The year I got a go-cart. I was around 11. My dog immediately bit all the tires except for the one near the motor. He could pick up the front of the go-cart with me in it, and shake it. I had three flat tires in 5 minutes. There's a picture of me somewhere driving around on the go-cart carrying a bat or a golf club. I had to poke the dog to keep him from biting my tires.

Then I proceeded to tear ass around the woods for the next....4 years? At least. I eventually had to strip that thing down to the chassis and repaint it. Replaced the little slipper clutch a few times, replace the fuel tank where some close racing with a friend might have caved it in and made it leak on the exhaust , then I had to replace all the tires because they were bald. I drove the bejeezus out of that poor little thing.

Memories.