Week 53: 1974 AMC Hornet

Here we are 53 weeks later, the official beginning of the second year of Daddy's Tiny Cars. To celebrate, I tracked down a special tiny car, a 1974 AMC Hornet made by Johnny Lightning.

While many might not see a '74 Hornet as a special car, it was a Hornet, I don't remember the year, belonging to my friend Mike that drove us to many adventures while we were learning to drive in 1979.

I didn't look to see if my Johnny Lightning had a tiny eight-track player in the dash. If it doesn't, it should.

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As previously mentioned, the first annual Daddy's Tiny Cars Race was held September 12, 2011.

The rules were made up as we went along, and, in retrospect, didn't actually make any sense. Each racer, this year Racer Z (11 years old), Racer A (4 years old), Baby G (2 years), and me (years enough to remember the Hornet), could pick three cars each, except for me, who only selected a single car. Each son would race a best-of-three match against my single selection, Week 51's bright yellow 1966 custom GTO station wagon.

How could I lose? I hoped they would take it in stride.

 Since I was racing more than anyone else, I decided that to move on to the finals, the kids would need to qualify by beating me. Winners would square up against each other. For me to win, I would need to beat all racers. I don't exactly get how that works, but I wanted to make sure I got to individually race all the kids and hadn't really worked out the details.

Baby G kicked off the trial run of the modified track by running a plastic Peter Pan figurine. No amount of coaxing to use something with wheels seemed to work. According to Peter Pan, the track was ready.

Racer Z kicked off the official races with his red Hotwheels Pro Stock Firebird.

Results: Racer Z dominated the first two races, negating a need for a third.

A minor setback. I was setback by a minor.

Strangely, since Racer A was manning
(kidding?) the camera, this was
the only shot of Racer Z.
See? His hand is in the grey
shirt.

Next was Racer A with his blue Hot Wheels Camaro Pro Stock.
I won the first race, he won the second, but I won the third. The focus, however, was on the wonderful win during the second race.

Baby G was a no show. He must be at the concession stand.

Racer A then raced his green Hot Wheels Spectyte, successfully beating my yellow wagon twice, meaning our next race would determine who would win the series. It would need to wait, however, for Racer Z was back, this time racing the legendary Hot Wheels Yur So Fast, fresh out of the package.

My wagon was not So Fast. Racer A won the first two. He had won the series.

Daddy and Racer A, with  glowing red eyes.
When the eyes glow green, GO!

Racer A returned, bucking the system by insisting he reuse his Pro Stock, which seemed to break the rules, but, since there weren't actually any rules, did not. A won the first race, but next I beat him by a hair. The third race, however, he won, winning the best of three series. Tears were averted.

Baby G, who had been doing an amazing job of hiding his excitement, finally arrived with an unnamed Hot Wheels MacDonald's toy to beat me in the first race. I think he ran it down the track backwards.

In the second and third races, however, he lost, which didn't matter as he had been lured away to the siren song of Nick Junior (the cable station, not some race car driver). Note to self: television off next time during the races.

With Baby G out of the running, that left the showdown between Racers A and Z.

Even though Racer Z had cinched the series win, we nonetheless raced his Hot Wheels Double Demon anyway. He, appropriately, won double.

Out of the races, I changed position from driver to sport and life coach as I monitored the race between Racer A's Pro Stock and Racer Z's Pro Stock and defused potential arguments.  In the final count, older sibling Z won the races. Tears were shed by younger one, older one gave pep talk, younger one sniffed, and then I wandered off in a dream state, thinking about next year's race.

A good time was had by all.

Racing excitement proved just a bit too much for Baby G.

Sadly, there were not spectators in the audience due to a poor PR campaign on my part (as in I didn't mention it to anyone other than a vague reference online.) Nonetheless, a great shout out to photographer Phil Pekarcik who took the picture of the Hornet and who was there in spirit.

His spirit even beat my station wagon.