Author's Note: Speed Racer was one of my first favorite animes from my
childhood, along with Marine Boy and 8th Man. My lifelong fascination with
cars began with watching Speed, Trixie, Racer X and the gang everyday after
school. I wrote this as I remembered Speed in the 60's-brave, virtuous,
and straight as an arrow. I also included many 60's elements (since it was
my childhood) like music, fashions, suburban lifestyles, slang, and morals
so it may come off as a bit corny and dated to the kids of today but that's
the Speed I know and love. So consider this a retro piece of sorts. I
also used elements from the 30th Anniversary Speed Racer book to stay true
to canon. I'm a racing fan too, so I also used racing terms from steady
doses of NASCAR every week. It's my take on how Speed met Trixie and asked
her to join the Go Team. The characters are the property of DIC and Speed
Racer Inc.
THE ALPHA SPEED RACER-PRELUDE
Part 1-FIRST SIGHT
The cloudless midsummer blue sky reigned over the speed oval as the roar of 20,000 horses beneath the hood of the aerodynamic white flash with the stylized "M" on the hood and "5" painted on the door screamed down the backstretch. As the car careened around the far turns, staying close to the apron, it completed the lap and flew past the pit stall and small garage where a gangly young man with unruly russet hair growing at all angles hidden by a red baseball cap held a stopwatch while studying the car's progress intently. The auto made another lap, and then came to a screeching halt right in front of the timekeeper.
The youth ran up to the driver as he extracted himself from the cockpit of the supersonic racer. "Man, Speed that time was your best so far. You did that last lap time in less than 30 seconds, outta sight!"
"Yeah, but she got a bit loose on that last time on turn four. She may need a slight track bar adjustment or maybe some rubber in the springs." The driver removed his helmet and tossed it on the front seat of his car, revealing coal black wavy hair that framed a classically handsome visage with sculptured features and clear startlingly blue eyes. He untied his red neck scarf and used it to wipe the perspiration from his face and neck.
"No problem, I'll take care of it in plenty of time for Raytona." The mechanic opened up the hood and leaned into the 12 cylinder engine to make the necessary adjustment.
"Wow, Sparky, who is that?"
Speed Racer, top rookie racer in the Formula 1 sport car circuit and the driver of the powerful Mach 5 had his cobalt blue eyes riveted to what was happening over the wire fence just twenty feet away from the garage of the Pops Motors empire.
"Huh?" Sparky Sabu, Speed's crack mechanic and best friend had his head buried deep within the power plant that propelled the sleek state-of-the- art racing machine. He popped up at his friend's query and accidentally bumped his head on the raised hood. "Ow!" He rubbed the offended part gingerly. "What are you talking about?"
"Over there. Who's that groovy chick by the chopper?" Speed asked as his eyes took in the petite chestnut haired form in coral capri slacks, bent over the engine cowl of the shiny blue helicopter that was parked on the tarmac perpendicular to the fence of the track. When she extracted herself from the engine compartment Speed found himself mesmerized by a lovely face with delicate features that included a bow shaped cherry mouth and sea- green eyes. Man is she gorgeous! he said to himself.
"Oh I don't know." Sparky peered over at the subject in question that had so captured his friend's attention. "Before today, I'd never seen her before, honest."
"Well, I'm gonna go over and introduce myself to our new neighbor." Speed announced as he ran his hand hastily through his hair to comb it into some semblance of order. He retied his red neck scarf and began to make his way to the fence when a gruff "Harumph!" stopped him.
A large, dark haired mountain of a man, clad a red short sleeved sport shirt, white slacks and cap with Pops Motorsports emblazoned on the front strode up to the young man with a stern expression on his craggy mustached face. "And where do you think you're going?"
Speed whirled around, shrugged and grinned sheepishly, "Gee, Pops, I was just gonna go and say hello to our new neighbor." He turned to resume his action but Pops Racer laid a restraining arm on his middle son's arm.
