Go-kart-riding teen racing for a cure

Mike and Brenda Milliken knew their son C.J. had ADHD, so they did what any reasonable parent would do and put him behind the wheel of a race car.

Half a decade later, he’s using that race car to help drive toward a cure for cancer.

His race car, really, is a go-kart. It sits in the garage of the Millikens’ home in Bellefonte, past four farms and a few pastures on a winding road blushing with fall colors, just past a few bewildered cows and signs that boast support for Penn State football.

It’s stripped down and simple but for a rules-enforced black and red-orange restrictor plate around its edge with the words “B-Town Bullet” and a giant No. 10 on the side, just inches off the ground. It’s capable of drifting at speeds close to 50 miles per hour. It’s hard to flip, but easy to wreck.

C.J. found that out quick.

“I get in the car, I’m crying, because I don’t want to do it anymore,” laughs 15-year-old C.J., describing his first race some five years ago. “They let me go, and as soon as I got on the track I stopped crying, I was bug-eyed ... I turned whenever I was supposed to ... But it was a muddy day...”

C.J. couldn’t see five feet in front of him and took a turn too hard. He crashed into the driver in front of him, caking them both in a layer of soggy Pennsylvania dirt-track.

“It was a tough learning curve, but we made it through,” laughed Brenda.

It wasn’t fun for C.J., at first. He does not like to lose, but learning to maneuver the kart took patience and perseverance.

But Mike, the lifelong racer, said he remembers seeing the exact moment things began to click for his son.

“At the beginning of last year, about the second or third race, he got out of the kart, he finished second, and he said, ‘Dad, I’m tired of losing,’” Mike said. “Now, the last race of the season, he won his first race. There was nobody even close; he just got out and left ’em.

“And then, the first three races of this year he won, and then the last six races of this year, he won. That, and the things I see him do on the track ... A lot of people talk about ‘it.’ And he’s got it.”

For C.J., the winning came when his mind found peace behind the wheel.

He quotes something he learned this year, that his dad is fond of saying, “If you let the kart be free, it goes faster. You don’t have to have a faster motor. Don’t try and fight it.”

So he didn’t.

“I like how calm racing makes me,” he said. “Like, most people think you’re out there, your heart is racing, you’re completely involved in it. But once you put the helmet on and go out there, your heart slows and makes you focus. I like how that helps ... (for my) ADHD, that’s the best thing to do.

“I don’t feel the kart underneath me when I drive. I just feel me.”

And then, the trophies began to stack up. The Millikens’ basement, which is really a racing cave of sorts piled with track memorabilia from three generations of drivers, is complete with a ceiling paneled by the flattened-out bodies of the karts and sprint cars the family has driven over the years.

There are three clusters of awards, all in separate parts of the room. The first is in the far corner, an assembly of small trophies and plaques, from C.J.’s first year or so. The second almost divides the room, and is composed of knee-high trophies that began to pour in when he started to delve into his talent. And the third takes up its own corner, right next to and on top of a hearth, and is full of waist-high triple-tiered, sparkling awards.

“I mean, you can even seen here how he’s gotten better,” said Mike, motioning to the groups of awards.

The only thing that really slowed C.J. down was when, last year, his dad hit a patch of dewy grass around a turn and slid into the wall. He broke two vertebrae, three ribs, drove his own racing trailer home and headed straight to the hospital.

C.J. saw it all happen, and it shook him.

“I was in the stands, and when it happened, all they saw was a blur,” he said, describing how he sprinted to his dad to try to take his helmet off and make sure he was OK, and got there just before the EMTs did.

“Afterward, seeing him sit in the stands (at my races) and he’s aching and sitting down ... While I was on the track, I felt like if I were to mess up, that might happen to me,” C.J. said.

There’s a memento from that day, too, sitting right next to C.J.’s stacked trophies. It’s a flat black metal wheel rim from Mike’s car, and it’s dented almost in half.

It’s a reminder for the Millikens, sitting there in front of them whenever they’re down working on the kart in that basement. Racing takes the good days, with the bad, and the family does too.

C.J., a sophomore at Bellefonte Area High School, played baseball growing up, but didn’t like it much. He told his dad he didn’t want to play anymore, and Mike, who had raced all his life like his father before him, asked his son what he wanted to do instead.

“Two weeks later a go-kart was pulling in the driveway,” laughed Mike.

“I didn’t even get a chance to blink, and suddenly it was here and ready to go,” Brenda said.

Over the past five years, the family has nailed its race-day routine, a process that sometimes begins before the sun comes up and ends when it goes down. C.J. drives, and helps with setup, breakdown and maintenance. Mike’s the experienced gearhead, and the guiding voice if C.J. has a bad run. Brenda helps with all things logistic — and, of course, she laughs, she is in charge of the snacks.

“It’s pretty busy,” Brenda said. “When we get there, it sounds a little strange but we do have a routine. Everybody has their own job and by now, they know what it is ... I think all the race teams are like that, especially with the kids. Almost everybody up there is family-oriented. The kids do it, the adults do it. It’s a racing family.”

That’s the best part, for C.J. The togetherness of it all. The family.

“I feel like I’m part of a little trilogy, from my grandfather to my father to me,” he said.

“ I really appreciate how much my family has actually been supportive of it over the years. In fact, we’ve gotten other families that think we’re crazy! Like, the school actually thought we were crazy that they’d let me (race).

“But then, they started to realize that we were doing it as a family. And not many people do things like that anymore. We do something all together, and I wouldn’t have that any other way.”

The familial dynamic he’s grown to love has also helped inspire C.J. to give back.

The family has a sponsorship deal with a charity, Racing 2 Cure. The charity gives proceeds directly to families affected by cancer, to help with housing, utility bills, transportation for family members, house cleaning or yard services and all the various ugly logistics many forget come with getting a family member through the disease.

“That’s part of the reason I liked this charity so much,” said C.J. “The money goes to actual people who need help.”

On paper, because of the sponsorship agreement, 20 percent of what he raises is supposed to go to the family’s racing expenses. Instead, they give it all back to the charity, as well as the winnings he gets from each race.

C.J., not one to like to lose anything, is leading the nation in donations, with more than $1,700 raised so far (his donation page can be found here), but he has a goal of $3,000 he wants to give to Racing 2 Cure by January.

And after that comes another learning curve for the him to face.

“I used to come in after every race, and say, “I want to go faster,’ ” C.J. said.

Next year, he will.

He’s quickly approaching the gap between the 13-15 class and those above. The restrictor plate on the kart will come off. The drivers will be bigger, and many have a couple years on him, at the very least. Around him, the speed will change. He might lose one, here and there. That is, after all, the nature of racing as he knows it.

But in his kart, and in his mind, C.J. will stay on track; and outside of it will be Mike, ready to help fix problems, and Brenda, waving him on.

This story was originally published November 18, 2015 at 3:06 PM with the headline "Go-kart-riding teen racing for a cure."