Creative Writing: The Coal Trailer
Prologue
The squealing of the tires around me is not a pretty noise; most will find it obnoxious and just bat an undaring eyelash at it, thinking more about how their tax dollars will go to the eventual repair of the road rather than the events taking place. Then again, these races weren’t anything new, they met international expectation and the local clubs are known for having the best armature road racers around. The Coal Trailers are the strongest team by far and a major force to be reckoned with; they are more of a school rather than a club, they teach the tricks of the trade intern producing some of the best - their motto, ‘teaching them young’ and that is what they do. Most joined the club at the mere age of 14 with only a learner’s …show more content…
license to their name; this gave lots of room for improvement and a blank impressionable slate to meld into whatever the teachers desired. Even with a small population of only about twelve hundred, only the best made it into the program. But the graduates were guaranteed big success and that was enough for most. This however spawned smaller unaffiliated clubs, made from people that didn’t make the cut. They all really only have two goals: become better than the Coal Trailers, intern defeating them. It also led to intense competition and cut thought, action from both inside and outside the club.
People went to hell and back to just sit back and watch these races.
The road itself was also a feet most could only dream of taking on, it required a driver's full attention. This is a mountain town that was built on coal, the winters were rough, the roads are ever winding, circling the mountains; they are also old meaning that they are extremely narrow and filled with many potholes and cracks. If you could master driving on this road, you could really do anything. This is why the people came, they either wanted to learn some new tricks and sharpen their technique. The others were apart of clubs outside of this region, thinking that they might have a good chance in beating any of the local …show more content…
clubs.
I don’t really fit into either, this was my home town and the racing scene became ingrained in me but this was a place I didn’t really want to be. It was more of a family obligation that I was even here tonight. Despite all of that I still felt a sense of belonging among the smell of burning rubber and car exhaust, this was one of the very few places that made me feel this calm. It was a foreboding melancholy sense of calm, but it was calm nonetheless. Nothing bad ever really happened to me here but the sadness resided in more of a ‘what if’ or ‘should have’ situation. If I were to have stuck to the path created by my family, big things could have happened to me here, but we all grow up at some point in our lives and it was time for me to extend the olive branch and see what else the world had in store for me.
I looked down at my wrist; the bland green block letters read 8:30pm.
It has been dark for the past hour and the crowds have started to gather around the bends of the course. The weather was complete shit, cold northern winds and a cloud filling sky - it was going to rain or snow - but that didn't stop the people from trying to get the best spot. None of the ‘noteworthy’ races were set to start for another two hours but most of these people didn’t care; they just wanted to see a race not caring if it was the captain or some want-to-be hotshot. But at the rate that the clouds were coming in the races would probably be postponed not that the racers couldn't handle a little rain -that’s not true. When you have an environment like the Coal Trailers, liability comes into play and they risk nothing, it’s better safe than
sorry. I continued to walk up to the top of the course – the headquarters. The headquarters was the garage and essentially the school for the Coal Trailers. It was a big facility, it had a six bay garage filled to the brim with extra parts and enough tools to make Bob the Builder himself happy. Next to the garage was the building where they held all of the demo cars – the winning cars with souped up engines and way too much money invested in them. Looking closer you can see that in the room, tucked behind some vintage Audi lies the best car to ever race this track and over ten others in this area - holding the fastest downhill time in all of them. It was a tacky yellow 1997 Subaru Impreza WRX STi Version VI, a car in which my opinion has too long of a name and a meaning that has me stumped. It was a rally car with four wheel drive and a turbo engine; but if you were to ask me anything else about it, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything. Too many parts and tools are needed to maintain these monsters, I prefer looking at these cars in the midst of a battle rather than looking at what is under the hood. The attention that these things required was beyond the knowledge and the care that I had for them.
When I reached the top of the course the rain was just starting to fall, I jumped into my car and turned my key bringing the beast to life, I really only came here tonight to get a nostalgic feel that only this track gave me, it was a feeling that - to this day - I can’t put into words. Sure the races were interesting, but the feeling that you get as a car going full speed races towards you, only to quickly duck into the corner was fortified and invigorating. I pulled from the curb and took the back roads home.
Chapter One
The rain has been a constant the past few days and the only thing that has worsened my not so sunny disposition is the fact that my car broke down… or died. I’m not too sure how the whole mechanical system works. So I am left to fend for myself, I prop the hood of my car up to see if I can get a better look. Everything still looked in tacked, there was no absurdness, no bellows of smoke, and no real noticeable change.
“Shit” I mumbled to myself. I was stuck on some back road hell hole, with no source of help in the distance. I look down at my watch, it’s just past midnight. No garage or car repair shop would be open at this time. If I couldn't phone a shop or tow truck, then that left two discernible options, one: I stay the night and wait to see if anyone drives down this way and then ask for help or two: I phone my brother, but would he really come and get me? Jay was the eldest by almost seven years and he would be here in a heartbeat, if only he didn’t leave last night to go to that race. Calling my other brother - Grey - wasn’t an option, We were were too close personality wise making us too competitive and emulose when it came to doing thing. Mix that with me leaving on a whim, only coming to visit on rare occasions. He would not be a happy camper, especially since I have yet to tell anyone - but Jay - of my permanent return. Don’t get me wrong, we were close, practically bound at the hip. But me randomly showing up after a year of no communication wouldn’t be fair to him.
