Radiator Springs: The cutest, little town in Carburetor County.
Nestled up against the foothills of the Cadillac Range, this once forgotten desert community was thriving once again, thanks in no small part to the misadventures of, newly-minted, Piston Cup champion, Lightning McQueen.
As fate would have it, the racer was surveying the town next to Stanley's statue.
The young race car smiled, sighed, and cycled a large volume of snow-scented air through his TR system.
Lightning LOVED racing. He loved the thrill of speeding along an asphalt track, inches from the other drivers, pushing his body to its mechanical limits (without hurting himself, of course). A natural showman, he likewise delighted in the fame and attention that came with being a sports celebrity.
But even he'd come to realize that fame wasn't everything. That the true value of life was not in how much money you had or how many speed records you broke, but it was in the people that you met along the way. The friends and found family who stood by your side no matter how hard things got, who loved you not because you were famous, but because you were genuinely deserving of their love. It was cliched, but that didn't make it any less true.
And winter was prime time to get caught up on all of the things he'd missed while he was on the road.
On warmer days, he would train at Willy's Butte, being coached by his friend and Crew Chief, Doc Hudson…whom was a famous ex-racer in his own right. And if he ever thought that the training he went through at the Fast Track Racing Academy was rough, Doc's methods were WAY more extreme. Half the time he was so tired from hours and hours of dodging hay bales, or navigating the hair-pin switchbacks through the mountains, that his friend, Mater, had to tow him home.
When track conditions were sketchy, or when Doc was busy at the clinic, he's go exploring with Mater, hang out with the town's residents at Flo's V8 Café, help Sheriff patrol the valley, or spend quality time with his girlfriend, Sally. The later was especially important, seeing as their relationship had progressed enough that they'd built a house together and had started discussing things like marriage and children.
Hard to believe the changes and how quickly they'd happened. Both to the town and himself.
He cycled another volume of air. He wouldn't change it for the world.
An internal notification chimed in the back of Lightning's mind: It was 8am.
Time to meet up with Doc.
He headed south, passing several familiar shops and landmarks: Luigi's Casa de la Tires, Radiator Spring Curios and Flo's V8 Café PLUS an assortment of new businesses like Armond's General Goods, The Rock and Roll School of Geology (run by a pair of nerdy geologists from New York), and a Cartholic Chuch where the old "Mr. Feeler" shop used to be.
Yeah, they were a religious institution, but the head priest was an old friend of Filmore's…and believed, down to his drive-train, that microbrews were a sign that the Manufacturers loved vehicle kind.
As he approached the Cozy Cone Motel, he noticed Sally parked behind her desk in reception. A creature of habit, she was probably working on her third pint of copperoil and reading the morning's paper.
The young hot rod smirked and hunkered down as low as he could without scraping his undercarriage on the asphalt. Taking care to not use his engine, he managed to sneak right up to the door. He listened for a moment, to make sure she hadn't heard him, then revved his engine, loudly.
"Ahh!" She yelped, backing up into the bookcase.
Lightning laughed and lifted himself just high enough to smirk at her over the window sill.
"Oh, you!" She darted around her desk to swat at his bumper, but he was already half way to Doc's by the time she got past the door. "You're gonna pay for that later!" She did her best to sound angry, but her eyes gave her away, glistening with barely-restrained laughter.
Lightning revved his engine once more for good measure and turned quickly down Clinic Road towards Doc's garage.
The light was on, meaning that Doc was up, so Lightning just nosed open the heavy, wooden door without knocking. "Hey, Doc! Ready to eat my dust…?" His voice trailed off.
The garage was empty.
"Huh?" He grunted, looking around. There was a steaming can of copperoil next to his workbench, a USPS box along with a book and some paper on the bench itself, and a newspaper on the floor that had been opened to the sports section. But Doc, himself, was nowhere to be seen.
Lightning shrugged, turned, and headed back outside so that he could check the clinic. It was an easy thing to forget that "Doc" wasn't just a nickname: The Fabulous Hudson Hornet was an actual doctor with degrees in internal combustion AND clinical aerodynamics. More than one training session had been interrupted by a medical emergency in town, and he would sometimes travel out of state to attend medical seminars and conferences and the like.
But he always made sure to communicate stuff like this to Lightning as far in advance as he could. And, failing that, he'd at least tack a note to the door.
Lightning peered in through the Clinic's front window.
No Doc.
He checked the doors to the clinic and the garage for a note.
Nothing.
Maybe there was a note on the workbench, and he just missed it.
