French philosopher and novelist Victor Hugo once said “Adversity makes men, and prosperity makes monsters.”
This might help us understand why only America, possibly the most prosperous nation in world history, could make monster trucks.
Picture this. Someone knocks on your door and says, “excuse me ma’am” or “hello, sir,” before explaining they’re about to run over a Ford Taurus with a modified pickup truck perched on four 66-inch wheels, each four feet wide. Would you get up off the couch to watch? I think you would. You might even load the family into a minivan and drive a few miles to where it was happening.
Last Friday and Saturday, the Monster X Tour rolled into the Hibbing Raceway to perform in front of packed grandstands that happened to include my son Doug and me. We came for the same reason as everyone else: SMASH!
We saw trucks like Boss Gator (shaped like a gator), Lone Wolf (shaped like a wolf), Hole Shot (shaped like an ATV), Bearly Tame and Rampage (both shaped like … trucks, I guess). The event also featured an ambulance called “Burn Unit” that incinerated a two-door sedan using a jet engine sticking out its back end.
Monster truck rallies center on the notion that human beings are capable of anything, especially if you don’t ask why. The trucks are fun to watch and we are preternaturally attracted to scenes of destruction. The less thought you put into it, the more you’re going to enjoy this.
Nevertheless, compelling storylines colored the event.
Last Friday night in Hibbing was the seventh show in six days for the Monster X Tour. The previous day, four of the five main trucks blew their transmissions. Drivers and crew members worked through the night without sleep to put them back in working order.
Going into the event, the only truck I had heard of before was Rampage. My son Henry had a toy version of the truck when he was little. But Rampage was one of the trucks suffering from mechanical issues and didn’t have a great showing.
Watching Rampage struggle to stay in gear reminded me of an aging athlete losing a step, or Mickey Rourke’s tragic performance in “The Wrestler.” It also reminded me of growing up on the family junkyard in Zim, where dad’s endless hours of tinkering often resulted in black smoke and random parts falling off the vehicle.
Then there was the setting. It’d been a few years since I’ve sat in the stands at the Hibbing Raceway. Century-old iron ore dumps frame the background, as vehicles made of steel forged in fire make more fire to crush more steel. The smoldering wreck cooked by Burn Unit served as apt punctuation. We watched the cycle of fire, carbon and iron close in on itself, rotating like the tires of a monster truck called Gruesome Fate.
Indeed, it’s better not to think too much. The event was probably best seen through the eyes of kids, who shouted with glee ever time those four big tires left the surly bonds of Earth. The guy sitting in front of us who drank a case of beer in 90 minutes also seemed to be having a good time.
As patrons filed out of the raceway to their cars, I felt compelled to paraphrase Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous line, “Whoever fights monster (trucks) should see to it that he does not become a monster (truck).”
Drivers leaving the parking lot were aggressive and impatient. Fortunately, none of them had six-foot tires or a jet engine. We all got home safe, with dreams of sick jumps and tinnitus running through our heads.
Aaron J. Brown is an author and college instructor from northern Minnesota’s Iron Range. He writes the blog MinnesotaBrown.com and co-hosts the podcast “Power in the Wilderness” on Northern Community Radio. This piece first appeared in the Tuesday, Aug. 6, 2024 edition of the Mesabi Tribune.
I’m never humored when knuckle draggers get together with each other to celebrate destroying things while drinking large amounts of alcohol. I live across the highway from the race way and am accustomed to the usual level of noise generated by stock car racing. But this event which was ridiculously loud and went on for hours ,resulted in a call to 911. It seems my call was one of many logged that afternoon. I wasn’t the only who wasn’t amused by the monsters among us generating even more useless testosterone than usual and breaking the noise ordinance as well.
As I said to my husband,”big trucks,small d…s!