The squealing of the tires around me is not a pretty noise; most will find it obnoxious and just bat an undaring eyelash at it, thinking more about how their tax dollars will go to the eventual repair of the road rather than the events taking place. Then again, these races weren’t anything new, they met international expectation and the local clubs are known for having the best armature road racers around. The Coal Trailers are the strongest team by far and a major force to be reckoned with; they are more of a school rather than a club, they teach the tricks of the trade intern producing some of the best - their motto, ‘teaching them young’ and that is what they do. Most joined the club at the mere age of 14 with only a learner’s …show more content…
license to their name; this gave lots of room for improvement and a blank impressionable slate to meld into whatever the teachers desired. Even with a small population of only about twelve hundred, only the best made it into the program. But the graduates were guaranteed big success and that was enough for most. This however spawned smaller unaffiliated clubs, made from people that didn’t make the cut. They all really only have two goals: become better than the Coal Trailers, intern defeating them. It also led to intense competition and cut thought, action from both inside and outside the club.
People went to hell and back to just sit back and watch these races.
The road itself was also a feet most could only dream of taking on, it required a driver's full attention. This is a mountain town that was built on coal, the winters were rough, the roads are ever winding, circling the mountains; they are also old meaning that they are extremely narrow and filled with many potholes and cracks. If you could master driving on this road, you could really do anything. This is why the people came, they either wanted to learn some new tricks and sharpen their technique. The others were apart of clubs outside of this region, thinking that they might have a good chance in beating any of the local …show more content…
clubs.
I don’t really fit into either, this was my home town and the racing scene became ingrained in me but this was a place I didn’t really want to be. It was more of a family obligation that I was even here tonight. Despite all of that I still felt a sense of belonging among the smell of burning rubber and car exhaust, this was one of the very few places that made me feel this calm. It was a foreboding melancholy sense of calm, but it was calm nonetheless. Nothing bad ever really happened to me here but the sadness resided in more of a ‘what if’ or ‘should have’ situation. If I were to have stuck to the path created by my family, big things could have happened to me here, but we all grow up at some point in our lives and it was time for me to extend the olive branch and see what else the world had in store for me.
I looked down at my wrist; the bland green block letters read 8:30pm.
It has been dark for the past hour and the crowds have started to gather around the bends of the course. The weather was complete shit, cold northern winds and a cloud filling sky - it was going to rain or snow - but that didn't stop the people from trying to get the best spot. None of the ‘noteworthy’ races were set to start for another two hours but most of these people didn’t care; they just wanted to see a race not caring if it was the captain or some want-to-be hotshot. But at the rate that the clouds were coming in the races would probably be postponed not that the racers couldn't handle a little rain -that’s not true. When you have an environment like the Coal Trailers, liability comes into play and they risk nothing, it’s better safe than
sorry. I continued to walk up to the top of the course – the headquarters. The headquarters was the garage and essentially the school for the Coal Trailers. It was a big facility, it had a six bay garage filled to the brim with extra parts and enough tools to make Bob the Builder himself happy. Next to the garage was the building where they held all of the demo cars – the winning cars with souped up engines and way too much money invested in them. Looking closer you can see that in the room, tucked behind some vintage Audi lies the best car to ever race this track and over ten others in this area - holding the fastest downhill time in all of them. It was a tacky yellow 1997 Subaru Impreza WRX STi Version VI, a car in which my opinion has too long of a name and a meaning that has me stumped. It was a rally car with four wheel drive and a turbo engine; but if you were to ask me anything else about it, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything. Too many parts and tools are needed to maintain these monsters, I prefer looking at these cars in the midst of a battle rather than looking at what is under the hood. The attention that these things required was beyond the knowledge and the care that I had for them.
When I reached the top of the course the rain was just starting to fall, I jumped into my car and turned my key bringing the beast to life, I really only came here tonight to get a nostalgic feel that only this track gave me, it was a feeling that - to this day - I can’t put into words. Sure the races were interesting, but the feeling that you get as a car going full speed races towards you, only to quickly duck into the corner was fortified and invigorating. I pulled from the curb and took the back roads home.
Chapter One
The rain has been a constant the past few days and the only thing that has worsened my not so sunny disposition is the fact that my car broke down… or died. I’m not too sure how the whole mechanical system works. So I am left to fend for myself, I prop the hood of my car up to see if I can get a better look. Everything still looked in tacked, there was no absurdness, no bellows of smoke, and no real noticeable change.
“Shit” I mumbled to myself. I was stuck on some back road hell hole, with no source of help in the distance. I look down at my watch, it’s just past midnight. No garage or car repair shop would be open at this time. If I couldn't phone a shop or tow truck, then that left two discernible options, one: I stay the night and wait to see if anyone drives down this way and then ask for help or two: I phone my brother, but would he really come and get me? Jay was the eldest by almost seven years and he would be here in a heartbeat, if only he didn’t leave last night to go to that race. Calling my other brother - Grey - wasn’t an option, We were were too close personality wise making us too competitive and emulose when it came to doing thing. Mix that with me leaving on a whim, only coming to visit on rare occasions. He would not be a happy camper, especially since I have yet to tell anyone - but Jay - of my permanent return. Don’t get me wrong, we were close, practically bound at the hip. But me randomly showing up after a year of no communication wouldn’t be fair to him.