Paralleling the 'bicycle years', came the 'go-cart period'. Uncle Ron, bless his heart, gave Justin an old go-cart to tool around in. I don't know that I have ever adequately thanked Ron for that lovely gift. I called it "the go-cart from Hell". It didn't matter to Justin that the governor would stick wide open. That made it go faster. It didn't matter that the clutch got so hot that it caught fire, leaving me to extinguish it with nothing more than my smoker's breath. That was "cool". The last straw came when both the governor and the clutch stuck. When I pulled the starter rope, as Justin stood watching, the riderless "cart from Hell" took off on it's own with me hanging onto the frame for dear life. After dragging me down the driveway like some kind of twisted waterpark ride without water, the cart and I finally came to rest in the drainage ditch at the end of the drive( minus a couple layers of rear tire rubber and my epidermis ). Justin advised that I should have let go, but further offered that my heroics were admirable. "Can I try it?" We retired "the cart" soon after and Justin sold it in a garage sale. This ended working out well( for him, anyway )because around this same time, one of Justin's main interests became music; and girls. But the money he made from selling the go-cart would eventually go toward a new stereo. I won't go into the whole music thing, let's just suffice it to say I truly learned to appreciate what my parents endured when I discovered how Hi-Fi stereo could transform Led Zeppelin. For the majority of his years in Madison School District, Justin lived, breathed, and slept football. He played offense at times throughout, but he truly preferred defense. There was nothing he enjoyed more than a good hit. He threw himself into a tackle like he threw himself into life.