Out Of the Skids And Into The Win

Out of the Skids and Into The Win Part V

2010-04-04T21:47:00.000-07:00

Running from the cops felt as natural to Dash as a wild white snow cat does running through the tundra while dodging sniper fire from a helicopter. The Cool Ranch Doritos #42 car had been surprisingly easy to hot wire and Dash had found that if he just pushed down the gas pedal all the way and didn’t really think of who got in the way as he was escaping the garage, things just kinda worked themselves out. He thought he had heard a crunching sound as he grazed Roy Buckman’s leg but it was hard to tell with “Bat Out of Hell” playing full blast on the stereo. Dash had been drinking pretty heavily prior to stealing the car and the Jack kept flowing forth as he barreled down the highway. Suddenly everything was so clear and focused. Dash now knew what he had to do. If his love with Madeline was going to live, the Cool Ranch Dorito #42 car had to die.

But where to kill it was the question. Would it be off Stickman’s Gorge down by the river where Dash had first proposed to Madeline. Or would it be the alley behind abandoned First Prespraterian Church where they had first consummated their love. Or would it be the parking lot of the Sam’s Club where Madeline had waited patiently while Dash inquired whether the morning after pill could be acquired in bulk.

With the cops on his tail Dash knew he would never get a chance to dispose of the Cool Ranch Dorito #42 car. So he gunned it into the next gear and reached for the Glock 40 caliber he kept in the Cool Ranch Dorito #42 car’s glove compartment just in case the races got a little hairy. He reached out the window and fired off a few shots to let the po-po know he meant business. Witnesses later would say they heard him shout a few things where I’m sure you could see it as Anti-Seminic but that’s really taking them out of context and we’re all human and sometimes we say things we don’t really mean and who are you to judge after all. Huh, James Patrick Robinson. I’m sure you’re a perfect fucking person who never said anything out of line in your whole life. Big fucking deal. This is a real man we’re talking about. Not some mammsie pammsie comedy man. So get off your high horse for once and try and walk in someone else’s shoes, huh, Patrick?

Anyways, after the shots went off the police cars began to keep their distance with the Cool Ranch Dorito #42 car. Or so Dash thought. What he didn’t realize until it was to late was that the Highway he was driving on was the Glenn Jacobs memorial highway that was hopefully over budget and consequently unfinished. When he finally did realize the course he was taking would lead him to his untimely demise he knew he only had two options. Go out in a blaze of glory like those two lesbians in that movie with Brad Pitt and never see his darling Madeline again or put the brakes on and be delivered to a jail cell where he wouldn’t be behind the wheel of a decent motor vehicle for a long long time.

I don’t think I have to tell you which one he chose. People from 3 counties away said they could hear the explosions from the car hitting a fuel tanker on the service road below the highway. But their probably just lying to make themselves look cooler because sound really doesn’t travel that way. Madeline would eventually marry a different driver who wasn’t quite as good as Dash on and off the track. But then again, who is? Roy would walk with a limp the rest of his life. A less than subtle reminder of what happens when you push a man who’s dangerously close to the edge. And Matilida, well she just kept of being a filthy tramp.

Before today few outside the racing world know the tragic story of Dash Rencroft. But it is this author’s hope that his name will live on in the annals of Nascar lore. If only as a warning to those who loved so hard that they couldn’t get out of the skids, and into the win.

Out of the Skids and Into The Win Part IV

2010-03-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

Moving at a steady clip of 18 miles per hour, Dash was lost to the world of racing and corporate sponsorships. It was only here, at Oscar’s combination Poolhall, Go-Kart track, and Thai massage parlor that he could be at home with his thoughts. His mind began to shift to happier times. Suddenly, he was transported to his boy-hood hometown of Crashelltenbergville, Mississippi, where the population was just under 400 and the two most prominent centers of industry were moonshining and hedge-fund speculating. Dash was one of two boys married to Mary Laudermyer and Curtis Rencroft. Being a relatively progressive couple by Crashelltenbergville standards, Mary and Curtis decided to hyphenate their children’s names and thus Dash’s nickname had been born from a lifteme of confusion from trying to explain his name was Dale Laudermyer “Dash” Rencroft.

