store until late afternoon because he had a full time job as a roofer. But Louie had a dream and his dream was to race winners. The races are competitive, regulated and supervised. And each year they get more popular.
Louie is reluctant to give away his trade secrets but it comes with many years of experience. He looks at the track, rider and bike and tunes the bike to get optimal performance. Sounds easy but it takes hundreds of races to get really good.
I keep thinking, why would a five year old want to train and compete? By the time they are fourth graders they have five years of racing competition under their still small belt. Makes Little League look well, little league.
So it's Louie's job to make the bike jump. It's part science but like the nitro dragsters the final touch comes down to a guy with a screwdriver listening to the motor. That guy is Louie. Louie becomes ma and pa's best friend. Louie can make the bike sing. Louie can make the bike sing when Junior rides it. Louie is Picasso with a screwdriver.
Ma and pa do the rest. Pa takes a big gulp when he sees 30 or 40 G's a year to enter races competitively. To really win may take three or four times that amount. Where is protective mother during all this nonsense?
Dear Old Mom has become Junior's spiritual advisor. Her pre-race advice is 'nuke 'em.' Thanks mom for being concerned about my health and welfare since I am only five and have no real business going 65 miles per hour on a motorcycle racetrack.
Then there's Junior. At first it was fun but with better competition it got downright nasty. Junior really didn't have the stomach for it but ma thought it might help him grow a bit of backbone. So be it. As long as junior doesn't break his backbone. Check any emergency room outside a dirt bike raceway and you'll find doctors waiting to treat your broken bones. It's big business. Broken bones? Who cares? It comes with the territory. If you're scared you can go play dolls.
All right. The comment about dolls was uncalled for. I can't say it's totally sexist because some little boys do play with dolls. But many more little boys and bigger boys and real big boys play with motorcycles. Such is life. Young Junior can become a professional motorcycle racer before he can read. What does that say about our culture, priorities and values?
If Junior doesn't hit the big time and get the big sponsorships? Oh Well… That's probably all right with Junior. Maybe he would rather play with dolls than broken legs…and grow up to be a lawyer or CEO and walk straight.
That's OK. But he'll always remember that day as a five year old when Louie tuned his bike and nobody, but nobody could beat him.
