Younger teenage son: Hey, it won't start!
Other oddities included the steering wheel located in the center of the cab, no doors (you climb into the cab through the chassis) and no rearview mirror. Bigfoot never looks back!
I asked Dan if he'd ever crushed something he wasn't supposed to. "Well," he said, kicking the dirt, "it's just that the crowd really likes carnage. So, one time, I ran over a storage shed full of popcorn. Hell, I've crushed cars I woulda liked to drive home!" What would you give for one day with a Bigfoot inside a Wal-Mart?
After exhaustive safety instruction that lasted 10 minutes, Dan turned me loose with one of the most destructive vehicles on earth. And no insurance forms to sign! The arena was set up for the show: two dirt ramps facing each other with six beat-up cars set door-handle-to-door-handle between them. I flipped the toggle ignition. Over the engine noise and the chattering of my teeth, Dan yelled in my ear, "Now, 'member, if you flip, undo your chest belt first, otherwise you'll hang yourself! O.K., have fun!"
Suddenly wishing I was back home watching my videos, I nervously lined up Bigfoot in front of one of the ramps. I swallowed hard, jammed it into first and took off. I must've been going 75 mph when I went flying up the ramp and landed on top of those poor cars. Thrown around in the cab like a loose St. Christopher statue, I forgot to look down through the plexiglass to see the carnage. Damn!
Still, it was glorious. Dan climbed up into the cab and said, "Good! I think you almost got it to 15 [mph]. Try it one more time, only gun it!"
Cocky now, I lined up again and floored it. Bigfoot jumped from under me like a goosed Clydesdale. I went sailing off the ramp, didn't touch down until my front tires hit the fourth car (a three-car improvement) and became terrified that I was going to flip over forward. Then, just as suddenly, Bigfoot rocked back, and when the rear tires landed, the front flew straight up again. Luckily, I was looking down through the plexiglass when the truck cleaved the bejesus out of a 1981 Bonneville's hood.
Only problem was, I hadn't taken my big foot off Bigfoot's accelerator. I was heading straight for the arena wall. Luckily, my cat-quick professional driver instincts stopped the truck just in time. Well, that and Dan's throwing the kill switch.
He climbed in again and with a huge grin said, "I think you almost got it to 20 [mph] that time!"