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USA TODAY
March 27, 1990, Tuesday, FINAL EDITION
Monster trucks make impression
BYLINE: Jim Myers
SECTION: SPORTS; Pg. 1C
LENGTH: 1173 words
OK, maybe it isn't a sport. And then, maybe, it is. Can anything called ''monster trucks'' really qualify as sport?
Until recently, the monsters, those sky-high pickups with humongous wheels, were a curiosity, a spectacle, a form of motorized show biz; these outlandish vehicles could roll over the top of old cars and crush them, and that was enough; audiences in big-city arenas loved it.
Then, three years ago, promoters started racing monster trucks over courses that consisted of junk cars parked side by side. The results, with the trucks flying through the air over the cars, were wild. Now, monster truck racers want respect - the kind Dale Earnhardt and Mario Andretti get.
All winter long, monsters play NFL stadiums and NBA/NHL arenas. Millions more watch them on TV. They snort, they roar; sometimes, they bounce like beach balls on those huge, 55-inch diameter tires. Actually, the tires are produced for fertilizer spreaders.
Six-year-olds squeal; monsters fit the profile of something kids find outrageously wonderful. Their parents, most of whom, monster marketers say, drive pickups, are gee-whiz amazed. And some teenagers think it's a hot date.
Monster trucking's deeper mysteries, the involvement of those who build and race them, is a trickier matter: What draws someone to it?
Because it's ''AWESOME'' - the monster trucker's favorite word. But understand, too, this sport (or non-sport) is so new it doesn't always explain its own complexities well. Either you get it. Or you don't.
Some folks get it bad. They see a monster truck and their life, their loves, their ambitions and their paychecks go out the window. ''I started with a short truck, and it just kept growing on me,'' said Steve Combs, 28, driver/builder of a truck called ''Knight Stalker.''
''And once you get one, there's no turning back,'' warns Dan Johnson, 26, partner in a truck called ''Wasted Wages.''
Next come dreams of making money - always assuming the monster truck fad will stay. What are the odds? Well, crushing cars appears to be the monster truck's purpose on Earth. Crushing cars also seems to be a normal fantasy brought on by traffic jams. And full arenas seem to say there's an essentially human appeal to crushing spectacles.
An actual monster truck race is a quick and simple matter: Collect the 1970s hulks (at about $ 100 each), remove the glass, batteries and gas tanks; throw in some hay bales or old tires, so the cars don't get smashed flat too soon; park them in two parallel rows, and bring on the trucks.
They shoot off from a standing start and hit the first car, which acts like a ramp, sending the trucks flying into the air. Some trucks land well beyond the cars and the finish line (often the last car). A race can take less than three seconds on a basketball arena, five-car race course - or longer on a football stadium course with 10 cars and a turn.
Audiences react most when the trucks fly high, a situation that racing encourages. The flying - called ''getting air'' - appears essential to fan appeal.
Then, too, if monster truck racing is a sport, it's the first athletic event actually to evolve from an ad. ''BIGFOOT,'' the first monster, was built in 1974 by Bob Chandler, of Hazelwood, Mo., to promote a four-wheel- drive shop.
Just contemplating a parked ''BIGFOOT,'' a Ford, was considered enough in the early years. But in 1981, Chandler made a fateful video of ''BIGFOOT'' rolling up and over two junk cars in a field. ''I thought it was silly,'' Chandler re-calls.
Soon, motorsports promoters, hoping to find something for monster trucks to do, wanted car crushing - initially as an extra at truck and tractor pulls. But the role of monster trucks grew, until they were a feature act in their own shows. Today, Chandler, who leaves the driving to others, can have ''BIGFOOT'' trucks at several events a weekend.
In 1979, Fred Shafer, also from St. Louis, built ''Bearfoot,'' a Chevy. He says it was the first monster truck to do a wheelie (front wheels in the air) and the first, in 1980, to cross the Mississippi (using eight big wheels to float on).
Chandler is working on his ninth ''BIGFOOT,'' Shafer on his seventh ''Bearfoot.'' (Both have also built tank versions for exhibitions; Shafer, 42, used the drive system off a M-4 Army personnel carrier.)
Big-city monster truck shows have also become cable and syndicated TV staples; a few events equal hours of programming. TV is very important. Promoters also invest up to $ 100,000 for a weekend event - the cost of a state-of-the-art, custom-made monster truck - in jackhammer TV ads that scream: ''Come FEEL the awesome horse-power in the wildest show IMAGINABLE.''
The purses at indoor shows - these figures come from SRO/Pace Promotions, which runs the United States Hot Rod Association, which sanctions a new Camel Mud and Monster Series - includes $ 500 to qualify for the average eight-truck field, but only eight trucks are invited. The race winner, after quarterfinals and semifinals, gets $ 1,500. And if the show runs two or three days, winnings are doubled or tripled.
Small-time monster owners' existence is show-to-show. Break an expensive part and they're in trouble. But some end up stars.
Dennis Anderson, 29, built and drives ''Grave Digger,'' one of the most popular trucks appearing in shows run by TNT Motorsports, which started its truck racing series three seasons ago. ''Grave Digger'' is a 1950 Chevy panel van, painted in graveyard motifs. ''At first, we barely ate. We had a hard time,'' says Anderson's wife, Julie. ''We're still struggling, but at least we can go to the grocery store and not worry when they're ringing it up.''
All monsters are somewhat the same: Both front and rear wheels pivot to steer (the front with the steering wheel, the rear, usually, with a joy stick). They can whip around a tight corners or roll sideways at odd angles when both front and rear wheels are pointed in the same direction.
But Chandler says monster trucks represent three eras:
- Stage I: Heavy vehicles, using actual truck bodies, built for early car-crushing shows that did not require speed.
- Stage II: Trucks, lighter but still around 15,000 pounds, with enough horsepower to shoot the truck into the air when it hit the junk cars.
- Stage III: They might look like trucks, but they're made of chrome- moly tubing like race cars; they weigh less than 10,000 pounds, have engines of up to 1,000 horsepower and suspension systems derived from off-road race ve-hicles.
Some truckers are hard-pressed to keep up with the pace of costly developments. ''It's getting ridiculous,'' says Rob Fuchs, 29, whose truck, ''First Blood,'' is only months old. Already, he's working on a new one.
And where is it all heading? Toward a paradox: Audiences react when the trucks fly. But a truck loses speed when it's in the air. So the fastest trucks of the future might fly less.
Will fans still love them?
Again, in a sport (or non-sport) that's too new to explain itself, no one seems to know.
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH
GRAPHIC: PHOTO; color, Mike Milkovich (Truck leaping over wrecked cars); PHOTO; color, Mike Milkovich (Trenida Dreher,mother Annette); PHOTO; color, Mike Milkovich (Carla Wacker, mother Sandy)
CUTLINE: HIGH-FLYING ACTION: The most-appreciated stunt in monster truck racing is 'getting air,' or flying high over cars. CUTLINE: NOISE MAKERS: Accompanying the action is noise, evidenced by the reaction of Trenida Dreher, left, with mother Annette, and Carla Wacker, right, with mother Sandy at Landover, Md.
TYPE: Cover Story
Copyright 1990 Gannett Company Inc.
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