"Speed, you know that you're out here to practice. If you're serious about racing, everything else, pardon the expression, takes a back seat."
"I know Pops but all work and no play--" Speed said but Pops cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah I know. But you've 'played' enough in the off season to last a lifetime and you need to get it together if you want to debut in Raytona in three weeks." Pops declared.
"But my last time was my best so far," his son protested. "Ask Sparky, he just recorded it."
"Yeah, I saw," Pops said, referring to a clipboard that the day's lap times were recorded on. "But you could probably do even better. You got loose on the last turn and I'm sure that affected your time."
"Sparky's working on that now."
The sharp ring of the telephone in the garage interrupted the debate between father and son. With an annoyed sigh, Pops hurried into the garage to answer it.
"Whew, saved by the bell," Speed muttered to Sparky who had stood by and listened to the exchange between Speed and Pops. He was ready to referee in case things between the older and younger Racers had gotten dicey. Speed glanced over at the girl working on the helicopter again as he resumed the motion to go over to the fence. This time Sparky intervened.
"Hey, Spark, what gives? I just want to go over to say hi to her." The attempts made to keep him from accomplishing his objective were beginning to irritate Speed.
"Listen, man I know you. You get tunnel vision whenever a pretty chick is within a 20 ft. radius of you. You begin by saying 'hi' and bat those baby blues and then when she's all yours, you drop her. You've broken more hearts in the past four months then a dog has fleas," Sparky pointed out.
Speed sighed in exasperation. "Look, Sparky, I can't help it. I'm just trying to find the right girl. Those chicks I went with were absolute airheads whose chief concern was being seen with me. I was just a status symbol to them, man. They were more worried about their hair getting all mussed up while riding with me and as far as conversation is concerned, they wouldn't know how to begin one, let alone keep one going."
"That's life in the fast lane, pal. The racetrack attracts groupies better than a rock concert. But what makes you think that that girl there is any different? You're not exactly inconspicuous you know, I'm sure she's read the papers and probably is the same as the others."
Speed shook his head vehemently. "Nah, Sparky, she's different, I can tell."
Sparky snorted, "You haven't even talked to the chick yet and you know. Yeah, sure, Speed." When it came to girls, his buddy Speed had a one- track mind. He shook his head knowing he was fighting a losing battle and turned his attention back to the Mach 5.
Speed cast a wary eye toward the garage. Pops had finished his phone call but was nowhere in sight. Now was his chance! He strode over to the fence and feasted his eyes once again on the pert dancer's form immersed under the cowl. He lifted one leg onto the fence and with hardly any effort vaulted over to the tarmac where the girl and helicopter stood. He stealthily made his way to where the chopper was parked, and observed as she continued her work.
"Damn!" a dulcet, slightly husky voice cried as the wrench she was using clattered to the asphalt below. Speed, ever the gentleman squatted down to retrieve the tool and handed it to the girl. Their hands touched with instantaneous electricity and startled she shot up, whirling around to meet amused blue orbs twinkling at her.
"Hi," he said, grinning engagingly. "I thought that I'd come over to meet the lady chopper mechanic. I'm your neighbor by the way, my dad's factory, test track, and garage is over the fence. Name's Speed Racer." He offered his hand to the slightly flustered young woman whose eyes widened in shocked recognition.
She took his hand momentarily speechless as realization hit her. She knew exactly who he was, his picture and name had been splattered across the newspapers for the last month. "H-hi," she stammered. Self-consciously, she hastily wiped her hand across her cheek, leaving a smudge of grease there.
Speed couldn't help smiling even more. The nervous gesture that caused her to do that was so sweet and so different from the other girls he had been used to, he felt himself becoming utterly enchanted.
"I didn't catch your name."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, composing herself. "I'm Trixie, Trixie Shimura."
"Trixie, huh?" Speed repeated, liking the sound. "It fits you."
Trixie lowered her head and blushed prettily. "Thank you. My folks were big fans of 'The Honeymooners."
Speed gestured at the helicopter. "So you fix these eggbeaters, huh?"
