The last notes of REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight This Feeling faded out and I moved a finger to change the channel as a commercial started playing. I hesitated when it seemed relevant to my interests.
“Ring in the new year with a bang at Buck Motorsports Park! Trucks, full-size cars, compact cars, & vans. Followed by fireworks. We’re even going to drop a truck! See you at the Buck!”
You know what, I think you actually will.
I’d never really celebrated New Year’s. As a teetotaler, I had no interest in drinking. I’d been single for years, so I had no one to kiss when the clock struck midnight.
I’d had a tradition of ringing in the new year by watching an ‘80s classic I’d never watched. That had started as many traditions do, completely by accident. A TV channel ran the Back To The Future trilogy to ring in the new year, and I decided to tune in. In the years following I’d either pick a movie, or I’d take suggestions from friends – The Last Unicorn having been my favorite of the suggestions.
I’d made an exception in 2005 to watch Transformers: The Movie. An ’80s classic, but one I’d watched many times previously. Timing it so the line ‘It is the year 2005’ hit at midnight was the tricky part.
I’d kept it up for almost a decade, but I’d fallen out of that tradition once I stopped subscribing to cable, and never found a replacement. Sure, there were at least fifty different towns in the area that dropped things, but I had no real desire to stand around outside in the freezing cold for hours to watch an object drop. Not even in one of the many local towns that dropped food and then shared it with the spectators. If I ever changed my mind, I could probably watch a different one every year with no repeats.
My pony pals had never mentioned any Equestrian traditions, so I wasn’t sure if they celebrated each passing year or not. Considering they rarely needed an excuse to party, I figured one of them would host a party if they did. When I didn’t receive any party invitations, I figured it was safe to invite them to come along with me.
I was surprised by the response I received – almost everypony from the car wash wanted to come, and Minty even invited some of her other friends to join us. The sole exceptions were Kimono and Surprise. Winter was an odd season for Where All It Ever Does Is Rain Car Wash, LLC. They alternated between very slow and very busy depending on the temperature and how recently it had been since the township had last dumped salt on the roads. There were days they weren’t open at all if it was too cold or if it was snowing.
I pulled up to the car wash, and everypony was waiting and dressed appropriately. The temperature would plummet as the night wore on, and I’d advised them to bundle up accordingly. I’d dressed in layers, while the ponies had opted for jackets, scarves, socks, and boots. Or in the case of Petunia Paleo, a dinosaur costume. Lambeosaurs lambei if I had to guess.
I’d sold my Volvo wagon and had replaced it with a Mercury Grand Marquis. A land yacht, it was the last of the traditional body-on-frame rear-wheel-drive V8 sedans. It was also exactly the kind of car that demo derby drivers looked for. I had no doubt we’d see a bunch of cars like mine get smashed in the derby. I might even get several offers to purchase my car once we arrived, though I’d ignore them all.
With bench seats front and back, it fit six humans comfortably. That meant it was more than adequate to fit five mares, three fillies, and one drastically outnumbered colt. Flitter took shotgun, while Rumble and Petunia Paleo squeezed between us. That left the backseat for Minty, Bifröst, Razzaroo, and Sparkleworks, with Toola Roola and Coconut Cream sitting in the rear footwells.
Forty minutes later we arrived at the Buck. We dropped our supplies off in the grandstands, and then we took a tour of the pit area to see the cars that would be competing. We had to sign waivers to go in, and the ponies had to take their boots off and stamped their hooves down on the paper. It seemed like a better way to record their horseshoes than their hooves…
We strolled around looking at the vehicles, and I explained demo derby as best I could to the ponies. Cars, trucks, minivans, and SUVs were sitting there in various degrees of prep. Some cars had been run previously, and showed the scars of past derbies.
One ‘80s Chevy Caprice was unpainted except for a hastily scrawled number over the factory silver paint. Toola Roola took one look at it and her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Can I paint your car, mister?”
The scruffy derby driver looked down at the filly, beaming up at him with a paintbrush in her mouth and paint tubes in her saddlebags and any negative response he might’ve had died on his tongue. “Sure thing, sweetie. My car number is 85.”
“Okie dokie!” Toola Roola set to work on the old jalopy. Bifröst volunteered to stay with her while the rest of us walked around the pit area.
There were more than a dozen cars like mine ready to go out in a blaze of glory. Ford had kept their Panther platform cars around much longer than their competition had, with Chrysler giving up on traditional standard-sized RWD V8 cars after 1981 and General Motors doing the same after 1996. Ford kept the Mercury Grand Marquis, Ford Crown Victoria, and Lincoln Town Car in production all the way to 2011. Known as the Panther platform, they were the last good cars for traditional demolition derbies, which is why the pit area was filled with them, along with trucks, SUVs, and compact cars. Trucks and SUVs offered the same V8 sound and big hits that the fans had come to expect, while the compact cars were smaller, more maneuverable, and didn’t get bogged down in the mud as easily – that meant a more exciting derby.