Life could be tough living in a small town and one of the few solaces that Dash had been racing converted Yamaha lawnmowers with his big brother Hyphen Rencroft. Curtis Rencroft sold the lawnmowers in the Sears that was two towns over but his true passion was modifying them for speed and forcing his sons to race them in the medium sized field behind the family trailer. At first Dash had felt kinda silly racing a lawn mower at 15 miles per hour but eventually he began to make a strategy for it. For the rest of his life he never felt more alive than he did trying to avoid running into the Clutter’s cocker spaniel beagle mix with his lawnmower. Woe to the brother that fell behind and lost his race. Curtis Rencroft could be a mean sonofabitch when he wanted to, which was most of the time. He was known to go through 2 cases of Jack and 3 of Smirnoff in an afternoon. And then he would move on to the hard stuff. And then he would get into a switching mood. Crashelltenbergville’s oak trees were notorious for the strength and durability of the switches that could be had from them and if Dash lost, his backside would be as red as the Electoral College map when a hypnotizing socialist Antichrist isn’t in the running.

Yes, except for the savage beatings and social ostracizing, Crashelltenbergville, Mississippi seemed like paradise. That is until that fateful day that would change the course of Dash’s life forever. The afternoon was sunny, with temperatures in the high 60’s. The kind of weather that’s just beginning to be good for just a tshirt but you would probably be more comfortable in a jacket or a light sweater but whatever makes you happy man. I’m not here to tell you how to dress. Dash was putting on the gas going into the 145 lap of the race his father had decided to call the “Where’d all the Beer Go? I think your whore mother drank it” 200. He was gaining on Hyphen but knew he would never win if he didn’t come up with something fast. In a split second, Dash decided to get close enough to his to spook him into giving up the lead. Unfortunately for both brothers, Dash misjudged the distance to Hyphen’s lawn mower and nudged his brother into a full out spin. Suddenly, the momentum of Hyphen’s lawnmower doubled and then quadrupled into itself, sending the Yamaha ZH200 swiftly into Curtis Rencroft’s 1977 Dodge Monaco which inevitably sent the Hyphen into a series of end over end barrel rolls that ended with the his lawnmower bursting into flames then exploding; sending little pieces of Hyphen and lawnmower all over the Mark Callaway Memorial trailer park. Looking back as he raced away from the horror and the grief for his dead brother, Dash knew he could never go back home and that he could force himself to do whatever it takes to get out the skids, and into the win.

Out of the Skids and Into The Win Part III

2010-03-23T13:37:00.001-07:00

Roy Buckman was furious. Rage filled his every fiber like a wild jungle cat that had just had sand thrown in its eyes as a defense measure, but really all you have on your hands is an even more pissed off puma. And who wants that? Certainly not our hero Dash, who had hoped he would be welcomed with open arms professed his love for Roy’s daughter. Surely, he thought, their two families would go together like the theoretical union of the Middle East and democracy. Unfortunately, it looked like things were going to end up like the actual union of the Middle East and democracy.

“Dash,” said Roy with a frothing mouth and a wild-eyed stare. “if you think you’re going to marry my daughter you got another thing coming to you. That girl has more class and smarts in left little toe than the entirety you’re whole boonscrabble family. She was reading at a 6th grade level while she was still in diapers. She finished an entire run of Animorphs before she realized she had shit herself. She chose to be the island of Malta in her Junior High’s model UN, and somehow got it a seat on the real UN’s security counsel. She figured out Snape was a triple agent after only reading the first 20 pages of “Sorcerer’s Stone. If you think you can get to that level, you’re just fooling yourself boy”

Dash stood there for a second and thought about all Roy had said. He thought long and hard. Then, with great purpose, he said “Well, Mr. Buckman’s there’s only two things I have to say to you. First, you say Madeline got more class in her left little toe than my whole boonscrabble family. Well if you were anykind of father you would know that Madeline lost her left little toe in a freak wind surfing accident off the coast of Gulf Shores. But I guess you were too busy looking after the team to pay attention to little things like minor amputations. Second, I don’t care what you think about our love. Melanie and I accept each other for who we are. Our love doesn’t have to change to suit anyone’s unyielding idea what a relationship should be, and that includes you Mr. Buckman. As the immortal Bard said:

‘Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or Bends with the remover to remove.
O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wandering bark,
whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.’