"Uh-huh. My dad flew them in the war and then took his savings and bought this and," she gestured to the hangar diagonally across from them, "that plane." Her slim index finger pointed at a bright yellow Cessna propeller plane sitting within.
"Wow. So he's a pilot," Speed commented.
"He was," Trixie replied, a shadow crossing her pretty face. "He passed away a month ago."
Speed was immediately concerned. "Oh, gee I'm sorry." He inadvertently reached over to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"
Trixie felt her heart pound as his hand seared her. A local celebrity like Speed Racer was talking to me and touching me. Keep cool, Trix! She turned away from his compassionate blue gaze and answered, "Thanks, but I think I'm okay." She bravely straightened her shoulders and turned to face him again with a tremulous smile.
Sensing the heaviness in the air between them, Speed decided to change the subject. "So do you know how to fly these crafts?"
Trixie smiled, "Uh-huh. My dad took me up with him all the time and when I was old enough, he let me take lessons. When I got my driver's license, a month later I got my pilot's license."
"Wow, I'm impressed," Speed said in awe. He ran his hand on the fuselage of the helicopter. "This machine looks like it's a real honey. I've always wanted to learn to fly one of these things." He turned and grinned warmly at her and Trixie felt her heart skip a beat.
"Well, maybe sometime, I could take you up in it," she suggested demurely.
"Really? That'd be groovy," Speed responded enthusiastically. "How'd you like to take a ride with me in my car?" he asked with a boyishly hopeful grin.
"You mean the Mach 5?" Trixie said incredulously. She smiled shyly, "I-I'd like that."
Speed grinned even wider and was about to ask Trixie to have a soda with him after he was finished practicing when a sharp whistle pierced the air, interrupting his train of thought. He glanced over at the fence where Sparky was gesturing energetically at him. Speed frowned as he waved, acknowledging his mechanic's efforts to get his attention. He sighed and shrugged apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Trixie but I have to split. My crew chief is finished adjusting my car and I gotta finish practicing. Can I have your phone number so I can call you?" Speed asked.
"Sure. But I don't have a piece of paper or pencil."
"That's okay. I do." He reached into his hip pocket and withdrew a small black book with a pen. He flipped it open and said, "Okay, shoot."
Trixie told him the number and added, "I'm living out here, there's a small cottage right behind the hangar and I'm going to use it to live in." She gestured to the hangar. "I have to decide what I'm going to do now that Dad's gone."
Speed finished writing the number down and slipped the book back in his hip pocket. "What about your mom, if I may ask?"
"She died when I was three. It's been my dad and me since. We actually just moved out here four months ago when Dad got sick to have treatments at National Hospital. But he was too far gone." Trixie's eyes filled with tears. She turned away from Speed, not wanting him to see her cry.
Speed cursed himself inwardly for asking questions that brought up the pain of her losses. He moved forward to take her shoulders but Sparky whistled again, more insistently. Getting incensed, Speed quashed the overpowering urge to go and deck his friend as he gently placed his hand on Trixie's shoulder.
"Look, Trixie, I really have to go but I want to talk to you some more. Will you be at home later?"
"Uh-huh."
"Great, I'll give you a call at about eight, okay?" He offered his hand. "It was terrific meeting and talking to you."
Trixie smiled through her tears. "Likewise." She shook his hand and again her luminous green eyes dazzled him.
"Talk to you later." He felt guilty for and hated leaving her in her present sorrowful mood but he felt she needed her space. He had to go back and practice anyway, so he reluctantly turned and hurried over to the fence, scaled it, and took off in a sprint toward the waiting Mach 5. He threw a glowering look at his mechanic when he got to the car.
Sparky gave his friend a quizzical look. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just peachy," Speed growled sarcastically, thoroughly annoyed with him.
Still baffled as why Speed was in such a temper, Sparky stood there with the stopwatch in his hand and asked with a slight grin, "Well, Speed, was your mission accomplished? Or did you crash and burn?"
