CATSKILL, N.Y. — In the quiet and cool of a trailer littered with mechanic's tools, Bobby Cleveland slipped on his blue-and-white racing uniform over T-shirt and blue jeans discolored by sun, sweat and motor oil. 

Cleveland rocks on! Bobby Cleveland with his gussied-up mowing machine

He tossed aside the sweat-rimmed baseball cap given to him by his corporate sponsor and cradled his helmet, newly decorated with an airbrushed teddy bear, under an arm. Then he walked down the ramp and into the harsh light of a sun high over the Catskill Mountains. He paused a moment to take in the scene as he waited for the next race — his race — to begin. 

There was a constant cloud of dust over the racetrack, making it hard to see who was leading in the final laps of the current race. On a ridge overlooking the racetrack, over a hundred spectators were colorfully staked out. To the right, EMTs lolled in the shade of their ambulance. So far, there had been no accidents. 

A couple trailers over from his own, Cleveland could make out a ZZ Top beard disappearing under a white-and-black racing helmet. It was Al Bitterman out of Illinois, Cleveland's colleague, friend and, for the next 15 laps, the enemy. 

And they're off! Lawn mower racers kick up some dust as they rush to their mowers

Cleveland loped over to his machine which, under the corporate logos, matched his uniform. It showed the care of years of improvements. It was his baby, his battleship, the mighty chariot he'd ride through all the victory laps to come. 

It was a lawn mower. 

After some 30 years as the curious sport of eccentric Brits, then as a surprise hit for the last eight years in the Midwest and South, lawn mower racing has finally arrived at the big time in the Northeast, culminating last weekend in a national race in central New York state. Now the question is whether lawn mower racing — which took hold in the U.S. on April Fool's Day 1992 as a promotional stunt for a new fuel stabilizer called STA-BIL — has got what it takes to become the country's next national obsession. 

Eat grass! The racing fiends set off on their 15-lap race

"There is a huge difference between people here and people in the South," said Kendall Stanley, 37, a volunteer firefighter and organizer of Saturday's Hudson Valley Mowllennium Mowdown, part of the STA-BIL Lawn Mower Racing Series. "People in the South are into racing anything — NASCAR started down there. But in the North, people are very apprehensive about what their neighbors are going to think when they say they're going to a lawn mower race. 

"But car racing eventually caught on up here and now it's everywhere," Stanley added optimistically. "And with a lawn mower, it's even easier. You just pull off the blades and you're ready to race." 

Taking that turn: the competitors zoom around the track

When it comes to the small difference between the somnolent hulk rusting in your backyard and the roaring speed demons of the racetrack, Stanley isn't exaggerating very much. The racers are often cast-offs scrounged from junkyards or abandoned by neighbors, stripped of their blades and then souped up with engine improvements, reinforced chassis and wider racing tires. By the time they're complete, some of these once-lowly grass cutters can reach speeds up to 80 miles per hour — although without the benefits of shock absorbers. 

"Everybody has a joke about it," Lyle Wenham, 40, of Rome, N.Y., said as he showed off his three lawn mowers — Rolling Thunder, White Lightning and Wildfire. "You can do your lawn in what, three, four seconds? Well, you probably could, but it would be a rough cut because it gets bumpy, I'm afraid." 

Special spectators: Willie Lee brought along his lawn mower-obsessed four-year-old son, Willie

The riders are often amateur mechanics and racing aficionados who fancy themselves would-be NASCAR drivers with smaller budgets but more improvisational skill. 

"If you can't afford a million-dollar car — that's everybody's ultimate dream — then you take a fresh lawn mower, put $50 into it and win your first couple of championships," said Wenham, a vocational school teacher who's been racing eight years. "I kind of see myself as the Dale Earnhardt [the NASCAR legend known as 'The Intimidator'] of lawn mower racing — except that I'm on a $1,000 budget where he's on a $10 million budget." 

Cleveland, a design engineer, was already tinkering around with lawn mowers in the garage of his Locust Grove, Ga., home six years ago when he heard that a national organization, the U.S. Lawn Mower Racing Association, had formed with the sport in mind. He rolled out one of his creations — salvaged from a neighbor's yard — drove nearly a day to an Illinois event and came in first place in his very first race. He's now a sponsored four-time national champion and minor celebrity whose name prompts cheers from fans and whose races have been televised on cable sports channels. 

Taste of victory: Al Bitterman chugs along the track

"Most people don't get to be on TV, and here I am on TV more than anyone I know — and all I'm doing is just riding a lawn mower," Cleveland said in his soft Southern drawl. 

Saturday's event wasn't televised, and probably didn't draw enough people to raise much money for the nearby Kiskatom Fire Department, which organized the event. Although no cash prizes were awarded, the USLMRA sanctioning fee is a relatively hefty $4,000. 

Stanley said he hoped lawn mower racing would catch on enough in the Northeast by next year to start turning a large enough profit to hold a race every couple weeks. 

"We believe that something like this is crazy enough that people will talk about it to their friends and bring people the next time," he said. 

Kendall Stanley (right) and his 5-year-old son and future mower, Ethan, pick out the right trophy for the right race

At the very least, it fascinated Tom Domery, 45, of Selkirk, N.Y., and Donna Burdette of Aberdeen, Md., both of whom rested in the shade as they goggled at the race Cleveland and Bitterman competed in. It was a scene you'd never see in NASCAR — one unfortunate driver whose engine had stalled was yanking furiously on the pullcord of his mower as others zipped by him. On the other side of the track, Bitterman's motor had given out and he'd pulled his racer off into the pit. As Cleveland made the final turn more than a lap ahead of his nearest rival, Bitterman high-fived the man who had beaten him.