There were so many of the Panther Fords that even the ponies started recognizing them without me pointing them out.
“Is this a Ford or Mercury?”
The folks unloading the car from the trailer looked down at Minty.
“Uh, Ford Crown Victoria.”
Minty patted the hood. “Goodbye, Vicky, and good luck.”
The rest of us looked just as confused as the folks she’d asked the question. She repeated the process every time we came across a car that looked like mine in the pits, varying her well wishes with ‘Vicky’ or ‘Marky’ depending on if it was a Crown Victoria or Grand Marquis.
It’s Minty. Sometimes that was all the explanation that was needed… or forthcoming.
After completing our tour of the pits, we returned to the old Chevy that Toola had volunteered to work on. She’d painted the car in what could best be described as ‘rainbow splotches’. She didn’t have enough of any one color to paint the full car, so she painted it in sections, using up her supply of one color and moving to another. She repeated the process until the car was mostly painted – she knew she didn’t have enough paint with her, so she intentionally left some of the car’s silver paint mixed in. Interestingly, to save paint, she outlined the car’s racing number to maintain the car’s base paint. The car’s metalflake paint was more reflective, so she reasoned it would show up better.
As a finishing touch, she’d added a Mustang galloping pony to the trunk, painted to look like her. ‘Painted by’ was scrawled directly above the pony emblem.
“This looks really good, Toola. If you co do that much with what few paint supplies you have on you, I suspect you might start getting business from derby drivers looking to have their cars painted.”
She shrugged. “It’s not the best looking car here though. I really like that two-tone purple truck.”
“That’s pretty sharp,” I agreed.
“But looking at that one and some of the other cars has given me ideas.”
I nodded as we headed to our seats. We’d chosen to sit at the top of the bleachers so the pegasi could hover if they wanted to without blocking anyone else’s view. Saddlebags opened and blankets, seat cushions, and snacks materialized from within. Pretzels, potato chips, popcorn, and more.
Two of the blankets were spread on the metal bleachers to insulate us from the cold, while others were passed out to wrap around ourselves. I’d bundled up, dressing in layers, but took the offered blanket regardless. Despite being mild for December, the temperature was already plummeting now that the sun had set.
The first heat was youth small cars. Most of the competitors weren’t even old enough to have a driver’s license, the youngest being only twelve. They had to have an experienced mentor riding shotgun with them, usually a parent, but not always.
While there was a break in the action, we shuffled around a bit. Everypony started huddling together, sharing blankets, and each other’s body heat.
Next up was stock full-size cars. This was one of my favorite classes – unlike the pro-mods, these cars actually bent like cars had in the demolition derbies of my youth. Back when old, worn-out land barges were slightly less common than dirt. With crossovers dominating modern car dealership lots, cars were slowly going extinct. Ford was down to only the Mustang, a far cry from the 1990s when they had eight different cars in their lineup, in addition to the trucks and SUVs that had become ubiquitous in the years since.
“The Buck is proud to announce a first for demolition derbies anywhere. That’s right, tonight you’re going to see something no one has ever seen before.”
A pink Lincoln Continental Mark VI drove into the muddy arena and parked in the center.
“In addition to winning ‘best-looking car’ tonight, the driver is competing in her first ever demolition derby. Introducing Lulu Luck in car number sixteen.”
My jaw dropped as a pink unicorn exited the old Lincoln sedan, removed her helmet, and waved to the crowd. The car had been painted the same color pink as her coat, with yellow, green, and magenta stripes that matched her hair. The car was advertising The Hotels Horsey.
“Lulu is the first pony to take a whack at demo derby here or anywhere else! Let’s give her a hand! Or a hoof!”
The crowd was mostly cheering, and a lot of kids who’d barely been paying attention to the rest of the announcements were suddenly on the edge of their seats, adding to the cacophony. There was some booing from grumpy old men who thought ponies were too cute and should’ve stayed in Equestria.
“Hey! It is being Lulu Luck! She was being at your Halloween party last year. Are you remembering her?”
I nodded. She was one of Bifröst’s friends. Bifröst started waving to her, but Lulu didn’t see her in the stands.
I nudged the accident-prone mare sitting next to me. “You missed your calling, Minty. You should be out there driving.”
She smiled back at me, all-too-sweetly. “I’d love to. Can I borrow your car keys?”
“No. If you’d all like to get home later, I need it in one piece.”
“Spoilsport.”
The derby started, and the curious interest of the first heat became a vested one for the ponies. They wanted to see Lulu win. They peppered me with questions, which I did my best to answer.
A Chevy Impala slammed into Lulu’s Lincoln, knocking it on top of the jersey barriers serving as a wall around the track. She revved the motor, and the rear wheels of the car spun uselessly in the air as there was no ground underneath them.