Speed leapt into the driver's seat and turned a scowl toward his best friend. "Knock off the wisecracks, Sparky and let's get this show on the road," he snapped as he donned his helmet, turned the key, revved the motor, and pealed off down the track, spinning his tires and leaving a cloud of rubber smoke as he left.
"What'd I do?" Sparky asked, watching his buddy's hasty departure, totally stumped at Speed's unusually abrupt manner.
THE ALPHA SPEED RACER-PRELUDE
Part 1-FIRST SIGHT
The cloudless midsummer blue sky reigned over the speed oval as the roar of 20,000 horses beneath the hood of the aerodynamic white flash with the stylized "M" on the hood and "5" painted on the door screamed down the backstretch. As the car careened around the far turns, staying close to the apron, it completed the lap and flew past the pit stall and small garage where a gangly young man with unruly russet hair growing at all angles hidden by a red baseball cap held a stopwatch while studying the car's progress intently. The auto made another lap, and then came to a screeching halt right in front of the timekeeper.
The youth ran up to the driver as he extracted himself from the cockpit of the supersonic racer. "Man, Speed that time was your best so far. You did that last lap time in less than 30 seconds, outta sight!"
"Yeah, but she got a bit loose on that last time on turn four. She may need a slight track bar adjustment or maybe some rubber in the springs." The driver removed his helmet and tossed it on the front seat of his car, revealing coal black wavy hair that framed a classically handsome visage with sculptured features and clear startlingly blue eyes. He untied his red neck scarf and used it to wipe the perspiration from his face and neck.
"No problem, I'll take care of it in plenty of time for Raytona." The mechanic opened up the hood and leaned into the 12 cylinder engine to make the necessary adjustment.
"Wow, Sparky, who is that?"
Speed Racer, top rookie racer in the Formula 1 sport car circuit and the driver of the powerful Mach 5 had his cobalt blue eyes riveted to what was happening over the wire fence just twenty feet away from the garage of the Pops Motors empire.
"Huh?" Sparky Sabu, Speed's crack mechanic and best friend had his head buried deep within the power plant that propelled the sleek state-of-the- art racing machine. He popped up at his friend's query and accidentally bumped his head on the raised hood. "Ow!" He rubbed the offended part gingerly. "What are you talking about?"
"Over there. Who's that groovy chick by the chopper?" Speed asked as his eyes took in the petite chestnut haired form in coral capri slacks, bent over the engine cowl of the shiny blue helicopter that was parked on the tarmac perpendicular to the fence of the track. When she extracted herself from the engine compartment Speed found himself mesmerized by a lovely face with delicate features that included a bow shaped cherry mouth and sea- green eyes. Man is she gorgeous! he said to himself.
"Oh I don't know." Sparky peered over at the subject in question that had so captured his friend's attention. "Before today, I'd never seen her before, honest."
"Well, I'm gonna go over and introduce myself to our new neighbor." Speed announced as he ran his hand hastily through his hair to comb it into some semblance of order. He retied his red neck scarf and began to make his way to the fence when a gruff "Harumph!" stopped him.
A large, dark haired mountain of a man, clad a red short sleeved sport shirt, white slacks and cap with Pops Motorsports emblazoned on the front strode up to the young man with a stern expression on his craggy mustached face. "And where do you think you're going?"
Speed whirled around, shrugged and grinned sheepishly, "Gee, Pops, I was just gonna go and say hello to our new neighbor." He turned to resume his action but Pops Racer laid a restraining arm on his middle son's arm.
"Speed, you know that you're out here to practice. If you're serious about racing, everything else, pardon the expression, takes a back seat."
"I know Pops but all work and no play--" Speed said but Pops cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah I know. But you've 'played' enough in the off season to last a lifetime and you need to get it together if you want to debut in Raytona in three weeks." Pops declared.
"But my last time was my best so far," his son protested. "Ask Sparky, he just recorded it."
