CRASH BANG BOOM: Zen and The Georgetown Fall Fair Demolition Derby

I end up pulling all those WWF adages out of the repressed subconscious. It was a slobberknocker, It was a vicious beating. No quarter was asked and none was given. It was as prototypical a demolition derby as one could conjure from imagination. Pulling from such exotic locals as Toronto and Bolton, brave men and one woman faced off to see whose twisted metal could best stand the taste of chaos. Three rounds of small car figure eight races. One special fox and hound match brought to us by the good people at Moffat, and one blistering eight cylinder slugfest that went on through fire, explosions, and gentlemanly madness.

I couldn't be happier with my town. A crazy accident in the dirt bike showcase earlier held back the show some two hours, but when they finally got going the crowd was no less fun and no less there. There were babies (mine included) asleep on their parents shoulders, teenagers from all of the sects, a healthy mix of the tax brackets, gear heads, straights, off duty cops, math teachers and a handful of fellas taking enough sips from sentimental silver flasks to add to the ambiance without taking away from it.

Maybe part of the draw is that the whole scene feels like it's on borrowed time. It's pretty easy to see a future where this sort of thing has gone the way of pitbulls, indoor smoking and riding in the back of pickups. It's wasteful and it's silly and everytime I visit one I feel that Norman Rockwell incandescent glow and put kids to bed just about as happy as they get. It is that perfect mix of nostalgia, community and the appeasement of a more carnal instinct anyone worth their salt has sloshing around in their guts. Milton is throwing one later this month. If you haven't been to a small town fall fair, do it. Take a big long whiff of the sort of life that won't exist forever.