While I don’t consider myself a true ‘redneck’, I’m not ashamed of the fact that I grew up in the sticks.  I spent countless hours on my grandpa’s farm that was just up the road, and learned to drive a tractor when I was eight.  As a little girl, I dreamt of being an auto mechanic.  Even though I’m not a Nascar fan and don’t have five cars that don’t run sitting in my front yard, I still like to enjoy a little redneck fun and celebrate where I come from on occasion.

Last weekend, hubby and I went to the annual Clear Lake Demolition Derby.  We weren’t disappointed. 

No, that’s not my hat.  I borrowed it from my brother.  I’m thinking of getting one, however.  Hubby says it’s hot.

The excitement of the day was when one of the demo cars saw a unique opportunity to speed across the pit and plow into a jumbled mess of competitors…

…he wound up rolling one of the cars over and landed on top of the heap.  It was frightening, but strangely fun at the same time. 

The feature that really draws a crowd, though, is the combine derby.  Yes, combines.  They even advertised at the parade:

Since these big monsters don’t go very fast, it’s not very exciting.  What they do is place a watermelon in the middle of the pit, and whichever combine breaks the watermelon first, wins fifty bucks.  It makes the whole thing have more of a point, since combines–despite their visual appearance of brawn and might–don’t do a very good job smashing into things.

I also got a video of my little brother riding a mechanical bull, but he told me if I put it on YouTube, he’d torture me.  Since that would more than likely involve being duct-taped to a lazyboy and being forced watching Nascar for hours on end, I think I’ll restrain myself. 

The funny thing is, this ‘Demo Derby’ is beginning to draw city folk who see these backwoods celebrations as a curiosity that cannot be left unwitnessed.  I saw many of these people standing off to the side, eyes wide and mouths hanging open in sheer disbelief of what they were watching.

Me?  I just sat back in my lawn chair that was situated on the back of a flatbed truck, drank my Mike’s Lemonade, let the sun burn the back of my neck, and found great pleasure and satisfaction in watching cars get smashed to smithereens. 

It was a good day.