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bad company
good company

The lights above the fairgrounds were visible for miles around, a beacon in the dark night sky. It was a county fair. I parked my rented Mustang and walked down a dirt path past the rides and vendors towards the source of all the noise. A truck and tractor pull. The noise was deafening and scent of gasoline so heavy it even covered up the smells of the ajoining carnival.

“Wait, let me go smell this guy,” She laughed as she said it, but afterwards she climbed up to the window of the approaching truck and put her sniffer inside. “Some of the drivers use nitrous [oxide in their engines],” she explained — an unfair tactic –, “and you can smell it on them. I have to sniff each driver after his run to make sure he’s clean.”

Later, two firemen let me use the bumper of their truck as a tripod to capture the action head on.

The scene.

The action

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