I awake, my eyes fluttering like a stop-motion figurine. I bring my hands in closer, only to find that they have been dipped in the sunset. The black leather cap muffles my brain, doing what it can to keep the throbbing down. Without question, my hands spring into action, as if they were helping an escaped convict, and begin clawing at its flaps. After a few moments of tugging and pulling, it finally comes off, only to be met with a new form of pain. I lift myself only to find that I have entered vertigo and begin to ask myself: how did I get here? Why is it so difficult to remember what happened? I then muster up enough strength to sit up. I hear the sound of running water and look down below me. A river violently makes its way through the mountain. Something red in the river catches my eye. I squint to see what it is and bring my hands to my face in horror. I remember now.
My eyes open and meet the dark wooden ceiling above. It stares back at me with concern. “You’re really going through with this?” It says to me, “What’s the point, really?” To prove I can do it, even at this age (I’m twenty-nine). “Sure, you wanna “leave your mark” on the world, but what about family, your friends even?” That’s why I do it; it provides them a layer of financial comfort. I know that may be hard for you to get, but a majority of us people aren’t able to stay in one place forever. “I get that, sort of… but to risk your life for everyone else…. just seems wrong.” Well, if you never risk it, you never go anywhere.
With that, I jump out of my bed and get ready, as the walls continue to lambast me with concern, adding in large creeks to deter me. As I make my way out of the house, I grab the flat cap given to me by my grandfather, who had no reservations about the mystic of Pike’s Peak. He had also been a driver in his day, favoring two wheels. That’s the difference, he would tell me, the car inhibits your connection with the world, and the bike forces you to be present. Even after growing up with those mantras, I still gravitated toward cars; well, one in particular; the 1970 Challenger.
The interest in the car had come from a music video by the metal band Audioslave, “Show Me How To Live.” The video mixed in with the groove of the bass and guitars was enough to get me hooked, no questions asked. The lyrics, discussing one’s purpose in life, caught my attention, even at eleven years old. But what would my end result be after everything was said and done? Would my effect on people bring out the best in them and allow them the opportunity to chase whatever it was they were after? At least, that was always the goal, especially today.
As I walk outside, the cool morning air licks at my lips, but I do my best to ignore it. I look over the horizon and see nothing but the beautiful morning sky. The mix of colors makes the sky look even more attractive. I walk down the wooden stairs toward the burgundy girl herself. The motor erupts with a monstrous roar, which I have always loved hearing. As I get closer to the starting point, my body becomes tense. I try to relieve my nervous feelings by playing the radio, but all it does is falsify my confidence. Ten minutes later, I find myself at the starting line, the ninth car from the front. I look around, scoping out my competition. All the other drivers were focused; not one showed the slightest resemblance of fear or nervousness. I regain[ed] my focus and look dead ahead; the only thing I await now is the sound of the starter gun. I wait impatiently for it like a hungry animal stalk’s its prey. I suddenly hear a voice “…ON YOU MARKS, GET SET, GO! I hear the gun go off and immediately stomp my foot on the gas, determined to win.
I sat in my comfortable leather seat, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing but the black pavement and the mountainside. This was no time to relax; I had to stay focused as I had taken a commanding lead. The sweat poured down my face as I made my way past another sharp turn. When I would do races, the one thing I would always look forward to was seeing the fantastic landscapes. The mountains were all different. Some had sharp jagged surfaces, while others looked softer than a freshly sanded deck. The hills seemed to lose their beautiful green color but kept a majestic look as each mountain was topped with a fine layer of snow that glistened in the sunlight. It was a beautiful sight that I could not resist, nor wanted to, for that matter.
I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind me, but I saw no one. It was a fantastic feeling I had not had for a long time. I had found myself amid a losing streak that felt like it was at its end. I looked back toward the road feeling happy and relieved. I turned a corner and saw a sign that read “Halfway point,” “fifteen miles to go,” I thought, only fifteen more miles than it’s over. I was going nearly eighty miles an hour when I came to a sharp turn. I slowly pressed my foot to the brake, trying to slow the car. I was still going too fast as I approached the turn, doing my best to avoid it. I skidded across the road, and when I went to readjust myself, I jerked the wheel and immediately found myself heading toward the river below. I began to brace myself, holding onto the wheel tightly, slowly fading out of consciousness.
Was this always what my life was leading to, death at Pike’s Peak? Just to be remembered to not take the edge off a little. That’s never what I wanted; the goal was always to push restrictions to the wayside. I had only a few reservations my whole life, being that they may have crossed some legal lines. I search my jacket pocket until the phone’s edge breathes life into my fingers. It takes a few moments, but my blood-soaked hands are able to bring it to my face. Multiple cracks on the phone, similar to that of a kaleidoscope, hinder my ability to find the voice recorder. Finally, after what feels like twenty minutes, I get the icon in an area where it registers my flesh and opens it. I begin recording:
Hey, it’s Dan. I know… I’m not surprised to be down here, either. Well, at least after some time has passed, you’ll feel that way. I asked for this… I mean, what was I to expect doing a race like this? I just wanted to leave the last impression, at the end here….
A light breeze above my forehead catches me off guard, and then four blades start to make their way toward me. The sound builds with each moment, giving my ears the impression that they have been put into an automatic shuffler. I start to float, never feeling still, and for the first time in hours, I crack a smile at the lady in blue.
Antonio Canzoneri 
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