The Call of Speed

I scrambled down the steep and narrow stairs into the basement of my childhood home. I was headed for the garage. We lived in a house on a hill, so the garage was on basement level, sticking out of the side of the hill to open onto the street. I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned left into the laundry room. I dashed through to the door on the other side, ignoring the furnace on my left and the washer and dryer on my right. They did not interest me; the object of my quest lay on the other side of the door to the garage. I turned the old metal doorknob with a quick jerk and flung open the door to reveal the object of my quest: Daddy's dragster.

For as long as I remembered, it had been there, the centerpiece of our garage. It was a familiar sight, and yet one that never ceased to dazzle the imagination of a young boy. Once again, my eyes scanned over the machine, tracing a familiar pattern. The thick metal frame was almost entirely visible, giving it a skeletal appearance. The front wheels were almost comical in their tiny and seemingly delicate appearance, looking like they'd come from a child's toy. In contrast, the back tires were huge, and looked nearly as wide as they were tall. The engine sat exposed for all to see, with multiple exhaust pipes coming out both sides. The only area of the dragster not out in the open was the driver's seat. Black plastic shielded it on all sides, protecting the most important part of the machine.

I jumped into the driver's seat, becoming that most important part. The steering wheel before me was a curved piece of metal, bent into the shape of a figure eight, with the loops pulled towards the driver. A solid shaft was attached at the midpoint, leading out through a hole in the plastic sheeting to where it attached to the steering at the front of the car. I grabbed a loop of the figure eight with each hand and started steering, watching the front wheels respond to my moves. I started making engine noises, and imagined I was racing...

It's hot. The sun dominates a clear blue sky, beating down upon the racetrack. A mile of road stretches out before me, shimmering and dancing in the heat. As my crew pushes me up to the starting line, a voice announces my name over loudspeakers attached to tall poles standing between the track and the grandstand to the right. The sound echoes as I hear my name from each loudspeaker a split-second after the last. I glance over to my left as they announce my opponent. His red dragster is half again as big as mine, and has a much more powerful engine. But power comes at a price; he's also much heavier, and doubtless slower to accelerate. The finish line is just a quarter mile down the track. Can he accelerate that heavy monster to its top speed and catch up to me in the few seconds the race will take?

We start our engines. My dragster roars out a challenge to my opponent, and his answers in kind, an ominous low rumble against my higher pitched roar. The crowd cheers and whistles. Excitement fills the air. The smell of fuel fills my nostrils, and my stomach clenches in anticipation. Next to the track are a series of lights mounted vertically, one above the other. The topmost is lit and red. The rest are unlit. All will be red except the bottommost, which will light up green. That is when I must go. Not a moment before, and not a moment after if I hope to win.

The lights begin to descend. Red... Red... Red... My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, which vibrates in tune with the engine. Red... Red... Red... With each new light, my pulse quickens, and the knot in my stomach grows tighter. The pause between each light is unbearable. Red... Red... Red... GREEN!

It's hard to say which screams louder, my engine or my tires. The whole back end of the dragster lifts up as the tires change shape, becoming taller and skinnier as they furiously spin. A cloud of smoke fills the air, accompanied by the smell of burning rubber. My opponent shoots forward, charging out from the cloud of smoke. But I fail to move forward. Instead, my back end starts moving sideways. Oh no! My tires are spinning too fast! I start backing off the throttle, praying for my tires to catch pavement and dig in.

My head slams back, and my whole body sinks into the seat as I leap out of the cloud and accelerate down the track. I dimly perceive the spectators to the right, waving and cheering though I cannot hear them over the engine's howling fury. I see my opponent to the right and ahead of me, but not for long. His heavy machine tears down the track, but my lighter car is almost flying. He passes from my vision as I go by, but I feel his presence at my back, a relentless pressure pushing me on. I know that within seconds he will more than match my speed and start closing the gap between us. Before then, I must widen that gap to an impossible gulf.

I continue to accelerate. I no longer see the grandstand. I'm only dimly aware of the poles beside the track. My concentration is consumed by the race. My tunnel vision sees only the track before me. I cannot feel the wheel in my hands; instead I feel the road beneath my wheels, every little crack. The wind is a physical force pushing me back; I push against it with my will. My true opponent lies not behind me but before me. The universe and I are locked in battle. "A man cannot go this fast!" it wails. But as I reach my top speed, I am no longer a man.

I am Speed personified, a pagan god in a modern chariot, clutching the symbol of infinity in my hands. The road ahead extends forever, and I race down it faster than the wind has ever blown. I have always raced down it, and always will. My worshipers are legion. From the astronauts strapped into the tip of their rocket to the hawk diving out of the sky with the wind in his feathers. From the cheetah feeling the African soil torn up beneath her paws to the little boy playing in his garage. I am Speed, and my call is eternal and irresistible.

The spell is broken by the finish line passing under my wheels, and I am once again a man in a machine. I cut power to the engine, grab the stick to my right and pull up hard. I'm thrown forward, my seatbelts cutting into my chest and waist as the parachutes snap open loudly behind me. The engine noise dies off, and the sound of the wind whistles by. My tunnel vision dissipates, and I am suddenly aware of the whole world around me, seeing all its vivid detail with crystalline clarity. Everything seems suddenly peaceful.

I'm almost startled by a motion to my left. My opponent! His dragster sails by, big red and white parachutes billowing out behind it. If he's just now passing me... I won! From behind me, I hear the cheers of the crowd. I throw up my arms and let loose a victory yell. "Yippee!"

"Whatcha doin' down there?" Mom called from upstairs. Her voice broke the spell, and once again I was a boy in a garage.

"Racin'," I replied, but it was no longer true. The grandstand had been replaced by a workbench full of tools, and my opponent was just a poster on the wall.

"Well come on up here. Dinner's ready," she said.

The smell of chicken hit me right in the empty stomach. I leapt out of Daddy's dragster and raced upstairs, setting a new land-speed record for two-legged animals.

Somewhere else, a hawk dived out of the sky. A cheetah felt the wind rush through her whiskers. Three astronauts flew towards the moon for one final visit.

Speed raced on.