"Wow. That many wins in a single season."
Junior stared at the three Piston Cups on the display before him, starry eyed.
"He's the real deal, Junior. The Hudson Hornet was my inspiration."
Strip could barely contain his excitement. He'd come all the way to Arizona to express his gratitude to Lightning, but before they drove more than a hundred yards into town, he'd noticed the racing museum. No one could have stopped him from going in even if they'd wanted to.
Lynda could hear the excitement in her husband's voice. They'd crossed paths with Junior on the way out west, and of course, Strip's first instinct had been to invite the younger car to go with them. Now she had to take care of not one, but effectively the equivalent of two kids in a candy store.
"Excuse me, son? Is Doc Hudson here today?" she asked politely, thinking Strip would get a kick out of meeting his idol.
"Sorry Mrs. the King, I think Doc went out for a drive or somethin'," the friendly tour guide apologized.
Strip continued to look at the display. It was small, as was the museum, but there, not ten yards away, were the very trophies he'd seen the Hornet win over and over again. The fact that they really existed and weren't some figment of his imagination seemed so surreal. He may have had seven of these trophies at home with his name on them, but they paled in comparison to these.
Mater guided them out of the museum at the end of the tour. A blue Porsche was speaking with a Ferrari and two Maseratis, out-of-towners who were patiently awaiting their turn for a museum tour.
"Howdy, Sally!" Mater greeted her as she turned toward him. "Perty day, ain't it?"
"Hey, Mater," Sally greeted him with a smile. "Ready for another tour? These guys are good to go."
"Sure thing! Follow me, fellas, right this way."
Mater held the door open for the Italian supercars and disappeared inside after them. With the impulsive museum stop over with, Strip looked toward the lazy town ahead on down the road. The backdrop was magnificent. He'd never seen Cadillac Range from outside his trailer before.
"Well!" Sally greeted the new visitors. "Welcome to Radiator Springs! I'm glad you all stopped by."
"Pleasure to be here, ma'am," Strip said respectfully. "Felt we needed to pay some due respect."
Sally smiled with genuine understanding. She may not have been at that last race, but the outcome had brought her to tears.
"Doc and Stic- Lightning are out this way, if you wanna go meet them," she offered, gesturing out into the desert.
Only then did the three visitors pick up two distinct engine notes echoing across the land in the near distance. Strip recognized the familiar acceleration pattern.
"Dirt track?" he asked.
"Yeah, come on," Sally pulled out onto the road.
"We've lost him," Lynda muttered to Junior as Strip eagerly followed. Strip cast a glance back as Junior snickered.
The track around Willys Butte was picturesque, everything Strip ever dreamed a dirt track could be. Just seeing it made him feel twenty years younger.
Out from around the rock formation, Lightning and the Hudson Hornet sped out of turn two side by side, trailing a cloud of dust that dissipated in the wind. Strip knew what was coming. He found himself holding his breath as they entered turn three, swinging into a drift. The old car's movements were more fluid in person than in the videos.
Lynda looked over at him as they parked atop a bench in the land to watch. She could feel the excitement radiating from him. The look in his eyes was the same one she'd seen the first time he'd shown her those old tapes he prized. That must have been thirty-some years ago. She smiled, happy to see that same young car again, but didn't say anything.
"They've been out here for almost an hour," Sally said. "If either of them are ever missing at the same time, you could bet money they're out here."
"Bet you didn't expect a racecar to show up out of the blue, did you, hun?" Lynda asked her, striking up friendly conversation.
"Not in the least," Sally answered. "But it was the best thing that's happened to this town in decades. Funny, really. Doc hated him at first."
The ladies slipped into conversation. It became apparent that Lightning meant much more to Sally than as a friend. Strip could hear it in the way she talked, and Lynda knew how to ask all the right questions.
"Look at 'em go," Junior commented as the two cars on the track ran lap after lap.
"Think you can do it?" Strip asked him.
"I dunno, King," Junior shook himself in disinclination. "I was built for asphalt. Can't say I ever raced on dirt before. I know my old man told me about it once. Said it was the hardest thing he ever tried."
"You don't know if you don't try."
Junior didn't want to admit his main fear was being humiliated in front of two of greatest racers that ever lived. Before he could answer, he looked up and made eye contact with Lightning. The red racer slowed down and said something to his mentor. They both glided off the track and over to their company. Junior sighed with relief. He was out of the hot seat for now.
"Hey guys!" Lightning exclaimed, sincerely happy to see them. "Didn't know you were coming."
"Spur of the moment," Junior shrugged.
Doc drove up beside Lightning to get a good look at the visitors as McQueen carried on.
"This is great!" McQueen didn't hesitate to show his excitement.
His gaze settled on Strip. "Wow, Mr. the King, you look…" he trailed off as he did the math in his head. It'd been less than a week since the tiebreaker race. "Wow. That was fast."
Doc smacked the rookie in the side to remind him of his manners. Strip didn't mind.
"Can only sit still for so long, kid."
Lightning tried to shake his astonishment in an awkward pause. He cleared his throat as he remembered his place.
"Right, right," he said. "You probably all know each other, but guys, this is Doc, he –"
"So," Doc cut McQueen off and rolled forward toward Strip a little. "You think you're built for speed, eh?"