He quickly made his way back into the garage and considered the contents of the bench. The USPS box had been opened and was empty, except for a yellowed newspaper clipping dated June 22, 1954. The title of the article read "Kentucky moonshiner, Diesel O'Twill, killed in Knoxville Crash While Evading Lawmen." Next to the box was a tattered, leather-bound journal and a letter printed using some sort of voice-to-text tech.
There was no note that he could find, and that left him feeling both stumped and concerned.
It was NOT like Doc to just disappear without telling him…and he wasn't at Flo's. And the copperoil said he had recently been here. It all felt off somehow, unusual.
Where could he be, now?
He reconsidered the contents of the workbench. Maybe the answer was right in front of him
His gaze first fell upon the journal. Lightning had never seen the item among Doc's personal effects, and as Doc really wasn't the sort of person to keep one…
Biting his lip, he flipped open the cover and scanned the first page. The writing was similar to Doc's, but different…fancier, and, much to his annoyance, written entirely in cursive.
Lightning sighed and closed the book. He never learned to read or write in that style; his parents considered it "old fashioned."
He moved on to the letter.
"Hey, Hud," It began. "It's good to hear from you…" There was a long pause as evident from a string of periods. "Look, I know it's been a while, and I gotta admit, I was mighty cross when you left town without so much as a 'goodbye'. But, y'know what: That's water under the bridge; I'm just glad your engine's still running. So's the rest of the gang; Louise especially. Pretty sure she still has a crush on you, despite your preferences..." Lightning paused, the personal nature of the letter made him feel uneasy, like he was prying into Doc's personal life…the taboo parts that he never talked about despite them both being pretty open with each other about a lot of things.
He considered not finishing the letter out of respect, but perhaps there was something here that would shed light on Doc's sudden disappearance.
"As a way of burying the hatchet, I've sent you something that I should've sent you a long, long time ago… your ma's personal diary."
Lightning's eyes flicked over to the journal, then back to the letter.
Yet another long pause. "I read it." Another pause. "I read it out of anger…but there're some things in there that you should be aware of. And…look…If you need to talk, I'm here to listen." The letter was signed "Smokey."
A bit of fear began to creep into the racecar's brain. He didn't know who this "Smokey" person was…but the tone of the letter didn't sit well with him (and given Doc's empty garage, he had the feeling it hadn't set well with Doc either), and he reversed out of the garage intending to speed on over to Flo's.
But he hesitated.
Doc was a father figure to most everyone in town, Lightning notwithstanding. If he were to barge into Flo's lot, scared, shaking, and asking a bunch of loaded questions regarding Doc's whereabouts…he was pretty sure everyone would panic. And as much as he was concerned about Doc, it wasn't a five-alarm fire…
Yet.
But where could he be?
He moved to the edge of the pavement bordering Doc's garage…and noticed a fresh pair of tire tracks in the dirt, heading north. Lightning followed them, eagerly, his front bumper façade almost scraping the ground so that he could better see every detail pressed into the dry, desert sediment.
The tracks crossed the empty lot behind Doc's garage, and continued north on the unpaved road that led to Willie's Butte.
The road dipped down the first of two escarpments leading to the butte, and Lightning used the vantage afforded to him by the topography to scan the landscape for any sign of his mentor.
And he abruptly let out a sigh of relief.
Doc was parked at the lower overlook, an area of level dirt atop the second, lower escarpment. And even though Lightning couldn't see his face or eyes, he could tell just by looking at the old racer's body posture that he was alive…if depressed.
Feeling less worried but still concerned, Lightning coasted down the road. He meant to keep his voice down, and try to get Doc's attention covertly…but his anxiety got to his mouth a split second before his common sense, and he exclaimed "Hey, Doc!" loudly enough that the older car jumped and spun, teeth bared in a fierce snarl. "WHO THE…?" He began…but stopped the moment he saw Lightning. "Jeepus Chrystler, Kid," he said, with a gruff chuckle. "You scared the asphalt out of me." A broad smile quickly claimed his mouth and he moved to speak…but paused, suddenly, as if remembering something. "Oh! That's right! We were supposed to train this morning, weren't we? Give me a minute to warm up and…"
"I'm not here to race."
"That would be a first," The old hornet teased with a bit of his usual sass, but his tone changed to something resembling concern as he noticed Lightning's expression, almost pleading. "Everythin' ok, kid?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing."
Doc canted his body, confused, then realization flickered in his blue eyes. "Saw the letter, did'ja?"
Lightning rolled forward, concern creasing his features. "I…didn't mean to nose through your stuff…but I was trying to figure out where you'd gone… You have to admit, you're a creature of habit."
Doc's expression remained stoic, except for a slight widening of his eyes. He caught himself, quickly, however, and asked. "Did you read the journal, too?"
"No…" Lightning paused. "I mean, I tried…but I couldn't actually read it."