“Those some fancy words boy.” Said Roy, “Where’d you get them from”

“Found them on a plaque for sail in a Sky Mall magazine”

“Well that’s a nice sentiment and all but I’m not sure just a 17^th century sonnet is going to woo my girl when she hears about this secret you’ve been keeping”

Dash tried to remain calm but his heart began racing like something those goes really fast. (I think I got a little bit lazy with that joke) “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Roy spat out a plug of tobacco he had been keeping in his check for about three days and chuckled. “Well we’ll see if a security tape of a certain Wind Tunnel redevous with a familiar older woman jogs your memory. Really, Dash, you should’ve known women generally get turned off when their boyfriends sleep with their mothers. Haven’t you ever seen ‘The Graduate’?”

Dash couldn’t believe his ears. “You wouldn’t! This is just as much an embarrassment to you as it is to me.”

“You think I didn’t know Matilda has been two timing me. She’s slept with more drivers than Jeff Gordon. And that guy is a fucking slut. No, I’ve already sent copies of the tape to Madeline and the Nascar Ethics Committee chair. By then end of the week, you’ll be lucky if you can get a job driving a plastic carrousel pony in a third rate Ukrainian carnival. Now get out of my sight”

Out of the Skids and Into The Win Part II

2010-03-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

Dash had been the first to cross the victory line at the Karl’s Jr. Motor Speedway and now he knew he would be the first cross the victory line into Madeline’s entry to womanhood. Her sweet inboard cylinder would finally be home to his outboard drive shaft. Ever since he saw her in Roy’s office all those years ago he knew he had to have her. Her face was that of an Angel that he had seen in his “My First Illustrated Bible” (which he still took with him on races). But she had been out his class, out of his league, above his station, too big for her britches, a uptown girl who never had a backstreet guy, bet her momma never told her why etc. etc. He thought he would be stuck to cheap daydream fantasies of her and even cheaper prostitutes that kinda looked like her if he was drunk enough and they were wearing that special dress that he stole from her closet. But now the playing field had been leveled and Dash had his shot and he wasn’t about to blow it.

They had agreed to have their rendezvous in the team’s service center. When he got there the lights were almost completely dimmed. The only reason Dash could get around was because he knew the shop like a place you’ve been to several times before and incidentally memorized the layout of it. Taylor Swift was playing softly in the background. Dash made it to the team’s sole Harley Davidson upholstered bar stool where he sat down and waited for the magic to happen.

Suddenly he felt a chill run down his spine as the shop’s two industrial service fans turned on at full blast. Then a familiar voice behind him whispered, “I always wanted you to be my first Dash. And I always wanted it to be just like this”

As Dash began to turn around he got a sharp punch in the kidney’s and Madeline’s hushed voice said “Shhh. You’ll get all of what you have coming to you in just a moment. Just let me slip on something more appropriate”

“This is going to be some night,” thought Dash as he recovered from the jab and began unbuckling his pants. The anticipation was just brimming out of him like fryer full of Twinkies. He had thought of nothing but his moment since Madeline had pulled him over before the big race and promised herself to him if he came out on top.

Suddenly the soothing teenage angst change to an ear numbing mix of death metal and Bob Costas reading Winter Olympic figure skating results. Dash wasn’t sure why, but his seemed to turn him on even more than his previous expectations for the evening. The mixture of Cannibal Corpse and the melodic, drumming voice of Mr. Costas just slipped into his ear like a 4 wheeler through his Uncle Frank’s cow pasture.

