Lightning kept Mack company for a short while, until he fell asleep. Mack traveled the endless miles alone. The lines dividing the lanes rolled like ribbons under his tires, and soon he felt his headlights drooping.

Mack was desperately trying to shake himself awake when a group of flashy hot rods rolled up beside him. Boost, the leader, noticed that Mack was falling asleep, and decided to have some fun. "We got ourselves a nodder," he told the other cars.

DJ, a car with enormous speakers, put on some soothing music.

"Pretty music," Mack said sleepily. He let out a huge yawn. In the next moment, he was snoring as he rolled forward.

"Yo, Wingo!" Boost called as he bumped Mack toward his friend. "Lane change, man!"

"Right back at ya!" Wingo said as he booted Mack back across the highway. But Boost swerved out of the way, allowing Mack to bump onto the shoulder of the road.

"Oops, I missed," Boost said, and the hot rods cracked up.

Inside Lightning's trailer, the jostling caused a trophy to slip off the shelf. It hit the lift control button, and the back door fell open. Lightning rolled to the lip of the ramp as Mack, still fast asleep and moving forward, veered back onto the highway.

Suddenly, Snot Rod felt a sneeze coming on. "Ahh … Ahh … Ahh … Ahh—"

"He's gonna blow!" Wingo cried.

"Ah-chooo!" Snot Rod sneezed, sending a burst of flame from his tailpipe.

Mack swerved as he was startled awake. "Gesundheit!" he said automatically—then he realized where he was. "Whoa! One should never drive while drowsy." He didn't know that in the commotion Lightning had been shaken off the ramp! Mack kept driving into the night, leaving Lightning alone on the highway.

Honk!

"Get out of the way!" cried a car as he sped around the sleeping Lightning—who had just rolled into oncoming traffic. "You're going the wrong way! Ahhhh!"

Cars honked and shouted as they veered to avoid Lightning.

"Mack!" Lightning hollered as he bolted awake, swerving just in time to avoid an oncoming truck. Turning sharply, Lightning dodged through the traffic after his trailer, who still hadn't noticed that the race car was missing. But Lightning couldn't see where he was going. Race cars drove only on tracks—and the tracks were always lit up—so Lightning didn't have real headlights. "Mack!" he cried, momentarily losing sight of the truck. "Mack, wait for me!"

But Mack was too far ahead; he couldn't hear Lightning.

Lightning was gaining ground. He followed the truck's taillights as it headed to an off-ramp. Leaving the highway for a rural road, the trailer barreled over some train tracks. Lightning sped up—and jumped the crossing a millisecond before a train came through.

But when Lightning pulled up beside the truck, he made a horrible discovery. The trailer he'd been following wasn't Mack at all.

"Turn on your lights, you moron," the truck yelled at Lightning.

"Mack … ," Lightning whispered to himself as the truck drove away. So … if that truck wasn't Mack, where could Mack be? "The Interstate," Lightning said. Turning, he spotted some lights. He tore toward them at top speed, not realizing that he was headed down winding old Highway 66, not the Interstate.

A siren blasted through the night air, and Lightning saw red and blue flashing lights. A police car! "Maybe he can help me," Lightning said, slowing down.

But the police cruiser was old, and he hadn't had to chase a sleek young race car in years. Ka-blam! He backfired.

"He's shooting at me," Lightning said, panicking and putting the pedal to the metal. "Why's he shooting at me?"

Boom! Boom! Ka-blam! "I haven't gone this fast in years," the Sheriff said to himself as he sped after Lightning. "I'm gonna blow a gasket!"

Thinking he was being gunned down, Lightning swerved, snakelike, to avoid the blasts.

"What in the blue blazes?" cried the Sheriff. "Crazy hot-rodder."

Lightning and the Sheriff barreled toward the sleepy little town of Radiator Springs. It was perfectly quiet there, and the locals were all gathered at Flo's V8 Café, looking up at the town's lone traffic light.

"I'm telling you, man," said Fillmore, an aging bus. "Every third blink is slower."

An old army jeep named Sarge gave Fillmore a dubious look. "The sixties weren't good to you, were they?"

Blam! Blam! Ka-blam!

