Long before the Mariners or Seahawks, Seattle sports fandom revolved around one thing and one thing only: hydroplane racing. In many ways, it was Seattle’s first major league sport. Locals would watch the hydro races — breathlessly covered by all the city’s television stations — with the same zeal and excitement as the Super Bowl, with the drivers of these racing boats carrying the same reverence as any of today’s top athletes.

Hydroplane racing has a long history in Seattle going back almost a century. The first official race, known as the Seattle Speed Boat Regatta, took place on Green Lake in 1929. In the years following this, an increasing number of spectators would faithfully show up to watch these races, which by the 1940s had been moved to the larger waters of Lake Washington. To give their racing boats some extra get-up-and-go, early hydroplanes were often powered by aircraft engines — a trick borrowed from Prohibition-era Puget Sound rumrunners who equipped their smuggling ships with surplus World War I airplane engines salvaged at nearby Boeing Field.

The true beginning of the local hydroplane craze, though, can be traced back to the summer of 1950 when Slo-moshun IV, an innovative hydroplane created by Boeing engineer, Ted Jones, set a world speed record on Lake Washington. Soon after, the famous speedboat won the prestigious Gold Cup race in Detroit, and in 1952, Slo-mo broke her previous speed record — from 160 to 178 mph. Before long, the little logging town known as Seattle became one of the central hubs in the hydroplane circuit, and “hydromania” swept over the entire Puget Sound region.

One of the more interesting byproducts of this ’50s-era hydroplane craze was the introduction of a cherished childhood tradition involving toy hydroplanes. Local kids would attach them to the back of their bikes, and have races with one another. For the younger set, they were the ultimate status symbol.

What was most remarkable about these toy hydros, though, was the fact that they did not come from a kit, nor were they purchased from a store. Rather, they were completely homemade. Many of them were created in a garage or workshop, usually with the help of a father or older brother, with the wood being salvaged from any available source. Milk crates were often a popular choice. The wood was sawed and sanded into shape, then carefully painted in the colors of a favored hydroplane. An eye hook was typically attached to the nose so they could be tethered to a bike. For many, they were the ultimate form of childhood expression in which innovation and creativity were the key components of a good hydro.

As luck would have it, one of my current next-door neighbors was among these 1950s-era kids who created the first generation of these handcrafted boats. John Hucik is his name, and he still has his on proud display in his garage, which also serves as a museum from his former days as an actual hydroplane racer. His story serves as a great example of the immense popularity that hydroplanes once enjoyed here: A local boy graduates from pulling one on the back of his bike to racing on Lake Washington.

Hucik recently gave me a tour of his garage. Inside are two fully-restored hydroplanes sitting on trailers, including the grand prix boat that he personally used for racing. The walls are adorned with vintage hydroplane advertisements, as well as photos from his days as a driver. He met his longtime wife on the hydroplane circuit as she was the daughter of one of his racing buddies. John points to a photo of two hydroplanes racing each other on Lake Washington, and explains that the two boats were his and his future father-in-law’s racing against each other back in the 1970s. He has curated an impressive collection of his lifelong passion, and through his stories, you can tell that it is all deeply personal to him.

When we get to his 70-year-old toy hydro, he pulls it down from its shelf and recounts his more youthful days when he used to pull it behind his bike. All the kids in his neighborhood had one, and the hydros were usually based on whichever driver happened to be most popular at the time. His was modeled after the famous racing boat, Miss Thriftway. As many former toy hydro owners will testify, the best time for taking one out was right after a good rainfall when the culverts were full, the puddles plentiful, and you really put things to the test on actual water. He gets a nostalgic glint in his eye as he recalls racing his in mud puddles with friends, and competing to see who could get the biggest back spray, otherwise known as a “rooster tail.”

My neighbor’s wood hydro, being one of the first-generation ones from the 1950s, is somewhat primitive in comparison to the later toy hydros that emerged in the 1960s and ’70s. And, to visit some of these latermodel hydros, I paid a visit to my friend and occasional writing partner, Peter Blecha, who owned several toy hydros during his childhood. Back in the 1960s, he towed them on the back of his Schwinn Stingray, and as an adult, he owns several that he has nostalgically collected over the years.

Looking through his collection, you can actually see some technological advancements in how these toy hydros were constructed over the years. For instance, in order to stay connected to the towing line, many early models had simple eye hooks attached to their noses. However, this often led to problems with the hydro getting tangled in the tow line. At some point, childhood ingenuity solved this problem when eye hooks were replaced with fishing swivels, thus preventing any further entanglement issues. Some of the later models were also side-mounted, which was perfect for large puddles as it allowed the hydros to go in circles.

During our conversation, I mention how these toy hydros were basically a form of folk art, and Blecha nods in agreement. “Yes, I have always said that these are kiddie folk art based on technology.” He recalls one of his that he was particularly proud of. “Remember those toy plastic army men that came in large sets? I found one that was a jeep driver, cut it in half, and then glued it to the driver’s seat so it looked like he was steering the boat. Nobody else had ever thought of that before, so all the neighbor kids thought that that was pretty cool.” Blecha also recalls how metal nails would sometimes be attached to the back of the hydros in order to create sparks.

While these homemade hydros remained a childhood staple for more than 30 years, they eventually disappeared from the local landscape. Starting in the 1970s, when Seattle started getting its first major sports teams, hydroplane racing slowly began losing its popularity, and the tradition of toy hydros soon faded into obscurity. Today, the only ones left in existence can be found in the dusty basements, garages, and attics of previous owners, who keep them as prized childhood relics. They are mementos from a past era, recalling the days when hydroplanes reigned supreme and a bicycle, a carved piece of wood, and a mud puddle were all that was needed for a fun time.

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Brad Holden is an amateur historian and is the author of two books: “Seattle Prohibition: Bootleggers, Rumrunners and Graft in the Queen City,” and “Alfred M. Hubbard: Inventor, Bootlegger and Psychedelic Pioneer.” Check out his Instagram page @seattle_artifacts for more interesting tidbits about Seattle’s history.