“Well, she’s out.” I waited for her to break the stick on the car’s A-pillar that designated whether a driver was still in contention or not.
“Don’t bet on that.” Petunia giggled. “See that glow around the barrier? Lulu’s a unicorn, she’s gonna get her car unstuck one way or another.”
With her magic helping it, the barrier fell over, and the Lincoln’s tires found grip, propelling the car back into the derby.
“Okay, that’s probably cheating.” My words couldn’t be heard over the crowd cheering wildly for the unicorn they’d written off as out of contention.
It didn’t matter in the end. She put up a valiant fight, but her car didn’t make it to the end. Instead the Impala that had knocked her into the barriers was defeated by a Buick that had twisted into something more closely resembling one of Toola Roola’s sculptures than a car. Driving the point home, the driver delivered the winning hit not by slamming into the recently-disabled Impala, but by gently tapping the front bumpers of the two cars together.
Following that were races for trucks & SUVs, vans & small SUVs, youth full-size cars, and modified full-size. Those were the cars that had been built professionally, cars that barely bent and could run ten to twenty derbies before finally being scrapped.
The last of the night’s derbies was the compact class, which had the largest field of competitors, just shy of two dozen. It lasted longer than anticipated – four of the cars refused to die, and the track was so littered with stalled cars that none of them could get a good hit on any of the others. So they circled around and around banging into one another occasionally, with the announcer making snide comments urging them to make big hits.
Eventually the field thinned to three, then two. The last hit of the night wasn’t spectacular, but it won the driver a giant novelty check worth a few thousand dollars.
It was just shy of 11:00PM, the temperature was barely above freezing, and we needed to find something to occupy our time for the next hour. The track had a concert to fill the time, but we’d been cooped up in the grandstands for hours – we needed to warm up. I led the ponies to the concession stands where hamburgers, hot dogs, pulled pork, and chicken were on offer. The only pony-friendly options were French fries and funnel cake. I loaded the mares, fillies, and colt with fries, cake, and hot chocolate and grabbed a pulled pork sandwich and hot chocolate for myself.
I normally restrained my carnivorous urges around my pony friends, but we were outdoors, surrounded by myriad other smells. For once, it wasn’t going to bother them. Petunia was the only one who didn’t mind me eating meat, citing that Tenontosaurus ate plants, and Deinonychus ate Tenontosaurus. Her metaphor may have used dinosaurs, but it came down to the circle of life. She kept me company while I ate my sandwich, devouring her own fries and funnel cake with fervor.
The other ponies milled about near the concert stage. Music was always of interest to them, and the stage was conveniently located next to the concession area. Country & western wasn’t my genre of choice, so Petunia and I took a walk around the grounds to generate some more heat. Our pit pass was still good, so we wandered there to check out the remains of the cars we’d seen destroyed. Many of the drivers had already loaded up and left. But some of the wrecks were still on the property. Some of the cars had twisted into unique shapes, like the Buick that had won the ‘stock’ full-size race. With the passenger compartment twisted in ways General Motors had never intended, the car now had all the structural integrity of Swiss cheese. But that didn’t matter – it had gone out in a blaze of glory, winning in its first and only demolition derby – there’d be no patching this wreck up for another run.
The crane started hoisting the condemned truck two hundred feet into the air, dangling above the Pennsylvania soil. It was now past 11:30, so I herded Petunia back to the grandstand, where everypony else was already waiting.
The Buck had apparently dropped a combine harvester in the past, but amazingly a vehicle designed without crumple zones didn’t really crumple that much. A combine went up into the air and it was still mostly a combine when it landed. So they’d gone out of their way to find something squishier. They should just drop the combine on top of a bunch of old junk trucks. As a bonus, they could probably keep using the same combine for years to come…
They’d picked a box truck and had painted a giant red bullseye on each side. It had one too many concentric circles to be Target’s logo, yet people in the crowd had been referring to it as ‘the Target truck’ throughout the night.
Fireworks shot off, sending off the old year. Sparkleworks smiled – she’d enjoyed the derby, but the fireworks display was how Minty had convinced her to come along in the first place.
Then it was time to count down the new year. Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…
The truck was released into freefall as everyone in the crowd held their breath. There could only be one outcome. Trucks weren’t hot air balloons and couldn’t defy gravity.
Boom!
The ground shook as the truck exploded into a pile of parts.
From the crowd’s reaction, opting for a truck instead of a combine had been the right choice. More fireworks started shooting off, welcoming the new year.
The bangs of cars crashing into one another. The bangs of exploding fireworks. The big bang of the box truck disintegrating upon slamming into the ground. With luck, the new year would be a good one. If nothing else, at least it was starting with a bang.
Author's Note
Story notes: https://www.fimfiction.net/blog/1030328/story-notes-in-with-a-bang