Tires squealed and the siren wailed as Lightning tore toward town with the Sheriff right on his bumper. As Lightning approached the traffic light, he got his first real look at Radiator Springs.

"What?" the race car cried. "That's not the Interstate! Ow!" He slammed into a bunch of traffic cones. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" Lightning swerved to avoid the cones and found himself headed straight for a barbed wire fence! "No-no-no-no-no!" He burst through the fence, and the wire wrapped around him. He dragged the fence forward as he plowed past the café.

"I'm not the only one seeing this, right?" Fillmore asked as he stared at the out-of-control race car in disbelief.

Lightning fishtailed, hitting a bunch of oilcans and a stack of tires. Then he ground the garden of Red, the fire truck, into the dirt. He swerved to avoid the statue of the town's founder, Stanley, but the barbed wire caught it. For a moment, Lightning was pinned, spinning his wheels in place against the weight of the heavy statue, but then he gunned the engine. The statue tipped forward, landing in front of Lightning.

"Ahhh!" Lightning screamed, driving away, dragging Stanley and the barbed wire fence behind him and ripping up the road. Veering to the side, the statue launched off a flatbed trailer like a water-skier and landed in some telephone wires. Lightning tried to get free, but he was still tangled in the barbed wire with Stanley. Suddenly, Stanley flew backward, as if flung from a giant slingshot.

"Fly away, Stanley," Fillmore called as the statue sailed overhead. "Be free."

The statue landed back on its pedestal, and Lightning got tangled even more in a set of lowhanging telephone wires.

The winded sheriff drove up to Lightning, who was hanging upside down by the poles. "Boy," the Sheriff said, catching his breath. "You're in a heap of trouble."

With a sigh, Lightning's engine sputtered to a stop. He had passed out.

麦坤只陪了麦克一小会儿就睡着了。麦克独自行驶在看不到尽头的公路上。公路上的分道线像丝带一样从他的轮胎下划过，很快，他感觉前灯都耷拉了下来。

麦克拼命摇头让自己精神起来。这时，身边一群很炫的改装高速汽车赶了上来。领头的布斯特发现麦克昏昏欲睡，便决定拿他取乐。他跟其他小伙伴们说：“看这辆打瞌睡的家伙。”

一辆装了大喇叭的DJ车故意播放一些舒缓的音乐。

“音乐真不错！”麦克迷迷糊糊地说。他打了一个大哈欠，接着一边赶路一边打起呼噜。

“喂，文哥，”布斯特把麦克撞向自己的朋友，“这家伙变道了。”

“回到你的车道上！”文哥说着就把麦克撞回给布斯特，然而布斯特故意闪开，任由麦克撞到路肩上。

“哎哟，我没接到。”布斯特说，惹得那辆高速汽车也笑了 起来。

麦坤的拖车里，一座奖杯因为刚刚的碰撞从架子上滑落。奖杯撞在升降开关上，后门随即打开了。麦坤从后门滑了出去，而麦克还在边走边睡，他转身回到车道上。

突然，鼻涕虫想打喷嚏：“啊——啊——”

“他要打喷嚏了！”文哥大喊。

“啊嚏——”鼻涕虫打了个响亮的喷嚏，尾气管里喷出一 团火。

麦克猛然惊醒，改变了方向。他下意识地说：“祝你健康！”这时他突然发觉自己走错车道了。“哇哦！瞌睡的时候绝对不能开车。”麦克还不知道，就在刚才的一片混乱中，麦坤已经被甩出车厢！他继续在黑夜里前行，将麦坤落在高速公路上。

嘟嘟！

“闪开！”一辆小汽车从熟睡的麦坤身边疾驰而过，尖声叫道——麦坤落入迎面而来的车流，“你走错道了！哈哈!”

过往的车辆边躲闪边冲着麦坤大喊。

“麦克！”麦坤大叫一声突然醒来，他及时调整方向躲开了呼啸而来的卡车。接着他左躲右闪地在车流中穿行，而麦克还没注意到麦坤已经不见了。麦坤不知道自己该往哪个方向追。赛车通常只在赛道里跑，而赛道总是灯火通明。所以，麦坤没有安装真正的车头灯。他一时找不到麦克，便大喊起来：“麦克！等等我!”

