Big Men on Their Tiny Tractors

There is no money to be won here. "We race for trophies and bragging rights," says Mowron, real name Tim Robison. But even the trophies often come at a price. During practice I take a hay bath-the term for crashing into hay bales that line the track. The helmet and protective clothing limit the damage to little more than two grapefruit-size welts. The threat of more serious accidents, however, has led the Outdoor Power Equipment Institute to speak out against a sport that, you would think, brings a certain cache to a rather pokey locomotion. "Lawn mowers were manufactured to cut grass," says OPEI President Bill Harley in an official statement on its Web site. "They are not racecars."


Maybe not, but they're damn close. I lead the pack through the first half of the 10-lap race, hunching over my steering wheel as I skid on two wheels through each turn. I drop back two positions during lap six, but hang on to cross the finish line in third. Powell runs out to give me a high five. "Watch out or you'll get hooked," he jokes. Too late: This baby won me over on the first lap.