The demolition derby exceeded all my expectations. I wasn’t really sure what expectations I had (Nascar idiots, mostly), but they were blown away by the sheer and wondrous reality of it all.
The event started with “spectator drags,” where ordinary people entered their “street legal” cars in pairwise races. One lap around a quarter mile track. These were the cars “that these crazy folks drive to work.” There were a few outrageous entries: A corvette, a volvo station wagon (with some kind of psycho turbo modifications, because it kept winning), a hatchback Corolla Civic with “for sale” on the back window, and (most amazingly) a brand new Chrysler 300 Series. The Corolla The Civic did really well, but eventually got stomped by the ‘vette. The 300 also did quite well before losing to a Thunderbird the Corolla Civic.
Then there were “enduro drags” in which cars which had been specially modified to take abuse raced each other. The first rounds were seven cars at a time. Then there were five car “reverse” rounds, in which the cars raced backwards. Then finally more heats until a winner was determined.
Then things got a little psycho. Up to this point, there had been some moderate damage to a couple of cars, and one or two solid crackups against a wall. Mostly, control had reigned.
The “Figure Eight” changed all that. The cars raced in a figure eight pattern (across a cross in the center of the track), hurtling headlong through the death zone in the center. What made it even better was that smoke and darkness were starting to occlude the view, and small ramps blocked cars from seeing what they were driving into. In short: Chaos. Mass hysteria. At least five cars were disabled (read as: unable to drive away) in each of three heats of the figure eight.
They took a little time for some fireworks before the main event – the demolition derby. “There can be only one.”
The derby was astonishing. About a hundred cars started off with noses to the wall. The announcer said things like “drivers, if it’s not running, you should be!” Then the cars all started slamming into each other and all hell broke loose. One of our buddies had his car flipped, climbed out, the forklift came over and righted the car, and he climbed back in and restarted the car. The announcers said “I guess if a rollover can’t stop him, then nothing can!”
At the end, technolope had some sort of experiential peak moment, gazing at the Max Max style litter of smoking, wrecked cars…as “God Bless America” creaked out of the crappy sound system, and thousands of Nascar Americans abandoned their trash and headed for home. It was, for me, a moment of pure and unashamed love for my country.
Pictures to be online in short order.
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