It was at this point that a high powered strobe light began going off at regular intervals (as strobe lights are wont to do). Dash was turned around and there was Madeline in a 1984 Louisiana World Exhibition T-shirt, a leather trench coat, and nothing else. In her hands were a bright red ballgag, a small whip, and a half empty jar of Jiff. By the look on her face, Dash knew she meant business. By the look on his, she knew she might have a problem.

“I thought we would go slow to start with.” She said “This being my first time, it might take me a little while to figure out what I’m doing”

“Don’t worry,” said Dash. “This isn’t my first rodeo. As long as we use a safe word, we should be okay.”

Madeline smiled “The safety word is Earnhart, by the way” she said as she slowly moved her figures up Dash’s face. “Oh, and I don’t remember giving you permission to take your clothes off” And with that she kicked the chair out from under Dash and proceed to go to town on our hero like a red headed stepchild on Easter Sunday.

For many years to come Dash would never say he knew true love like he knew that night. Nor would he be able to go to the bathroom quite the same way ever again.

Out of the Skids and Into The Win Part I

2010-03-05T09:47:00.000-08:00

Sliding into first, Dash’s mind should be on the race, but all he can think about are Madeline’s ample bosoms. Those words she had spoke to him in the pit before the race rang through his ears like a 7 car pile up at the Minnesota Speedway.

“If you win this race Dash, you’ll not only have the key to the Cool Ranch Dorito Dodge Charger but also the key to my heart.”

“What could she have been talking about” thought Dash as he made the left turn. Surly she couldn’t have been filled with the 5000cc’s of lust that he was feeling. His heart felt like it was going to burst into a thousand smaller pieces of heart. He knew that if he could just stay in first perhaps Madeline’s affections would not be for naught.

As he made another left turn. Dash began feeling doubts about the whole situation. After all, it was just yesterday he made love to Madeline’s mother Matilda in the team’s wind tunnel testing facility. He had never known the cool passionate embrace of an older woman before and he madly desired to park his chassis in her transmission again. She had taught him what it meant to be a winner and he knew he couldn’t turn his back on her now.

As he made another left turn, Dash’s heart began to be panged with guilt. He knew that he was betraying the trust of his mentor, Roy Buckman, by having elicit affairs with both his wife and potentially his daughter. Roy had taught Dash everything he knew and here was Dash spitting it all back in his face like shotty batch of Penzoil. The pain of it was tearing Dash apart. If he didn’t keep his honor, what had those five Nextell championships really mean.

“Squat, that’s what” thought Dash as he made another left turn. He knew the only things a man really has of value are his word and his American brand car. All the same, though, he longed to feel the warm touch of Matilda’s experienced hands. “What a grip she had!” thought Dash. “I bet she could loosen a 1996 Ford Fiesta factory sealed lugnut with those hands” He had never known a women as assured and confident as Matilda before and he mourned all the minutes they spent apart.

As he made another left turn, Dash started to form a dastardly idea in the back of his head. “Maybe I should just kill the old man” he thought. They spent so much time alone together in the shop, it would be very simple to fake an accident. One false slip of the soldering iron and Matilda would be his. One dropped engine block and the special place between he thighs would be his forever. It would all be so natural. He would just need to swoop in to fill the hole left in her heart by the absence of her husband. It would be as simple as picking up an endorsement from a third grade vacuum manufacturer. She would be his and he would be able to take the marital victory lap every single night and sometimes in the afternoon.

“NO!!!” He shouted as he made another left turn. He couldn’t be thinking these thoughts. He was a virtuous young man from the real America. He had been raised better than this. It wasn’t like Roy was a dirty border crosser. He didn’t deserve to be killed on sight. He was a devoted family man who had voted straight down the line Goldwater, Nixon, Ford, Reagan, Bush, Dole, and Bush again. A true man of virtue who loved the Christian God and his country, Roy would never hurt a fly unless it was trying to socialize his medicare.

“Something wrong Dash?” asked Tommy in Dash’s headset as the Cool Ranch Dorito #42 car made another left turn.

“No, everythings fine” said Dash. “I just have to get my head out of the skids and into the win”