Tin Man
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I’m just going to say it outright: I’ve got writer’s block.
I’m not sweating it. It has happened before. I just need to “get typing.”
This post isn’t particularly funny … it’s just the first thing I’ve felt vaguely impelled to write.
A few years ago I was on a team of guys competing in a demolition derby.
-I don’t blame you for the yeah right: I’ll be the first to tell you I’m a tech guy and not a “mech” guy. I can’t change the oil on my car because I think $25 is worth the hassle. And carpentry? Oh holy shit I would sooner burn the place down and collect the insurance.
-But demolition derby was something I always wanted to do I guess. And I want to drive a DD car myself one day: this would be how you start, right? Besides, wouldn’t volunteering for a team provide some great writing fodder?
This "team" needed a volunteer because they had two drivers, and hence two cars. I’m sure you’ve seen stuff one television with guys in cargo shorts and flip flops designing stuff in AutoCAD, but this was an experienced bunch of rednecks with a well-tooled barn, someone on an Acetylene torch 24/7, a seemingly endless supply of rich racist euphamisms, oil-saturated skin and a very specific agenda:
The Derby.
So before I run the risk of making this story more about other people than myself, I’ll regale you with tales of how I hadda get every sliver of windshield glass out of the interior and stuff.
Still, I should back up for a second and explain some things.
You had to, in the regulations of this particular race, “gut” a car and strip it to sheer functional essentials: the gas tank had to be 5 gallons or less. A “protection cage” required installation in each car.
-But there is specific emphasis on glass. Glass must be completely removed and replaced by a ‘tic-tac-toe’ pattern of chains welded to various body components. For lack of better technology, this requires shattering all windows inwardly, and scooping, sweeping, DustBustering –whatever it takes.
Because of this, I was present then the vehicle hoods got “trimmed.” At this phase, they cut holes in the hoods and trunks and doors to chain them closed as per the afore mentioned regulations.
-I got a little oval of steel from both cars, and they sit on my desk -slightly two o’clock fro my line of vision as I write this. I consider them weird luck.
So anyway, I got photographs of the various processes and some great shots of the “crew.” I had notes and details. I had a pretty decent writing project going. And when the deadline for the cars to be inspected for the race loomed, we all –some six vehicles including the truck our two cars were on- simultaneously tore off from the remote farm in a swirling cyclone of flying dust and highly-charged howled obscenities.
-My car, however, the infamous Chick Magnet, broke down at the farm's mailbox and I was stranded for the next 13 hours. The cellphone containing all the precious teambuilding photography was hurled in frustration due to no signal at the fender of the Chick Magnet by a man -who will not be named- in that desolate 20-X-20 mile radius containing only myself.
And those demolition derby pricks won.
[LOBO]
I’m just going to say it outright: I’ve got writer’s block.
I’m not sweating it. It has happened before. I just need to “get typing.”
This post isn’t particularly funny … it’s just the first thing I’ve felt vaguely impelled to write.
A few years ago I was on a team of guys competing in a demolition derby.
-I don’t blame you for the yeah right: I’ll be the first to tell you I’m a tech guy and not a “mech” guy. I can’t change the oil on my car because I think $25 is worth the hassle. And carpentry? Oh holy shit I would sooner burn the place down and collect the insurance.
-But demolition derby was something I always wanted to do I guess. And I want to drive a DD car myself one day: this would be how you start, right? Besides, wouldn’t volunteering for a team provide some great writing fodder?
This "team" needed a volunteer because they had two drivers, and hence two cars. I’m sure you’ve seen stuff one television with guys in cargo shorts and flip flops designing stuff in AutoCAD, but this was an experienced bunch of rednecks with a well-tooled barn, someone on an Acetylene torch 24/7, a seemingly endless supply of rich racist euphamisms, oil-saturated skin and a very specific agenda:
The Derby.
So before I run the risk of making this story more about other people than myself, I’ll regale you with tales of how I hadda get every sliver of windshield glass out of the interior and stuff.
Still, I should back up for a second and explain some things.
You had to, in the regulations of this particular race, “gut” a car and strip it to sheer functional essentials: the gas tank had to be 5 gallons or less. A “protection cage” required installation in each car.
-But there is specific emphasis on glass. Glass must be completely removed and replaced by a ‘tic-tac-toe’ pattern of chains welded to various body components. For lack of better technology, this requires shattering all windows inwardly, and scooping, sweeping, DustBustering –whatever it takes.
Because of this, I was present then the vehicle hoods got “trimmed.” At this phase, they cut holes in the hoods and trunks and doors to chain them closed as per the afore mentioned regulations.
-I got a little oval of steel from both cars, and they sit on my desk -slightly two o’clock fro my line of vision as I write this. I consider them weird luck.
So anyway, I got photographs of the various processes and some great shots of the “crew.” I had notes and details. I had a pretty decent writing project going. And when the deadline for the cars to be inspected for the race loomed, we all –some six vehicles including the truck our two cars were on- simultaneously tore off from the remote farm in a swirling cyclone of flying dust and highly-charged howled obscenities.
-My car, however, the infamous Chick Magnet, broke down at the farm's mailbox and I was stranded for the next 13 hours. The cellphone containing all the precious teambuilding photography was hurled in frustration due to no signal at the fender of the Chick Magnet by a man -who will not be named- in that desolate 20-X-20 mile radius containing only myself.
And those demolition derby pricks won.
Comments
But really, tough luck on the derby. I'm sure you would have won.