Doc stared. "What do you mean you can't read it? It's English."
Lightning scuffed the dirt with a tire and looked away. "I…um…never learned to read cursive."
Again, the older car just stared. Then. "Really? They not teach it in school no more?"
"Not the schools I went to, no."
"Oh…" He paused, and his shades drooped. "That's a shame…" he redirected his gaze to the brightening desert. "If you want…I'll teach you."
"I'd like that..." Lightning chanced a smile.
The corner of Doc's mouth lifted in a half-smile, and the two cars turned and coasted to the edge of the escarpment so that their view of the Butte and surrounding desert-scape was unobstructed by rocks or cacti.
Within a few minutes, the sun crested the Cadillacs, and beams of crisp, winter sunlight hit the top of the butte, making it glow like a beacon before slowly travelling down the rock face to illuminate the racetrack below. Lighting's shades fluttered as his eyes were assaulted by light. Not a bad feeling in the slightest; in fact, it made him feel warm and alive…despite the intensity of that energy not being enough to warm his sheet metal.
He saw Doc's posture change out of the corner of his eye…becoming more relaxed.
Subconsciously, Lightning relaxed a bit, too. He considered asking if everything was ok, but Doc beat him to it. "I…got some news this mornin'; family related." He looked as if he would elaborate, but he seemed to be having difficulty translating his thoughts and/or feelings to words. Eventually, he got frustrated, snarled, and tamped the ground with his right front tire. "Damnit, I ain't no good at this…"
"Good or bad news?"
Doc's eyes darted over to him. Maybe Lightning was reading into it too much, but the older car looked terrified. "I…" He bit his lip and reconsidered the butte. "It's a bit of both, to be honest, and I'm still processin' it all." His voice trailed off and his body lowered so that you could hardly see his wheels.
Lightning bit his lip. He didn't know Doc's history, and so was unsure if this trepidation was from the news, itself, or from having to think about his family. Figuring it was the latter, Lightning rolled closer so that he could lean against Doc's right flank, a gesture of comfort that startled the old Hornet at first. But then Doc settled back against him, eyes glistening with barely contained emotion. He closed his eyes and sighed, heavily. "Hey, Lightnin'? If you don't mind my askin': Where'd ya grow up?"
Lightning blinked a moment, startled by the change in topic, and then frowned. He didn't like thinking about his childhood; lots of bitterness and resentment, there. But it didn't take him long to put his feelings in context of the situation. Doc seemingly needed the right words and sometimes you needed to hear it from someone else for comparison.
If it could help Doc find the strength to push through his own feelings…then he was more than willing to meet him half-way. "So…until I was six, I lived in Fresno. My parents owned a big house and a lot of property with exotic tractors and deere and stuff," He paused, and his gaze grew distant. "They were both workaholics…so I didn't see much of them."
Doc's eyes flicked to the side, though Lightning, himself, didn't notice. "It didn't help that they gave me a wing all to myself, with my own staff…so even if they were home, I'd barely see them. Imagine it, a whole wing of a mansion." He sighed and pursed his lips. "You ever see someone with kids and think to yourself 'wow! Those people shouldn't have kids'? That was my parents. They sired me because a bunch of their friends were siring kids, and I guess they felt…left out? I dunno. Whatever their reasoning, their idea of 'good parenting' was to throw as much money as they could my way in the hopes that I'd entertain myself. It gave them more time to scream at each other."
Doc stared at him, horrified. No one should sire kids to 'fit in.'
"After they split up, I would spend half the year in New York with Dad and the other half with my Mom in L.A. Same story, different locations. They bought me everything that they thought I wanted, ignored me as much as they could, and then faked disappointment when it was time for me to go live with the other." Lightning scuffed the ground with a tire. "You know what's weird, though…?"
"What's that?"
"I wouldn't have gotten into racing if not for my dad."
"Hmmm…Is that right?"
"Yeah. On my ninth birthday, my dad took me to a Piston Cup race: The Lightyear 400 in Wattkins Glen!"
Doc canted his body. "Sounds a bit out of character for him…"
Lightning frowned. "Yeah…he was…meeting a bunch of his friends and their kids. They were drinking and socializing more than they were watching the race, so after a while, me and the other kids snuck out into the grandstands so that we could actually see what was going on. Man, was I hooked after that! I went to every race I could, and started competing at school. My gym teacher said that I had talent and recommended that I get involved with some of the carefree leagues around town. At my first race, I got noticed by a talent scout for the Fast Track Racing Academy. He reached out to my dad, and I was on a plane to Denver the very next day." His frown deepened. "I know he probably did it just to get rid of me… but I always hoped that maybe, just maybe, he did it because he cared." He blew a puff of air over his lip. "Wishful thinking that…"
"That's a four-year program, right? Fast track?" Doc interjected, gently, changing the subject for Lightning's benefit. "With a sponsorship at the end?"
