We Don't Need Another Hero

This past weekend my cousin was here in Concord for a big car show. He was here last year for it, but this year he was actually in the show. Last year we walked around and looked at classic cars that we couldn't afford. This year was entirely different. He said, “I didn’t want to overwhelm you last time.” It was a good thing, too. All around the exterior of the Speedway (I capitalize it because it gets that much reverence here) were these fringe groups of which my cousin was now one. I don’t consider my cousin to be a redneck in any way. Maybe I give him too much credit. He has an old 1970’s camper that he has refurbished and it is totally one of a kind. Even I like it and I despise camping.

But here we were in the middle of row upon row of people selling their wares. Muddy rutted dirt roads ran parallel while cars, campers and items for sale lined up as far as the eye could see. I stuck close knowing I’d never find my way out of this maze if I got lost. It was incredible the things that were for sale. Many antique items like children’s pedal cars, bicycles with banana seats, car parts and more often held together only by a thin layer of rust. I let out a slight scream when I saw a stuffed squirrel mounted on a square of wood standing on its hind legs reading a book. I can almost guarantee that’s one more book than the guy who made it has read. I said, “If that doesn’t scream redneck I don’t know what does.”

The place was like a carnival of freaks – men and women who hadn’t bathed all weekend covered in a fine coat of dust selling old Match Box cars. Every once in awhile someone would crank up a vehicle and a rebel yell would explode from the group. Antiques included items like an old coffee vending machine - the kind that makes the awful sludge that’s a cross between mud and motor oil, old license plates and old signs. Just when I thought I had seen every horrific sight possible, a Chevy SS drives by jacked up on monster tires. For a fleeting instant I wondered if Mel Gibson might be inside, you know, with the SS on the back and all. I realized my jaw had been hanging open no doubt catching flies when I was finally able to speak again, “I feel like this is what the post apocalyptic world will look like.” Yes, this was it, the Redneck Thunderdome. I just need to know the way home.