Trackside

A Diamond in the Rough

You usually don't go to the local demolition derby and end up with a date. The 70's were strange times.

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"No, trust me, guys, you'll get a kick out of it." the Gran Torino persuaded his friends. "Besides, we've already come this far."

"I've never been on a road this dilapidated, Tori." the Chevelle said, dodging a pothole in the middle of the lane. "This better be worth it, or you're gonna get it. Strip, you keepin' up?"

"Right behind you, Sammy." he answered, accidentally hitting the same pothole his friend just missed. "Ow."

They were in the middle of nowhere on a well-worn two-lane highway, a good twenty miles from the next town over. Having arrived in the bigger town a few days early to spend practice time on the track for the race that coming weekend, they became bored one afternoon and discovered that the neighboring town was hosting a demolition derby that night. Tori insisted it would be a good time.

"Here we go. Finally." Tori veered off the highway onto a dirt road. They could see stadium lights in the next field over, with stands on either side of what appeared to be a track, fenced in by hay bales.

They all paid the entrance fee and parked at the very top of the stands for a better view. The townsfolk were pouring in as well, bringing their excitement with them.

"So remind me what the point of this is, again?" Sammy asked Tori, watching a few intoxicated old pickup trucks nearly get into a brawl, betting over who would win.

"Okay, so before it starts, they're gonna soak this here field until it turns to mud, and they're gonna let the participants in. They're all gonna line up around the perimeter, facin' each other. They'll wait for the gun to go off, and then the only goal is to be the last car standing. Very few rules." Tori explained.

"So they're gonna mutilate each other in a field of mud." Strip interpreted. "Because they can."

"Exactly." Tori confirmed.

The organizers got the ball rolling fairly quickly. Right as soon as the sun touched the horizon, the coordinator let twenty competitors into the field, introducing them as they entered. Then he raised a pistol, fired, and all hell broke loose.

It was fantastic. Brutal, but fantastic. And it wasn't just a bunch of old guys ramming into each other like the racers had anticipated. There were cars of all makes and models in there, and at least three women.

An old ambulance flipped a DeSoto completely upside down within the first thirty seconds. A 50′s Dodge Dart actually pushed an older Oldsmobile completely through the hay bale barricade. Twenty minutes into it, they had to stop the derby to remove all the immobilized vehicles in order to make room for the remaining ones. There were only eight cars left.

Strip watched them closely. He was always analyzing other sports, looking for things that could possibly translate into something helpful in racing. But he was having trouble concentrating on the methodologies being employed there, first and foremost because there didn't seem to be any. Secondly, he kept finding himself watching a younger station wagon rip across the field like it was nothing.

She was very good. There were a few instances where the older and bigger cars would try to team up against her, but she'd always find a way to use their momentum against them. Once, she waited until they were almost on top of her, and then pulled out of the way quickly so they'd crash into each other instead. Another time, she took advantage of the others duking it out among themselves by putting herself in reverse, and backing into them with as much speed as she could muster, breaking one's rear axle and flipping the other on his side.