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The sweet sound
of racing rigs

THE sound. That wonderful, wondrous, comfortable, memorable, beautiful, musical sound.

It is the sound of lips vibrating, of throats rumbling, of stomachs grumbling. Playtime comforting.

That sound.

You know it by heart, from your sandbox days.

It goes something like this: BWAAAAAAAAAHH-BAAAAAAAAAAH-OOOOOOOOOOM-BAAAAAAAH!

It's like something you heard in the womb.

And here it is, all around.

Here I am, last night, at the Big Rig and Trucks Drag and Show, at Hawaii Raceway Park, singing along. That's right, drag races for tow trucks and big trucks and dump trucks. Eighteen-wheelers, squaring off, shifting 16 times in a quarter-mile, smokestacks popping, engines roaring in the night.

This is like Fantasy Island, without Mr. Roarke.

The Tonka toys have come to life.

This is what we always did, as kids. Yes, of course, we graded and hauled and bulldozed and dumped. Beep-beep-beep, li-dat.

But then, that sound.

BWAAAAAAAAAAH!

We raced them.

Of course we did, as kids.

There is a crowd for this. You knew there would be. Who could resist?

The tires are squealing, the emcee is squawking. The starting line is smoking. Small kids canter up and down the aisles.

Bigger ones run under the bleachers in the dust.

Bigger ones still sip beer, sitting with their grandkids, pointing out mismatches, savoring that surround sound together, both of them yipping with glee.

Some guys are even videotaping it for later review.

Big truck drag races. This is genius.

A minivan in a drag race.

THAT'S genius.

The sign warns you as you walk up: "DANGER. All park areas and activities involve risk of injury to persons and property, including death. All persons, including spectators, enter the park at their own risk."

So it's kind of like a UH football game. But, you know, more family-oriented.

And these racers are just like any of our other sports heroes. These guys are living the dream. And we are living it through them.

For several seconds on a straightaway, they're kids in the dirt.

They're Danny Zukos with greased-lightning-ed dump trucks.

They get to be Bandit One and Bandit Two both.

Woo-hoo!

A boy has brought his Matchbox car. He pushes it along the bleachers, playing, racing as the real thing goes by.

He doesn't seem to notice all the noise. But then, he already hears it all the time.