The One Where Maggie Buys a Race Car
Right. So. I’ve bought a race car.
I just feel like there’s a point in everyone’s adult life where they think to themselves: we have an adult decision to make here. Do I set up a 401k, do I actually decorate the guest bedroom, or do I buy a race car?
In a way, I feel this decision has been fated for my entire life. I went into kindergarten one year early, I got engaged just a month and a half after meeting Lover, and I published six novels in four years. I just like doing things fast. And what better way to go fast than in a race car? Well, the answer is: in a fighter plane. But let’s not be ridiculous here.
Although I do own a pair of aviator sunglasses.
Those of you who read the blog regularly will know that I already have a Car Slightly Slower Than a Fighter Plane, i.e., Loki* the ’73 Camaro, which went with me on my FOREVER book tour last July. And Loki didn’t really break down at all during that, unless you count the total failure of the air conditioning system outside of Nashville, which I don’t. Mostly because I don’t remember anything from those parched days of 190 degree heat and 127,000% humidity.
*so help me, if anyone comments on this post with “You mean Loki like THE AVENGERS!?!?!?!” I will punch them in the face with a Wikipedia article. Although I enjoy that Loki, that is not the Loki to which I refer.
But despite Loki’s totally trust-worthy nature (I am laughing even as I type this)(anyone who has ever had to push/ pull/ rescue/ fuel/ pump/ lift/ tuck Loki and I from the side of the road is probably also laughing at this point), he is ill-suited to the sort of racing I want to do in 2013. Which is this sort:
Rally racing involves gravel and dirt and rocks and also cars with speed restrictors on them to keep you from driving off (too many) cliffs. It requires a rather rugged sort of race car, with two people in it. One to steer. One to shout the blind turns as they come up. I shall be one of these people. The other person shall be Bill Lauze, a brave soul who seems strangely untroubled by putting his life in my hands.
But this is what it actually looks like at the moment.
Observe that button right there. That button would ordinarily start the car. I believe at the moment that the word “POWER” is what we like to call “a lie.” Do you remember when you were a child and your parents used to give you old, broken remote controls so that you could pretend they were your cell phone? That is what that button is right now. It is a pretend button. You can push it and pretend your race car has started. And then you can make thrum-thrum-thrum noises as you run around the shop. You know, like a grown-up.
I realize that all of these car photos are rather technical, so I have taken the liberty of demystifying one of these shots for the layperson.
Of course, Bill is the one suffering through eviscerating the car at the moment, while I labor at finishing as much of the sequel to THE RAVEN BOYS as I can before I head out on tour. Which starts in two seconds. So I should get to that. I’ll leave you with an image of me wearing a very silly helmet and getting my other car grubby.