What if your mid-life crisis is a Hot Wheels addiction?

​It begins as a faint, distant rumble somewhere deep in the belly, a seemingly benign tremble that betrays little of the breathtaking assault that is to follow.

But the growl-in-the-gut grows quickly — at a startling pace that you never do get used to — morphing now at firing-synapse speeds, first into clattering, chaotic din and then morphing into mushrooming climax, marked by an alarmingly close whoosh! that sounds exactly like the sonic wave from a squadron of overhead jet fighters.

Only it’s not jet fighters. 

It’s a posse of gravity-propelled Hot Wheels cars hurtling down a 1.5-inch-wide plastic track directly toward my head.

I am lying prone on the hallway hardwood, contorting my stiff 54-year-old frame so that I might determine precisely how to adjust my cellphone camera (even if by millimetres!) to maximize the earth-shaking video capture of the coming tumult.

There’s a sheen on my brow, a shortness to my breath, and an ache deep in my knees—but all of this I hardly notice.

And why should I? In these pure, sweet moments of delirium, I’m held blissfully in the loving embrace of my fully blown, balls-to-the-wall Hot Wheels addiction.

Did I mention that I’m 54?

But wait, before you judge, allow me to deflect.

My son, Erik, you see he was born a little more than three-and-a-half years ago. 

I’m blaming him. Clearly, it’s his doing.

Like most punks of his age, he loves little cars that collide, superheroes that clash, dinosaurs that brawl — but most of all he cherishes those little cars that collide.

Probably by about the age of one, Erik was given toy autos to play with, most of them the Hot Wheels die-cast masterpieces that continue to define the genre.

Hot Wheels were introduced by Mattel in 1968, intentionally amped up and pimped out to compete directly with the much more staid, market-leading Matchbox cars. The gambit worked. Hot Wheels quickly rose to become an institution beloved in all corners of the Earth, leaving Matchbox in the dust. How complete is the dominance? Mattel now actually owns the comparatively bland Matchbox brand. Why it’s even kept alive is beyond me.

Do I overstate my case? If you took a close look, I’m certain you’d agree that the Hot Wheels cars themselves are truly extraordinary (miniature works of art and incredible feats of engineering) but, critically, the brand’s rise to prominence is also very much down to the ingenious-yet-humble Hot Wheels track.

For me, those foot-long sections of connectible and highly flexible orange plastic are the vital medium upon which Hot Wheels cars become truly intoxicating. Now with a sizable track stockpile, I’ve spent dozens of breathless hours conceiving and installing circuit designs that snake hither and thither throughout by dining room, living room, and aforementioned hallway. In just a few minutes, this semi-orderly adult space can be transformed into a little bit of Hot Wheels heaven.

Erik occasionally wields a section of the track as a pretend sword, but I discourage this as mildly disrespectful to the Hot Wheels movement. There are plenty of other things he can turn into a sword — sheesh!

Admittedly, much of the Hot Wheeling that I do is beyond Erik’s current abilities, but he’ll grow into it. I mean, I’m doing it all for him, right?

For instance, I keep a special collection of my fastest cars in a dedicated box hidden away from the boy so that when he matures he can play with them without causing damage or affecting their speed on track. And I’m keeping a smaller collection of beautifully designed models that, sadly, don’t perform well as racers. I may display these in a case one days for Erik’s enjoyment.

Why do I do all this? Why have I allowed this habit to worm its way into my life? In my sage wisdom as a 54-year-old man-child, I’ve come to see that there are a few contributing factors.

First, as a hobby, Hot Wheels is very affordable. The amazing cars themselves typically go for less than two bucks each. The lengths of track, too, cost but a pittance, and most of the basic accessories required to affix your improvised circuits to tabletops or to install simple loop-de-loops are just a few bucks. 

(Important note: I’m not a Hot Wheels car collector. I’m a track enthusiast interested in only the newest and fastest cars. Were I a collector, the hobby would become much more expensive in a hurry).

Second, for whatever reason, I did not go through a Hot Wheels phase as a kid. I was more into sports and G.I. Joe dolls, I think. So maybe I’m making up for lost time and using the tiny hotrods as a substitute for an adult-sized mid-life crisis sports car. Maybe I’m playing my trauma out in a more accessible and cost-effective miniature.

Whatever the case, although I’ve made it all sound fun (because it is), I’ve also had some disturbing moments as a Hot Wheeler.

Picture me pulling up to the Toys ‘R’ Us megastore, bug-eyed like a junkie, pulse already quickening, now striding swiftly through automated doors, already pushing a shopping cart, paying no heed to the wanly smiling teens who staff the place or the frowning, sweatsuited moms who shuffle about, now making an agitated bee-line to the Hot Wheels aisle because I’ve long since memorized its precise location within this toy-strewn, fluorescent labyrinth.

I need my fix. And depending on mood, I might spend a good 45 minutes in that aisle.

Some of my contemporaries give me looks when I share such stories but I’m far from ashamed. Truth to tell, I love everything about Hot Wheels. The lavishly streamlined speedsters, the elegantly smooth track, the highly functional accessories, the sick paint jobs, the clever merchandising, even the iconic flaming Hot Wheels logo.

As a result, I’m fiercely brand loyal. My son has a plastic container with some 100 well-used and beat up Hot Wheels cars in it. I am loathe to allow any off-brand products to infect that container. 

Erik loves Hot Wheels, though not with the intensity that I do. He has his superhero dolls and his Paw Patrol favorites to distract him, whereas I’m fixated. 

However, through my careful instruction, Erik has quickly surpassed my own ability to locate the often super-tiny Hot Wheels logo impression wherever it is positioned on a given car. I often need reading glasses to find the logo; his young eyes can do the job with breathtaking speed.

That boy has a future.