Story of a Champion

Before I go any further, I suppose I should take a moment to memorialize my beloved Mercedes Benz C-111, a.k.a. "Janet Guthrie". She was purchased in a gift shop at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway museum -- an auspicious start for any car. It's been so long since I've seen her that my memories are hazy at best. Until I looked through the Hot Wheels databse, I couldn't even have told you exactly what kind of car she was. Thinking back, I had the vague impression that she had been red, but with other colors too -- blue and white and at least one other color. And I remembered stars. As for her casting, I knew she had a narrow nose, doors that opened and a low, wide body that was built for speed. I figured I would know her when I saw her. That much was true. What I had trouble remembering were the minor details. Was she a Red Line? Was her base black or chrome, metal or plastic? As best I can recall, she had a chrome base. That would make her a Red Line. And I think it was plastic since I'm pretty sure I didn't get her until 1976. I did name her after Janet Guthrie, the first woman to race in the Indianapolis 500, but Guthrie didn't actually appear in the race until 1977. That being said, I may not have started calling my Janet by that name until after the fact. As I recall, my brother had purchased a couple of Formula One style cars that same day which he called "Bobby Unser" and "A.J. Foyt". I started calling my car Janet as a response to that, but it may not have been until after I discovered that Janet was faster than my brother's cars -- all of his cars. Those were the glory days. When Janet rolled down that track, she was a thing of beauty. Nothing could touch her. She handled every turn, every loop, every straightaway with expert precision. My brother would act like it didn't bother him that my Janet won every race, but I saw how hopeful he looked with every new car he bought. Many came and went, but none could do better than second place. As time wore on, I could tell my Janet wasn't quite the car she had been when she was new. Her doors rattled as she came down the track and her "flying colors" looked maybe a little less bright. But like any great champion, she continued to win. She always won. Until my brother came up with an idea that finally brought about her downfall. He, being seven years older than me, decided to start applying oil to the tires of his cars. In all fairness, he offered to do the same for my cars, but I viewed this as tampering with the vehicles and wanted no part of it. I was too young to understand that it was probably good for the cars even beyond the immediate benefit of making them go faster. So I watched anxiously as he greased up his cars' tires and set up the track. And I danced and sang "Nya, nya, nya" louder than ever before when my Janet still won. But my brother wasn't deterred. He applied more oil the next time we raced, and finally... sadly... my Janet couldn't keep up. Afterwards, I remember picking her up somberly and carrying her away, probably into retirement. I don't recall racing cars with my brother beyond that moment. By that time, he was of the age where he was losing interest in it anyway. And now, I have no idea what happened to my beloved Janet. I can't imagine that I wouldn't have had enough sense to save her, even if my mom had decided to garage sale all my other cars. But in a thoughtless teenage moment, I might have waved my hand and said, "Whatever." And so now I have very little hope of ever seeing her again. I can only hope that if someone else got her, that they loved her as I did. And that they let her race. She was good at that.