STAR-TRIBUNE (Minneapolis, Minnesota) 23 July 06 A long (and slow) tradition - Since 1932, kids have put turtles to the test in Longville's races. (Allie Shah)
Longville, Minn: All eyes were focused on the 10 turtles in the center of the ring.
Under the blazing summer sun, the turtles' handlers -- 10 children from nearby resorts -- held their turtles just above the blacktop, awaiting the start of the race.
Rebecca Zander had just one hope: that this time, her turtle would move.
She had been in a turtle race just last month, and that time her turtle not only didn't win, but it also didn't budge.
This hardly seemed fair to Rebecca, 11, who knew more about turtles than most people. A few summers ago, she was really into them; she even wrote a report about them for school.
She had not chosen the turtle she was about to race. It hadn't chosen her, either. A race official had doled out the squirming turtles, one per child.
Rebecca hoped it would be fast. But it's hard to tell with a turtle.
Lars Ecklund, 5, of San Diego, stood next to her, wearing his lucky reptile shirt. He gently rubbed his turtle's shell as they waited. He had never taken part in a turtle race before; they don't have them in San Diego, his father said.
He and his family were in Minnesota for a family reunion, staying at Thunder Lake Lodge nearby. Lars' father, Eric Ecklund, said he thought the race sounded fun, so they drove into town to try their luck.
Summer in Longville has been turtle racing season since 1932. Every Wednesday afternoon, town leaders close the main drag, County Road 5, for three hours. The large racing circle is painted right in the middle of the road. People come into town from the nearby resorts to watch. Parents and grandparents gather around the ring to photograph their children doing the same thing they did when they were kids.
The turtle races are so well-known that one year the Legislature declared Longville the "Turtle Race Capital of the World." Those words waved from banners hanging along County Road 5 above Rebecca's head.
She turned to listen to the announcer's instructions. She and the other kids held their turtles inches from the ground, waiting to let them loose.
John Weins, the announcer -- who wore a turtle-shaped hat -- bellowed, "Ready! On your mark, get set, go!"
The kids let go and darted out of the race circle to watch. Nine turtles took off at a blinding shuffle.
They headed this way and that, trudging across the asphalt as the loudspeakers blared, "One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock rock. Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock rock." The first turtle to cross the yellow outer circle -- tail and all -- would win, earning some lucky child bragging rights and a brief moment of glory.
"Go!" Rebecca screamed at her turtle. She stomped her feet. Her mother, Nancy Zander, of Howard Lake, Minn., just shook her head and laughed.
Nine of the turtles were trundling around the ring. The 10th turtle had tucked its feet and head inside its shell and was taking a siesta.
Rebecca's turtle.
But who could blame it? It was a hot, lazy summer afternoon -- 92 degrees according to the bank sign. The Longville Fire Department had stopped by before the races to hose down the circle. Many of the more than 220 kids there to race splashed in the gushing water, soaking their bare feet in its coolness.
Rebecca scowled. She couldn't believe this was happening to her again.
As her turtle continued to hide -- or sleep -- a nondescript turtle with a look on its face that might be described as determined was making its way toward the yellow line.
Lars crouched down and tried to coax it to go a little faster. The turtle lumbered across the line. People sitting closest to the circle's edge pointed. The winner! Lars leaped up and down. This would never have happened in San Diego.
The crowd -- mostly vacationers in shorts and sunglasses -- cheered from their plastic chairs.
Lars strolled over to the main stage to collect his prize. A cheerful volunteer chirped congratulations and handed him a plastic bag of assorted goodies from Longville's finest stores.
He smiled so wide that the rest of his features disappeared under his baseball cap. He rifled through the bag and then passed it to his father.
The volunteer leaned in close and snapped a photo of him for the town's website.
And Rebecca's turtle?
It was still in the starter circle, as motionless as a rock. If you listened closely, you might even have heard it snore.
A long (and slow) tradition