My friend Bob once said, “I don’t need to be in a car crash to know I don’t want it to happen.” To be fair, he was talking about his most recent date, not automobiles. I remember his words because they apply to lots of situations, and none more literal than today’s car story, the demolition derby.
I recently attended a morning Cars and Coffee gathering at Zingerman’s Roadhouse in Ann Arbor.
While scoping out cars, I met Jeff Balaka, who had his black 1970 AMX parked nearby.
He wore a 60065 Race Team shirt and casually mentioned he was into demolition derby races. “Have you been to one?” No, I hadn’t.
There’s lots of things I haven’t done in my life, but demolition derbies weren’t on my bucket list. Like monster truck rallies, rodeos, and tractor pulls, it sounds like a fun event but I’m not that observant and didn’t realize they were even held locally. This sounded like a great car story in the making!
Jeff looked like a former linebacker and had that shaved head look of Vin Diesel. He was enthusiastic about the sport, and so for all the above, deserved my full attention. He said 10 years ago he helped a friend who had entered a derby and liked it so much he started racing himself. Now he has a team (60065) of more than a dozen cars entered for this year’s race at the 85th Chelsea Community Fair. He, along with his son and other friends, all raced on the team.
“Let me get this straight. You acquire beater cars, strip ‘em down, remove the windows, and proceed to bash them up until only one car remains running.” He nodded “yes” and said he and his family had a fantastic time at the races and invited me to come out to the fairgrounds to see it.
There were two nights of destructive racing. First was the Figure 8 Demolition Derby. Good thing I arrived early. By start time, the entire stands were filled with fanatical fans agitating for action. There’s no average fan here. From what I could tell they ranged from farm families to tattooed bikers. Besides wanting to witness car crashes, they all had one thing in common: Fair Food. Hot dogs and fried chicken were big sellers, and the lines were 40 people deep.
The “track” is a muddy oval arena about the size of a football field surrounded by concrete barriers. There’s a couple of bulldozer-sized tires strategically placed near each end of the arena.
A vintage fire truck drives out and showers the track with water before each race. Like a Zamboni machine before a hockey game, everyone wishes they could ride on it.
Racers start off in a line and the winner is the first to finish 8 laps. Some cars are bashed up during the race and get towed out at the end of each competition. Then the concrete barriers are replaced, and another race starts with different cars and drivers.
Before the start, I checked out all the competitor’s cars. Most cars were unrecognizable to me. Was it a Ford Focus or a Honda Civic??? What is the car story behind these cars?
Any parts that might be prone to falling off when hit had been removed. Except for the driver’s seat, the interior is stripped, and the battery and a small gas tank are installed in their place. All doors are welded shut so the driver must crawl through a window to get inside. Most cars were “custom” painted with spray paint cans. Hey, it only has to last for one race.
Finally, all cars were inspected to make sure they met safety requirements. Groups of drivers, mechanics, family, and friends had come prepared with tons of tools and tailgate food. I received a Race Team T-Shirt and all the food I could eat, too. How do ya beat that? No lines either.
The Figure 8 races were competitive, and drivers did their best to avoid other cars except to knock them out of the way or cut them off on turns. Getting hit in the front was to be avoided but it happened to some. At least one car caught fire and the firemen jumped in to put it out. The fans were really into it and cheered/screamed for their favorite cars and drivers. Jason finished 2nd in his heat and one of his racing team members took first in his heat.
The next night I returned for the demolition derby. The rule change for these races is simple: last car running wins. There were small cars, minivans, and full-size trucks in different races. There was lots of smoke and at times it was difficult to see. Meanwhile, the smell of fried chicken, hot dogs and overheated radiators wafted over the crowd with peak sound levels louder than an AC/DC concert.
Yes, it was great fun! The drivers must have been those kids that couldn’t get enough thrills driving Bumper Cars when they were little. It would be an adrenalin rush to race in the derby, but my neck was sore just watching the collisions and imagining the whiplash the drivers experienced. A Chiropractor’s dream!
In conclusion, 2BukChuk agrees with Bob, “I don’t need to be in a car crash to know I don’t want it to happen!”