Race Car was fast. He sped down the highway with two cop cars in pursuit. They were having a hell of a time keeping up. Race Car weaved in and out of traffic like a bullet, glancing a Porsche as he drove by, then driving hard toward the center lane, only to backslide and hurl headlong into oncoming traffic. Spinning, Race Car was back in line.
Farther down, the three of them reached a stretch of road that was uninhibited by other vehicles and began their death race. In the first few moments, the head squad car slowed edging behind Race Car while the two deputies aligned parallel blotting out the full width of the road. Heavy smoke like hot breath blew a stack out behind Race Car and the two cop cars faltered.
The cops always do this, Race Car thought. They always think they are so damn smart … until they see the driver.
The head squad car leveled out next to Race Car, saw the empty seat, stared wide-eyed, slammed on his breaks, and was clipped on the bumper by the second police car, which sent the first spinning into the desert, wisps of sand covering his windshield. As dust rose, Race Car watched the first squad car flip end over end until it reached a dead stop on the shoulder of the road, brown grains scattered in the air like a dust bowl.
As they sped on in chase, a chuckwalla lay in the sand watching, and somewhere along the line a bighorn sheep was staggering, lost.
The second police car kept form and continued after Race Car. Race Car, meanwhile, wasn’t going to let him have an easy go at his pursuit. He swerved right, cruising into the desert, sending a fountain of dust behind him. The cop car twirled, turned, clumsily dancing as sand fell over its window, obscuring the driver’s view.
Race Car laughed through accelerated exhaust.
The cop car disappeared and Race Car continued onward, driving to the horizon. While he considered his future and gas reserve, a disoriented bighorn sheep bounced onto the road and acted just as well as a three-mile-high speedbump. Race Car flipped half a dozen times, spraying sand in huge swaths through the air, then landed on its roof and slid through an old gas station wall, spewing dust forth under the heavy sun.
The gas station lay dormant for a moment before Race Car emerged as a Volkswagen Type 2 and hurried along the expressway again.
He wouldn’t be stuck in such a ruddy form forever. He would be back. He always came back better and stronger, year after year. He knew this even as he followed a sleek, red convertible to the horizon.
Race Car always came back.
