Chapter One
The road stretched out lazily across the desert southwest. The midday sun beat down on the tuned black Pontiac Firebird as she made her way down the ribbon of quiet highway.
"I haven't been down Route 66 in a long time," she thought. "But I gotta stop and get some oil soon."
A road sign appeared in the distance. Drewster squinted to read the sign. It read: Radiator Springs – 3 miles.
"Cool! I've heard of that place."
Drewster downshifted and slowed into town. It was bustling with noon-time activity, and she pulled off the road into Flo's V8 Cafe. A pale green 1957 show car with huge tail fins approached.
"Hey, Hon. What can I get you?" Flo asked enthusiastically.
"I just need a quart of oil. This heat's makin' me run a little hot," Drewster replied. She was enjoying the quart of oil when the sound of arguing made her turn to look.
"What the heck kind of crazy cause are you supporting now, Fillmore?" A crusty old Willys military jeep barked at a psychedelic VW bus, who was holding a stack or brochures.
Drewster chuckled to herself. Another uproar caught her attention. Four young highly modified cars were pulling a road paving machine down a side street. They were covered in tar and loudly cursing each other, the town, the sheriff, and anything else they could think of. At the far end of the line, an orange Plymouth 'Cuda with a huge blower sneezed and grabbed Drewster's attention.
"Wow!" she thought and smiled. "Check out that hunky hot rod!" She finished her oil and approached Flo to pay.
"Excuse me, ma'am. What happened to those four?" Drewster motioned toward the tuners.
"Oh you know, honey, they were speeding through town, and they were sentenced to community service," Flo answered. "I hope they learn their lesson." She returned to the counter.
Drewster cruised over to the opposite side of the street from the paving operation and idled for a minute, watching the four boys labor in the hot sun. It was odd. They reminded Drewster of her recent past. Years ago, she learned that her father was an evil car and was hurt and angry. As a way of dealing with the humiliation, she started hanging with street racers back in Los Angeles, and played bass in several of the rock bands that performed at various road rallies and drag races. After a few run ins with the law, mainly for illegal street racing, Drewster decided to leave home. She had hoped to 'find herself' on the lonely stretches of Route 66. Deep in thought, Drewster was unaware that she had not gone unnoticed by the delinquents or the town's doctor.
"Is everything OK here?"
Drewster startled at the sound of a deep voice belonging to a navy blue Hudson Hornet parked alongside of her.
"Do you see yourself in them?" Doc Hudson asked as he looked Drewster over. He had noticed her own modifications; the firebird decal on her hood, the gold flames on her sides, the large rear wing, and her neon light kit.
"Sir, it's a long story," Drewster sighed. "You see, I'm a musician and racer from Los Angeles, and I've been in trouble with the law myself." Drewster found herself confiding in the doctor. "I was hoping to clear my head out here on the road. I feel sorry for those guys though. They remind me of my homies…." She trailed off, lost in thought again.
"Well, their sentence is up at sundown, and they will be asked to leave," Doc replied with a hint of irritation in his voice. "We can't have riff-raff hanging around here!" He turned and drove off, annoyed by the recent invasion of Radiator Springs by delinquent hot rods.
"Hey, yo, baybeee!" A young male voice called, followed by wolf whistles. Drewster turned to see the four cars had stopped pulling the paving machine and were checking her out.
"How 'bout you and me drag tonight?" The 'Cuda winked at Drewster. Her ignition turned over with excitement.
"Right on, Snot Rod!" DJ, the blue Scion xB Sport, nudged the 'Cuda.
"You go, Snotty!" said the green and purple Nissan ricer, who had an impressive stack of spoilers, and was known as Wingo.
"Hey yo, DJ," laughed the violet Dodge Viper, called Boost. "Spin her a tune!"
Just then, the sheriff, who had become aware of the commotion, approached the delinquents with his red beacon flashing.
"All right!" he barked. "That's enough. Get back to work!" The tuners grumbled and resumed their paving job.
Drewster snickered at the funny sight. The four of them, hooked up to a bubbling road paver and covered in tar, were hitting on her.
"Young miss," Sheriff turned to Drewster. "Stay out of trouble yourself," he warned her.
The grin vanished from Drewster's face. "Well, this is it," she thought, finding herself drawn to the four hot rods. "I can't escape the street racer life. It's where I belong."