Demolition Derby: A Love Story

Nothing about me says demolition derby.

I dont pump my own gas. Ive never changed a tire. Ive never even filled up the wiper fluid in my own car. I drive a white station wagon that was made in Germany. I drink white wine. I collect seaglass. I dont just listen to NPR, I send them money. I thought for a brief amount of time that NASCAR was a brand of cigarettes.

But the demolition derby at New Hampshires Hopkinton State Fair is the highlight of my year. Its my new Christmas.

Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

The first time I went, I expected to enjoy it, in the way its amusing for people to step outside their comfort zone and enjoy something they have no intention of doing again.

Thats not what happened. I loved it. The national anthem. The part where a car jumped the fence. The music that played during intermissions, while forklifts and bulldozers cleared demolished cars from the arena.

Demolition derby, you complete me.

I was hooked.

I have a vague memory of my very first derby. I was probably 10 or so. It was in Maine, where I spent most summers growing up. I dont remember much, beyond a glimmer of excitement and a ton of smoke.

My dad remembers more. It was the Wiscasset Speedway, he told me.

More here:
Demolition Derby: A Love Story