Friday, July 23, 2004
Let’s Get Ready to Rumble
For anyone who thinks America isn’t the coolest country in the world, well, you just remind them that we invented and are busy perfecting demolition derbies. I am happy to report that the one in South Bend is an all-around blast and did not disappoint this reporter’s high standards of what this cultural event should involve. Like all derby fans I require lots of pedal to the metal screeches, car flips, and general mayhem, and this derby had it in spades. I’m also a sucker for weird examples of testosterone-laced American patriotism--the bigger the flag, the happier I am at these events--and again, this derby did not disappoint. And when the MC exhorted one driver to “drive it like you stole it,” well, I knew I wasn’t at Lasalle Grille. In short, I felt like a kid in a toy store.
First things first: the derby was held at the South Bend Motor Speedway just a couple of miles out on Western Ave. They have a nice web site for all upcoming events too. Upon entering the parking lot I noticed that my foreign car was not the type preferred by the derby audience. Instead I saw row after row of 4x4s and minivans. The big rigs I understood, but the multitude of minivans tipped me off that this was going to be a family affair. Yes, I saw lots of moms and dads out for an evening of entertainment, a beer, and something called taco stixs. I even saw one mom changing a diaper on her little derby afficionado in the stands, which warmed my heart no end.
Now, concerning the actual events. The first involved a series of cars racing around a track and then flipping off a ramp--the more flips the more points. Nearby, and safely ensconced behind safety barriers, were a fleet of firemen and medics just in case the driver was hurt or his car burst into flames. In fact, it seemed that half of Michiana’s fire and medical personnel--along with a bevy of tow trucks--were at this event. Happily no harm was done here, but the sheer lunacy of watching these guys drive their cars in gonzo fashion and then hit the ramp was just jaw-dropping fun. I hope their insurance brokers weren’t watching them do this, though.
The next event was my personal favorite. It was entitled, simply, “the train race.” This involved 4 teams comprised of three cars each. The cars are held together by chains and other immobilizing forces and had two drivers: one was the engineer and the other was the caboose. Anyway, the “trains” go around the track 20 times, meanwhile crashing into one another, the wall, and creating a level of mayhem and noise that truly was awe-inspiring. While the crowd favorite was the train decked out in cartoon characters, I kinda had my heart set on the “taste the rainbow” train crew, especially after one fearsome collision in which a tire was ripped off the caboose and they were forced to drive around the track on their rims. Oh, and someone hit their radiator, causing mountains of steam to spray upwards. The fact that a couple of these cars had to be removed by a fork lift should give you a pretty good idea of the state of things after this race.
Next up was the actual demolition derbies with a thousand dollar prize for the last car standing. Now, this event was just great fun too, but as it was winding down--or more accurately when there were only two cars left plowing into one another--I began to worry a bit about the state of my own car in the parking lot. I also began to worry about the connection some of the cheering crowd might be making between the driving etiquette they were watching and how they might behave once they got behind the wheel of their much larger trucks and saw my little ‘ole car blocking the view. The fact that these fans also seemed to be chugging down 32 ounces of Miller Lite at a fast and furious pace compounded my worry. I took some comfort in knowing that the alcohol content in that brew is less than a Diet Coke, but nonetheless I walked at a fast clip to my car when the show was over.
As I was making my way out of the parking lot--car completely unscathed--I turned on the radio and Cream’s “White Room” was playing. Many another driver was listening to it as well, and so a mini rock concert soon followed the car and truck destruction show. My long and abiding hatred for classic rock quickly melted away in the summer night. Eric Clapton’s majestic guitar, Jack Bruce’s crunching bass, and Ginger Baker’s maniacal drum set led me, this time anyway, to revel in the song in a way that I hadn’t since I was a teen. It ended a perfect evening.