The JOEL Wide World: Irwindale Motor Speedway

The JOEL Wide World:
Demolition Derby and Trailer Races
Irwindale Motor Speedway, Baldwin Park, CA

It was inadvertent that I went to my first "Night of Destruction" at the Irwindale Speedway on July 4th weekend, but, somehow, it made complete sense.
What is more American than racing cars and beer and fireworks and parking issues and chili fries and throngs of people and wrecking cars? It was almost too American.
It was so American that somebody tried to get by me, I responded "no worries," he thought I said, "no way," and his response was: "Dude. Whattaya mean. We're American bro!"

Frankly, I went as a lark. I'd never been to an auto race, much less one that was deemed the "Night of Destruction." Usually when you hear that, it's less destructive, and more kitschy.
I am happy to report the Night of Destruction did not slack on the destruction.

It also helped that I rolled there with my buddy Pete Giovine, a standup comic straight off the shores of Jersey - how American is that?! Of course, we went in my Ford Fiesta because: America.

Enough about our accidental over-patriotism. Let me open your eyes to the wonderful world of small race tracks and the sheer variety of races and destruction you can squeeze in to 3 hours.

Irwindale is what they call a "short track" in NASCAR. They have races there on the very amateur level. There is one solid grandstand, some food stands and a mile-long track. Pete told me it's a place where NASCAR wannabes cut their teeth.

Indeed, amongst all of the destruction, we were treated to a short, 25-lap NASCAR-style car race. It probably meant something, the winner might've won cash, heck a career might've started. It was a unique race because there were no wrecks, but don't believe that it was any less exciting. NASCAR seems to be a lot like pro hockey: It's OK as a televised sport, but when you see it live, and the blood and adrenaline get working in conjunction because you're a part of what's happening, then you "get it." It was awesome!

To go back: This being a small-time track, and because they probably rarely have crowds out there, it only took us 1 hour to get in. In other words, we finally found some seats with a pair of beers in hand around 45 minutes after the festivities started. We might've missed something. I couldn't tell you what. It didn't matter.

From the first race we saw, I was enthralled! The adjustable track was shaped like a kidney bean, an oval with a dent in the top. The participants were probable recent junkyard finds or were pegged to end up there after the race. This means that the drivers sped along with abandon with very little respect for theirs or someone else's car. They had helmets and straps, sure, but essentially it was one beat-up Honda Accord chasing down and barreling into another Honda Civic. The cars were hand-painted, bumpers flew everywhere and the concrete barriers did their best to contain the action. Our tickets were only $10. I would've paid that for the first race. And this was the weakest of the whole lineup!

Next up is soccer. A 600-pound ball painted like a soccer ball (I still have no idea what it was made out of) and 2 teams of 3 cars squaring off against another. There were 2 concrete barriers adjusted on each side to form the parameters of a "goal." The rest is fairly obvious. However, when you see a 600-pound ball fly off of one car's bumper, careen into another car, rocking it, then have a third car sweep in and go Tony Stewart-meets-Lionel Messi on it, you realize what the sport of soccer is missing in the U.S.: Cars. And destruction.

The third race (that we saw) of the night was easily the most fun I've had at a sporting event this year. The track was reshaped again into a figure 8. Yes! Those same beat-up jalopies and scrapheap Corollas were now going to race in a figure 8. There were twice as many cars and the intersection was part of the track.
When I was a child, I had a motorized toy car track called "Criss Cross Crash." The point being you would race each other but at some point the tracks crossed, and, frankly, you never cared who won, you just wanted to see cars hit each other.
Multiply that by 20 cars. Add about 65 miles per hour of speed. Add a bit of skill. Now you have the most visceral racing experience you're bound to encounter.
You've seen the action films where a few cars race through the crowded streets of a major metropolis with little regard for red lights. Yet, somehow, through careful planning of the 2nd AD and stunt team, the drivers eke through intersections missing perpendicular traffic by inches. It's a nice thrill.
Now have that happen 35 to 40 times in a 15 minute time span, with a solid t-bone crash thrown in just to prove it's real.
My clammy hands could barely hold my beer!

Next up was the aforementioned short-track NASCAR-style race. Then there was a race with those same everyday cars (apparently built more solidly then their bodies would have you believe). However, they removed the back tires and put in skid plates. The track was the previously described kidney bean, and there were about 35 cars drifting around it because, you got it, they could only use their front tires. Maybe I had already gotten full of adrenaline, or maybe my tolerance for random destruction was met, because watching cars skid into each other for 20 minutes became ho-hum in comparison to what we'd seen.

How quickly we become adapted to thrills!

The last race of the evening was simply the cherry on top and was worth a $50 ticket all it's own. It was the famed Trailer Races! Take a bunch of beat-up SUV's or surly muscle cars, tag them each with trailers - some with RV's, some with boats, one with a wave-rider - and let them take the big oval. Here's the beauty of the Trailer Race: It's not for speed or time. The winner of the trailer race is the car that puts on the best show! This means that you're putting a bunch of adrenaline junkies in cars with trailers trying to thrill the audience. And what thrills an audience force-fed a balls-to-the-wall buffet of outrageous destruction? MORE DESTRUCTION! Without abandon, without consideration for safety, no-holds-barred, absolute mayhem. Lost your trailer? Plow through someone else's! Boat blocking your path? Gun it through the hull! Need to stop a car? Drive up on it's trailer to clip the wheels! It was absolute, pure, unbridled destructive passion. It was as close as we'll legally get to modern-day gladiatorial fighting mixed with that most of American traditions: The motorized vehicle.

In short: It was so American! Cars and RV's and boats used purely for disposable play and slapstick destruction. The ultimate in excess, in every way possible.

It was all followed with a fireworks show to Lee Greenwood's "God Bless America," because, well, frankly, it just had to be.....