"I went to see monster trucks," she replied with a smile. I thought for sure she was kidding, so I asked her to repeat it. "Yes, I'm serious!" she insisted.
Sure enough, Brighid and a friend found a deal on cheap seats at a monster truck show, and they had decided to take in a new adventure.
I still remember my introduction to monster trucks. It was around 1982, and my father and I stopped at a family friend's house. Seeing that I was bored, our friend handed me a magazine to leaf through. It was a cheap, mostly black-and-white photo-laden rag. But it was chock full of jacked up trucks, Jeeps, and even a '69 Mustang fastback that were ALL tearing through the mud on large tires.
I was hooked - and begged my parents to take me the next time a show was in town.
So the day of the show came (probably a "Sunday, SUNday, SunDAAAAAAY"), and the three of us headed to the Philadelphia Spectrum for an event full of mud and exhaust gasses.
Back then, monster trucks were still trucks. For the most part, they were still stock-bodied machines that had 4' of suspension travel, and a massively supercharged engine sticking out of the hood. They looked like a truck. They sounded mean. You could almost imagine the scary guy up the block building one in his backyard.
The evening consisted of tractor pulls, which were great for belching fire from exhaust manifolds and coating the first eight rows of spectators in a thick layer of mud. This, of course, just made you cheer louder.
Then during intermission, bulldozers started moving junkyard cars into lines in the center of the arena. They were mostly complete, and still had chrome, windows, headlights and such on them - just like the ones you'd see on the street.
The lights dimmed, and the one and only Bigfoot rolled out. It was just a truck - but to everyone there, the vehicle took on rock-star status.
With a roar from the engine, the truck accelerated forward towards the rows of cars. With a solid bounce, the front tires hit the first car, the truck reared back on its bumper, then came crashing down on that first car, flattening it to the fenders! Glass exploded for 15 feet, a hubcap flew off, and a metal roof became irreplaceable. Then, as if to prove the point that he was the greatest truck ever, Bigfoot drove down the row, smashing and crushing the cars underneath each of its 850 lb. tires.
The crowd roared, the driver waved, and for that moment, no one in the arena could have felt more American.
But the days of monster trucks have had to evolve with the times. Now that kids are used to video games, and short attention spans, and maybe even some loyalty to NASCAR, monster truck shows have evolved into races - not just blatant exhibitionism.
Even the trucks look generic. For safety reasons, the trucks are now essentially roll cages with big suspensions, and the engine resides behind the driver in the "truck bed" area. They've been given names of products and pro wrestlers, and even the long-standing fan favorite, Grave Digger, has been modernized to keep up with the competition.
Nevertheless, as long as there are people like Brighid who are interested in checking out a real piece of Americana, or just out looking for an unpretentious good time, Monster Trucks will remain a part of American culture.
Just be sure to bring earplugs and wear a mud-proof parka.
What vehicle is considered to be the first Monster Truck?
The "Lunar Dunar", built in the late 1960s by the father of SoCal Speed Shop's own Jimmy Shine.
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