It was silent except for the wind blowing through the local flora. Lightning's eyes widened in embarrassment. Junior's mouth fell open at a loss for words. Even Sally seemed unsettled by Doc's jab. No one insulted the King to his face.
It was the best day of his life.
"Is that a challenge?" Strip asked with a smile.
"Why don't we see how the King of asphalt does on a little dirt?" Doc asked.
Strip started his engine and followed the smug Hudson Hornet to the starting line. Lightning snapped out of his frozen state of disbelief as they passed him.
"Uh, Doc, I don't think that's… You might wanna…" he stuttered, trying to find the right words. He looked to Sally, a pleading look in his eyes. "What do I do?"
"Don't look at me, Stickers," Sally told him. "Racing is your thing."
"Uh…" Lightning looked around as if the answer to his concerns was out in the desert somewhere.
"Come here, kid!" Doc hollered at him. "Why don't you do the honors?"
Lightning cringed and turned back toward the track.
"This is gonna be good," Junior remarked, moving over and parking closer to Lynda.
"I swear if he gets so much as a scratch on that new paint, I'm gonna beat him," Lynda muttered.
Sally muffled a laugh and held her peace. She knew what could happen on this track, but didn't say anything. Doc clearly wanted to know something they didn't.
Lightning pulled onto the track and faced the two elder racecars. He didn't try to hide his concern.
"Doc, shouldn't we – "
"Quiet, son, just start the race."
Lightning looked from his mentor to Strip. The Dinoco racer stared past him at the turn in the distance. There was no stopping this race. Lightning knew how it would end.
"Alright," he gave in powerlessly. "Ready in three! Two! Go!"
The two were off in a flash, leaving Lightning behind in a settling cloud of dust.
"This isn't gonna end well," McQueen muttered, driving off the track to watch from the side.
Strip pulled ahead of Doc in turns one and two, using his higher power to weight ratio to his advantage. Doc might have had all the experience in the world, but Strip was still faster. Coming down the backstretch between turns two and three, he felt himself slow. He wouldn't feel right flat out beating the Hudson Hornet, even in a friendly race. Doc crept up next to him right before sliding into turn three and took the lead.
Doc fully expected to hear the melody of metal scraping along cactus behind him. It never happened. Doc looked to his left, pleasantly surprised. He knew the Superbirds had been built specifically to perform well on the superspeedways, but this one didn't shy away from a challenge. Less than three feet behind him, Strip was gliding through the turn sideways like he'd been doing it his entire life.
Strip had, in fact, never done this before. Not on a real track anyway. On the backroads of North Carolina? Sure, when no one else was around. Never this, though. He felt his soul elevating to another plane of existence as he put the pressure on his racing inspiration.
Halfway through turn four, his inexperience on dirt shone through his façade of confident enjoyment. A crosswind came along and caught his spoiler just enough to take him out of his groove. He braked to avoid careening out of control, and lost momentum.
Doc saw him falter and used that to his advantage. He floored it out of the turn and bore down on the finish line ahead. No less than a hundred yards before it, however, he found himself nose to nose with the younger blue car. Doc felt himself grin. Weathers still had a lot left in him, too.
They crossed the finish line together. It was so close they didn't know who'd technically won. It didn't matter. Strip looked over at Doc as they slowed to a halt and found the dirt track legend staring back at him. He realized he'd never actually thought about what he'd say to the Fabulous Hudson Hornet if he ever had the chance to meet him.
"Hmm," Doc mused, turning toward Strip to get a better look at him. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
Strip didn't know how to respond. He started talking before he knew what he was saying.
"Well, I guess I couldn't just outright beat you, now could I?"
That was terrible. Why would you say that? Pull yourself together. You're a professional.
"Oh! So, you pulled power. Alright then," Doc took joking offense to Strip's comment. "Wanna go 'round again? So you can do it right this time?"
Strip smiled and looked back down the front straightaway. Their small audience was visibly excited, even from such a distance. Something about the moment seemed far too perfect.
Doc followed his gaze and instantly saw the look of relief on his rookie's face. He laughed a little, knowing full well what Lightning had expected.
"I knew you'd make it around that turn there," Doc commended him on a more serious note. "You had a heck of a career, Weathers. I ain't never seen anything like it."
Strip shrugged, a little embarrassed. He wasn't prepared to talk about himself. This was the Fabulous Hudson Hornet. The conversation should have been all about him, right?
"Eh, well, had a lot of practice," Strip accepted the compliment as humbly as he could. "Made a lot of mistakes. Had a heck of an inspiration, though."
Doc caught on to what he meant, and felt a strange sense of fulfillment. The racing world might have turned their backs on him, but that didn't erase his legacy. He forgot that sometimes.
"It's nice to know they all ain't like I thought they were," Doc told him quietly.
Strip hesitated, unsure at first what Doc meant. He saw the Hornet cast a glance down toward McQueen before returning. The racers. The racing community. That's what he meant. Strip briefly considered what it would have been like to have someone tell him he could never race again. It would have broken him.
"You know, you did a good job with that one," Strip gestured toward Lightning. "I guess I owe you as much thanks as I do him."
Doc smiled and turned to drive back to the others. "You'll find throwin' 'em into the tulips is pretty effective."
Strip didn't have a clue what that was supposed to mean, but followed anyway.
"Come on, let's head back to Flo's for a drink," Doc invited. "I want an unfiltered version of hotrod's life in the fast lane before I whipped him into shape."