然而，麦克已经离开很远，他听不到麦坤的呼喊。

麦坤穷追不舍。他紧随一辆卡车的尾灯，朝匝道口驶去。下了高速，卡车驶进一条乡村道路，快速穿过几条铁轨，麦坤也见势加速，在火车穿过之前的一刹那越过铁轨。

然而，当麦坤追上那辆卡车时，他惊恐地发现那辆他穷追不舍的卡车根本就不是麦克大叔。

“打开你的车头灯，你这个白痴！”卡车冲着麦坤吼。

“麦克……”卡车走后麦坤喃喃自语。那么……如果刚刚那辆卡车不是麦克，麦克又会去哪里了呢？“州际公路！”麦坤转过身后，看到一丝亮光。于是他朝着亮光全速追去，压根没有发现他走的根本就不是州际公路，而是老旧而蜿蜒的66号高速公路。

一声警笛响彻夜空。麦坤看到红光和蓝光交替闪烁的报警灯。是一辆警车！“也许他能帮到我！”麦坤说着放慢了速度。

但是，这辆巡逻警车已经老了。他很多年没有追赶年轻的赛车了。咔砰！他开枪了。

“他在朝我开枪，”麦坤一边说一边猛踩油门全速行驶，“他为什么要朝我开枪？”

砰！砰！咔砰！“好多年没开这么快了，”警长一边加速追赶麦坤一边抱怨，“我的发动机都快爆了！”

考虑到自己可能会被击毙，麦坤左右躲闪，逶迤前行，躲避飞来的子弹。

“耍什么花招？”警长吼道，“真是辆疯狂的赛车。”

麦坤和警长一路追赶着，朝熟睡中的水箱温泉镇飞驰而去。小镇十分宁静，当地居民都聚集在芙蓉咖啡店，抬头看着小镇那盏孤单的红绿灯。

“伙计，我跟你说，这灯每次闪第三下的时候都会慢一些。”一辆上了年纪的公交车辉哥说。

另一辆名为士官长的军用老吉普车疑惑地看了看辉哥：“60年代对你不太友好，我说的对吧？”

砰！砰！咔砰！

远处传来麦坤轮胎摩擦地面的声音和警长的鸣笛声。麦坤拼命朝小镇跑去，警长紧贴他的保险杠追了上来。遇到红绿灯的时候，麦坤才看到前面原来是水箱温泉镇。

“什么？”麦坤喊道，“前面不是州际公路！哎！”麦坤失望地连连叹气。“哦哦哦!”他一路躲闪路上的路障，却发现自己正朝一个缠着旧电线的栅栏撞去！“不不不！”他冲破栅栏，电线将他缠住。麦坤拖拽着栅栏费力地从咖啡店前经过。

“不是只有我看见吧？”辉哥盯着这辆失控的赛车，他感到难以置信。

麦坤左右乱窜。他先是撞在一排油罐和一堆废旧轮胎上，接着又把红色消防车小红的花园碾成了泥地。尽管麦坤突然转弯试图避开小镇创建者斯坦利的雕像，但是旧电线将他死死缠住。一时间，麦坤动不了了。他飞速转动后轮来对抗雕像沉甸甸的重量，他不得不加大油门。结果雕像向前倾斜，倒在了麦坤的面前。

“啊！”麦坤尖叫着，他使劲拖着斯坦利和缠满旧电线的栅栏，路都被撕裂了。他奋力一转身，雕像就像滑水运动员一样从平板拖车上滑了起来，落在地上的电话线上。麦坤急于脱身，怎奈连着斯坦利雕像的废旧电线仍缠在自己身上。突然，斯坦利像被一把巨大的弹弓弹出一样飞了回去。

“飞吧！斯坦利，”雕像从头顶上空飞过时，辉哥大喊，“飞向自由!”

雕像重新落回到基座上，麦坤被低悬的旧电话线缠得更紧了。

警长气喘吁吁地走近倒挂在电线上的麦坤，说：“小子，你有大麻烦了。”

随着一声叹息，麦坤的发动机也熄火了。他早已昏过去。