We heard there were Mad Max Uber rides available at PAX Prime this weekend, so we stood in the cold Seattle air hardcore spamming the ‘request’ button until one of these guys picked us up. We managed to get lucky, and it was as magical of an experience as you could have imagined.
“Is it safe to have all that gasoline just sitting on top of your moving vehicle?” we never asked. “Absolutely not,” the universe answered.
The engine revved with the power of a thousand War Boys. Every time the car started, even if only to move 5 feet to the next stop light, it jolted forward, leaving the feeble world of pure oxygen breathers behind.
Through the haze of high octane vapors, we could make out a couple of hashtags. If we tagged a photo of our ride, we’d have a chance to win a Mad Max game.
It had everything. Rugged canvas car seats. Metal scraps on the floor. Eighteen different shades of rust. The car oozed detail like gasoline leaking from a thousand cracked fuel tanks.
Soon, we were racing through the streets, our lungs filled with the intense burning of excitement. “I can’t breathe,” Yami gasped. “That’s the excitement,” I answered.
This is our driver, “COWBOYOFDOOM.” He and his gasoline-proof lungs customized every inch of this car himself. This is his second custom Mad Max vehicle creation, and it won first place at Wasteland Weekend. Even though we didn’t give it any awards, we liked it too.
He gave us these masks. We wore them for an inappropriately long amount of time.
And he didn’t even hate us when Ian screamed, “WE ARE AWAITED IN VALHALLA!” out the window. Great guy.
Before we knew it, we had arrived at the convention center, and it was all over. Priceless. Like one’s respiratory health. Fleeting. Like volatile fumes.
We may have woken up that morning as press just trying to cover PAX Prime, but we arrived knowing we had been changed forever. We’ll never forget you, COWBOYOFDOOM.