Christmas Memories with a Tri Cat

08-31-2025

A magical holiday atmosphere filled our home.

Christmas was always a magical time in our house, filled with warmth, tradition, and sparkle. My mother took decorating seriously, starting with a live tree in the den. In its early years, this tree had older-style big, multi-colored bulbs that grew blazing hot. Like most sensible folks, we later switched to the smaller multi color lights that were not considered a dangerous fire hazard. Like most trees back then, the branches overflowed with ornaments, and we finished with shimmering layers of silver ice Icicles. Christmas Memories with a Tri Cat, however, described a gift that was too big to fit under the tree.

Elegant touches made the season brighter.

We also had a giant twelve-foot artificial all-white tree in the foyer. Its white lights and turquoise balls glowed through sheer curtains, making the house sparkle from the street. Scattered throughout were wicker baskets, called hats, holding bright, live poinsettias. Mom would overwater them every year, and we were lucky if that lasted until Christmas. Regardless, this seasonal elegance created a warmth that welcomed every guest.

A special gift in 1970 changed everything.

In 1970, at age seven, I received the ultimate Christmas surprise—a Tri-Cat three-wheeled dune buggy from Santa, courtesy of JCPenney. This metallic orange machine glittered in the sun and looked bad to the bone. This powerhouse machine was built by HPE Muskin Cement Corporation, known more for pools than bikes, but with the minibike craze in full swing, they saw the profit potential, so they switched gears, pun intended.

Riding was a thrill.

I wasted no time swapping pajamas for clothes and racing outside. With no gears, riding was easy. You started like a lawnmower, pulling the string, then cranking the throttle, and off you went. The matching metallic orange helmet made me feel unstoppable. Although the knobby tires were designed for sand and trails, my first rides were confined to our backyard.

The yard didn’t stand a chance.

Our lawn was a carefully mowed sea of green, maintained with precision by a Rainbird sprinkler system. Even the lawnmower used was a special walk-behind pull mower, and the law was only cut in a circular pattern. Within thirty minutes of riding, I had torn it up with spinning tires, leaving behind tracks that ruined years of perfection. My Tri-Cat fun had created a nightmare for my parents.

A neighbor’s field saved the day.

Luckily, our neighbor Pete owned an open field between our houses. Whether by my asking or my parents’ arrangement, the Tri-Cat soon moved there. Over time, I carved out a perfect oval dirt track, and my friend Scott and I spent endless summers riding, burning through gallons of gas.

Joy that lasted for years.

Eventually, the throttle stuck, and the engine gave out, ending an unforgettable chapter. Yet the Christmas memories of a Tri-Cat still linger. It was more than a gift; it was the freedom, adventure, and pure joy that defined my childhood Christmas.

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