The Nitrous Gambit
“Strap in, darlings—this one begins with confidence… and ends in a spectacular lack of control.”
Our tale takes us back to the late 1980s, to a gathering of daring minds and questionable decisions known as Ghengis Con in Denver, Colorado.
A fitting place for glory…
—or, as it turns out, something far more entertaining.
Our esteemed Captain entered a Division 30 racing event in Car Wars with what can only be described as a bold strategy.
A gasoline engine.
Faster acceleration, you see. A racer’s choice. Sensible… on paper.
And for armament?
Twin mine droppers—mounted neatly at the rear.
A clever plan… assuming, of course, that one remains in the lead.
…which our Captain did not.
After only a few turns, our driver found themselves in last place—watching their brilliant rear-facing strategy become entirely irrelevant.
A lesser soul might have accepted defeat.
But not this one.
Oh no.
In a moment of pure, unfiltered determination, our Captain did what all great stories require:
They engaged the nitrous oxide.
And just like that—the machine roared to life.
Speed. Glorious, reckless speed.
The kind that turns heads.
The kind that ignores consequences.
The kind that, unfortunately, demands a certain… familiarity with high-speed handling.
Now, between us…
That familiarity was somewhat lacking.
The vehicle—ill-prepared for such heroic ambition—began to skid.
Then slide.
Then abandon all pretense of control entirely.
What followed was less a race…
…and more a demonstration of physics in protest.
Across the field the car went—wild, unstoppable—until, with a final act of defiance—
It launched into the air.
Yes. Airborne.
It landed.
It rolled.
It tumbled with all the grace of a collapsing teacart—
…and somehow—
Crossed the finish line first.
Now that is commitment.
Tragically—and quite sensibly—it was ruled that a participant must cross the finish line in control of their vehicle.
Which, by that point…
our Captain very much was not.
Nor, I suspect, was there much vehicle left to control.
And yet—history has a sense of humor.
For on the final day of the convention, our daring driver was awarded a trophy, a most fitting honor:
“Most Crazy Play”
And I must say… I can think of no finer title.
“A glorious failure, yes… but a legendary one.”
Lady Bea’s Final Word
A bold plan.
A faster engine.
A decision made at exactly the right—or terribly wrong—moment.
These are the ingredients of a proper tale.