The younger car nodded. "Yeah. Racing theory for the first two years and then all the practical stuff after your growth spurt. You gotta earn your sponsorship by participating in the big end-of-term race and finishing in the top five. Would have done it my junior year, but there was a…mishap. Won it my senior year, but…there weren't any sponsors willing to sign on new racers at the time, so I ended up with a local amateur league team. Unsponsored, but good visibility. 'Bout half a year in I was approached by Harv, who had worked out a sponsorship deal for me."
"Who for? Gask-its? Re-volting?"
Lightning sighed, heavily. "Smell Swell."
"Wait…really?" Doc chuckled. "The deodorant company?"
"Yeah, you know, the one with the really, really annoying jingle?"
"Oh, yeah, I remember," His chrome lifted in a smile, and he laughed. Then, out of the blue he belted out. "Got junk in your trunk? Backdoor funk? Using the old cleaner, whod'a thunk? Y'all got the tells that are ringing the bells? Bells. Bells? Bad bells, bad tells…"
Lightning just stared. Stared for a full minute. Even the sounds of the waking desert seemed to pause as if befuddled by this morning's turn of events. Then with a face that said 'what the hell am I doing?' Lightning opened his mouth and sang the next part of the jingle. "You…need the swells that're clearing the smells…" He stopped after that…too embarrassed, seemingly, to continue.
Doc laughed with his whole body. His humor was infectious, and after a minute of trying to resist, Lightning caved and began to chuckle. Soon, both cars were bouncing around each other on their tires, singing and laughing as they sang the rest of the vile thing in-tandem. "Get rid of the gunk, trunk funk. Smell Swell deodorant. Don't be a punk!"
The jingle ended in a fit of giggles and more laughter. "H-how…" Lightning chuckled, out of breath. "How the hell do you know all the lyrics?"
Doc's smile faltered. "Oh, c'mon kid; I'm old but I ain't dead. Smell Swell's had the same jingle since the 80's."
Lightning grinned. "And now I'm gonna have that song stuck in my head for the next week."
"Yeah…" Doc mirrored his expression. "Me too, kid."
They stared at each other for a minute before devolving into another round of giggles.
"Alright…so you got sponsored by Smell Swell," Doc cleared his throat. "But that couldn't have lasted, what, more than a year?"
Lighting stifled his laugher. "Yeah…they had a really tight budget and wouldn't spring for good haulers or equipment.' It began to really affect my performance…" His silly grin broadened to a wan smile. "I was known as 'Back of the Pack McQueen' for a while." His smile deepened. "I did have one, loyal, fan though. Mack."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, he thought I had talent, and he happened to mention me to his bosses, Rusty and Dusty. They came to one of my races and decided to hire me on the spot. And… the rest is history."
"Hmm." Doc grunted thoughtfully.
"Yeah, not the most uplifting origin story…and you can see why I haven't brought it up to the press…" He sighed and turned towards the butte. "I sometimes wish that things had…turned out differently with my parents, you know? But If things hadn't happened the way they had…I wouldn't have the life that I have, today." He chuckled, mirthlessly. "And…it's worth it; a thousand times over, it's worth it."
A pained expression claimed Doc's face, and he slowly rolled forward so that he could idle next to the younger car.
He was quiet for a time. So was Lightning, both of them wrestling with their own thoughts.
Lightning was the first to break the silence. "So, how about you, old timer?" He asked, softly. "Where'd you grow up?"
Lightning didn't expect Doc to respond. Any time he had ever inquired about Doc's personal life, he was always met with a sad sort of silence, but without missing a beat, Doc said. "Dawsonville, Georgia."
The young champion was stunned, but he quickly hid the emotion with a bit of his usual humor. "Always figured you were a southern car."
"What, the accent didn't give it away?" The hornet shot back, grinning.
Lightning laughed and grinned back, barely able to contain his excitement. He had always wanted to know more about his mentor, and the fact that Doc felt comfortable enough to open up to him…well, it wasn't something he had ever thought could happen. The sudden shift opened the proverbial floodgates, and the red racer bounced around like a car half his age, questions pouring out of his mouth in a rush. "Ooo, you gotta tell me everything. Were your parents racers, too? Were you the fastest kid in town? How did you get your big break? Who's Smokey?"
"Woah, there boy," Doc said with a chuckle. "You wanna be here for the next year?"
Lightning scuffed the ground with a tire. "Sorry…"
His mentor just smiled. "How's 'bout we start with family and see where things go from there."