"Yeah, I saw," Pops said, referring to a clipboard that the day's lap times were recorded on. "But you could probably do even better. You got loose on the last turn and I'm sure that affected your time."
"Sparky's working on that now."
The sharp ring of the telephone in the garage interrupted the debate between father and son. With an annoyed sigh, Pops hurried into the garage to answer it.
"Whew, saved by the bell," Speed muttered to Sparky who had stood by and listened to the exchange between Speed and Pops. He was ready to referee in case things between the older and younger Racers had gotten dicey. Speed glanced over at the girl working on the helicopter again as he resumed the motion to go over to the fence. This time Sparky intervened.
"Hey, Spark, what gives? I just want to go over to say hi to her." The attempts made to keep him from accomplishing his objective were beginning to irritate Speed.
"Listen, man I know you. You get tunnel vision whenever a pretty chick is within a 20 ft. radius of you. You begin by saying 'hi' and bat those baby blues and then when she's all yours, you drop her. You've broken more hearts in the past four months then a dog has fleas," Sparky pointed out.
Speed sighed in exasperation. "Look, Sparky, I can't help it. I'm just trying to find the right girl. Those chicks I went with were absolute airheads whose chief concern was being seen with me. I was just a status symbol to them, man. They were more worried about their hair getting all mussed up while riding with me and as far as conversation is concerned, they wouldn't know how to begin one, let alone keep one going."
"That's life in the fast lane, pal. The racetrack attracts groupies better than a rock concert. But what makes you think that that girl there is any different? You're not exactly inconspicuous you know, I'm sure she's read the papers and probably is the same as the others."
Speed shook his head vehemently. "Nah, Sparky, she's different, I can tell."
Sparky snorted, "You haven't even talked to the chick yet and you know. Yeah, sure, Speed." When it came to girls, his buddy Speed had a one- track mind. He shook his head knowing he was fighting a losing battle and turned his attention back to the Mach 5.
Speed cast a wary eye toward the garage. Pops had finished his phone call but was nowhere in sight. Now was his chance! He strode over to the fence and feasted his eyes once again on the pert dancer's form immersed under the cowl. He lifted one leg onto the fence and with hardly any effort vaulted over to the tarmac where the girl and helicopter stood. He stealthily made his way to where the chopper was parked, and observed as she continued her work.
"Damn!" a dulcet, slightly husky voice cried as the wrench she was using clattered to the asphalt below. Speed, ever the gentleman squatted down to retrieve the tool and handed it to the girl. Their hands touched with instantaneous electricity and startled she shot up, whirling around to meet amused blue orbs twinkling at her.
"Hi," he said, grinning engagingly. "I thought that I'd come over to meet the lady chopper mechanic. I'm your neighbor by the way, my dad's factory, test track, and garage is over the fence. Name's Speed Racer." He offered his hand to the slightly flustered young woman whose eyes widened in shocked recognition.
She took his hand momentarily speechless as realization hit her. She knew exactly who he was, his picture and name had been splattered across the newspapers for the last month. "H-hi," she stammered. Self-consciously, she hastily wiped her hand across her cheek, leaving a smudge of grease there.
Speed couldn't help smiling even more. The nervous gesture that caused her to do that was so sweet and so different from the other girls he had been used to, he felt himself becoming utterly enchanted.
"I didn't catch your name."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, composing herself. "I'm Trixie, Trixie Shimura."
"Trixie, huh?" Speed repeated, liking the sound. "It fits you."
Trixie lowered her head and blushed prettily. "Thank you. My folks were big fans of 'The Honeymooners."
Speed gestured at the helicopter. "So you fix these eggbeaters, huh?"
"Uh-huh. My dad flew them in the war and then took his savings and bought this and," she gestured to the hangar diagonally across from them, "that plane." Her slim index finger pointed at a bright yellow Cessna propeller plane sitting within.
"Wow. So he's a pilot," Speed commented.
"He was," Trixie replied, a shadow crossing her pretty face. "He passed away a month ago."
