A car crash you can’t look away from
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GREELEY, Colo. — BJ Wangerow fiddles with her engine, but the car won’t budge.
Black smoke belches from the exhaust. An enemy driver circles for a T-bone maneuver. Wangerow glances back once more, then reaches out her driver side window and snaps a yardstick taped to her car. Wangerow is out.
“Back in 2013, I was paralyzed from the neck down and dealt with that trauma for about six or seven years. Everybody always told me I’d never walk again. But you know what? Here I am today,” said Wangerow.
This year, she competed at the 2024 Greeley Stampede demolition derby, where the last car standing wins.
“It’s organized chaos,” said Brock White, 20, who drove his first derby car at 16.
Demolition derby rules vary by competition. At Greeley, drivers must make an aggressive hit every 60 seconds. It is prohibited to intentionally ram the driver’s side door or double team opponents. The last contestant to make a legal hit wins.
Contestants modify old cars by swapping out parts, removing glass windows and placing the gas tank inside the vehicle. Then, after that meticulous building process, they proceed to ram one another until all but one car is stuck or fails.
Vehicles routinely burst into flames upon impact.
In 1922, town residents organized the Greeley Spud Rodeo, which included bucking broncs, pie eating, and a two-mile Model-T Ford “free for all race,” according to the event. By 1972, the Greeley Stampede began to resemble today’s event, which includes pro rodeo competitions, concerts and the demolition derby. Contestants self-register for the event. As long as their car is up to code on the day of the event, they are allowed to drive.
So called “destruction derbies,” date back to the 1920s when social historian Itai Vardi detailed their emergence in a paper called “Auto Thrill Shows and Destruction Derbies.”
“Why do people come to auto races? Crashes,” said one Long Island race track owner and early promoter about the event’s popularity.
“They come here to see cars crash, so I figured why not have a race where all the cars do is crash.”
Before people began crashing cars into one another, they organized other spectacles of destruction, including an 1896 event in which two trains crashed into one another.
“Going at a rate of 45 miles an hour, they came together directly in front of the park with a crash that could have been heard for miles and the air was filled with debris,” according to a report from the Idaho Daily Statesman.
By mid-afternoon, thousands of spectators filled the arena and clamored for the carnage to begin. The thrill of watching drivers destroy cars in gladiator style is easy to understand. More difficult to relate to is the drivers’ desire to climb behind the steering wheel.
“No one’s ever died in a derby, but they sure as hell get hurt,” said Natasha Martinez, who travels with her husband to derbies around the state. It should be noted, however, that people have in fact died at demolition derbies.
Martinez said that by this point, her five and one year-old are so accustomed to the world of derby, the rumble of the souped up engines quickly lulls them to sleep.
Many drivers described being “addicted” to the adrenaline rush.
“When I was in high school, I ran in state track meets, played in state basketball tournaments,” said Brandon Frank, whose family has competed in the Greeley Stampede for decades. You have butterflies before those events, but nothing compares to sitting behind the seat of one of these demolition derby cars, right before you pull into the arena.”
There’s also the money. The top prize at Greeley is $10,000. At larger competitions the purse can exceed $50,000.
“It’s no chump change,” said Frank, who competes out of state.
Prize money helps to cover the costs of expensive upgrades.
For others, the urge is rooted in a desire to let out aggression.
“It’s my vice. I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. It’s my out. It’s how I relieve my aggression,” said Jason Dials.
“From the time when I grew up, if you had a difference with somebody, you just went to blows outside and walked away and it was the end of story,” Dials said.
“These days you can’t do that. So this is the best way that you can do that. You can hit somebody wide open and shake their hand and say good job.”
But perhaps most compelling is the generational tie many have to the spot.
Wangerow drove her first derby car at 18, following in the footsteps of her two older brothers — one of whom passed away 22 years ago.
“He’s somebody I’m driving for today,” said Wangerow. She wears her brother’s yellow helmet in his honor.
Drivers make good on their promise. Wave after wave of cars, trucks and motorhomes pummel one another. After each heat, which can range from five to more than 30 minutes, a team of volunteers comb the dirt for scraps of metal. Forklifts remove defeated vehicles from the arena.
“It gets in your blood. It's no different than any other sport,” said Cody Mathews. “We're just not at the top of TV.”
“It gets in your blood. It's no different than any other sport,” said Cody Mathews. “We're just not at the top of TV.”