Man meets machine at demo derby
Staff writer
Engines roared, clumps of mud flew high into the air, and a large crowd fanned themselves incessantly during a sweltering evening in Hillsboro.
The equinox may have been more than a month prior, but Saturday’s demolition derby felt like the culmination of summer in the county, with each metallic crash of cars filling the bleachers with catharsis.
The arena had been made muddier than usual by rain on Saturday.
The temperature hovered around 90 degrees, but the crowd was undeterred by lack of shade, and turned out en masse to see 38 unique machines infuse the air with gas and smoke.
The number of officials at the derby stood out: There were firefighters, police, EMTs, event staff.
Some firefighters stood directly in the arena in case of an accident, neon uniforms and miniature metal extinguishers glimmering in a golden sun.
The cars’ tires kicked globs of mud and dirt deep into the bleachers, causing the crowd to laugh, shriek, and cover their faces.
Young kids approached a wooden fence, some wearing headphones to protect from the noise of the engines. Parents dragged them back by their collars or lifted them up and draped them over their shoulders.
The cars had jagged and varied exteriors. One bore a dedication to Hillsboro student Sutton Redger, who died in a car accident in February. Others had fierce messages written across the side of their hulls: “Give heaven some hell,” ”Daddy’s home.”
After each round began, the cars homogenized quickly as mud piled up. Riders wore shockingly little protective gear — most just a helmet.
Then again, body armor would only weigh them down in case they needed to escapes their car, which happened a few times.
“Shut ’em down, boys!” an announcer cried as firefighters jogged over to a car engulfed in smoke. “Red flag.”
Tractors and loaders rolled into the arena to tidy things up between heats. Many cars had to be lifted out of the mud.
“We got one more heat,” the announcer said. “This is the weld class. It’s going to get real loud now.”
The best form of attack for the drivers seemed to be defense.
Riders frequently messed up their own cars by being too aggressive in trying to back into others, and rounds frequently turned into battles of attrition, won by the savviest rather than the strongest driver.
Then again, more aggressive driving created a better spectacle.
“Come on, boys,” the announcer said. “Let’s go end-to-end instead of a push-and-shove!”
The crowd cheered loudest on rare occasions when two drivers eyed each other up, paused a moment, then drove full steam toward each other.
Lance Dietenbrock came out on top of the weld class after an extended duel with Tommy Tajchman.
The battles were over, at least for another year. The sun, having seen enough, finally set.