Speed was immediately concerned. "Oh, gee I'm sorry." He inadvertently reached over to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything I can do?"
Trixie felt her heart pound as his hand seared her. A local celebrity like Speed Racer was talking to me and touching me. Keep cool, Trix! She turned away from his compassionate blue gaze and answered, "Thanks, but I think I'm okay." She bravely straightened her shoulders and turned to face him again with a tremulous smile.
Sensing the heaviness in the air between them, Speed decided to change the subject. "So do you know how to fly these crafts?"
Trixie smiled, "Uh-huh. My dad took me up with him all the time and when I was old enough, he let me take lessons. When I got my driver's license, a month later I got my pilot's license."
"Wow, I'm impressed," Speed said in awe. He ran his hand on the fuselage of the helicopter. "This machine looks like it's a real honey. I've always wanted to learn to fly one of these things." He turned and grinned warmly at her and Trixie felt her heart skip a beat.
"Well, maybe sometime, I could take you up in it," she suggested demurely.
"Really? That'd be groovy," Speed responded enthusiastically. "How'd you like to take a ride with me in my car?" he asked with a boyishly hopeful grin.
"You mean the Mach 5?" Trixie said incredulously. She smiled shyly, "I-I'd like that."
Speed grinned even wider and was about to ask Trixie to have a soda with him after he was finished practicing when a sharp whistle pierced the air, interrupting his train of thought. He glanced over at the fence where Sparky was gesturing energetically at him. Speed frowned as he waved, acknowledging his mechanic's efforts to get his attention. He sighed and shrugged apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Trixie but I have to split. My crew chief is finished adjusting my car and I gotta finish practicing. Can I have your phone number so I can call you?" Speed asked.
"Sure. But I don't have a piece of paper or pencil."
"That's okay. I do." He reached into his hip pocket and withdrew a small black book with a pen. He flipped it open and said, "Okay, shoot."
Trixie told him the number and added, "I'm living out here, there's a small cottage right behind the hangar and I'm going to use it to live in." She gestured to the hangar. "I have to decide what I'm going to do now that Dad's gone."
Speed finished writing the number down and slipped the book back in his hip pocket. "What about your mom, if I may ask?"
"She died when I was three. It's been my dad and me since. We actually just moved out here four months ago when Dad got sick to have treatments at National Hospital. But he was too far gone." Trixie's eyes filled with tears. She turned away from Speed, not wanting him to see her cry.
Speed cursed himself inwardly for asking questions that brought up the pain of her losses. He moved forward to take her shoulders but Sparky whistled again, more insistently. Getting incensed, Speed quashed the overpowering urge to go and deck his friend as he gently placed his hand on Trixie's shoulder.
"Look, Trixie, I really have to go but I want to talk to you some more. Will you be at home later?"
"Uh-huh."
"Great, I'll give you a call at about eight, okay?" He offered his hand. "It was terrific meeting and talking to you."
Trixie smiled through her tears. "Likewise." She shook his hand and again her luminous green eyes dazzled him.
"Talk to you later." He felt guilty for and hated leaving her in her present sorrowful mood but he felt she needed her space. He had to go back and practice anyway, so he reluctantly turned and hurried over to the fence, scaled it, and took off in a sprint toward the waiting Mach 5. He threw a glowering look at his mechanic when he got to the car.
Sparky gave his friend a quizzical look. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just peachy," Speed growled sarcastically, thoroughly annoyed with him.
Still baffled as why Speed was in such a temper, Sparky stood there with the stopwatch in his hand and asked with a slight grin, "Well, Speed, was your mission accomplished? Or did you crash and burn?"
Speed leapt into the driver's seat and turned a scowl toward his best friend. "Knock off the wisecracks, Sparky and let's get this show on the road," he snapped as he donned his helmet, turned the key, revved the motor, and pealed off down the track, spinning his tires and leaving a cloud of rubber smoke as he left.
"What'd I do?" Sparky asked, watching his buddy's hasty departure, totally stumped at Speed's unusually abrupt manner.