Road Rash 3 was the first game to truly make me appreciate the SEGA Genesis as a multiplayer console.
One could argue that there were better offerings on that category, legendary stuff like International Super Star Soccer Deluxe and Lethal Enforcers II, for example, but those were hardly a hit with my peer group because of how varied it was -- some weren't really into sports titles and quickly dismissed the idea of playing football tournaments, whilst others weren't cool with the idea of playing games in which the whole point was to shoot people. Road Rash 3, however, was easy to love and hard to object -- the game was universally seen as a fun motorcycle driving game with some intense action on the side... and even the most squeamish of my friends were quick to hail it as their new favorite thing on the system.
One of my favorite things about the game, however, was seeing the way it "changed" my friends upon playing it for the first time... and that never got old.
Gotta love a game that would just allow all sorts of shenanigans right from the get-go. You don't have a weapon? Not a problem! Just kick the absolute s*** outta the other guy while going 130 MPH.
Take my friend Sofía, for example: always calm and collected, with a sharp sense of humor and so fiercely independent as to decide on the Second Grade that ponytail bangs and high tops were the epitome of fashion, never once abandoning that look until our very last day of High School. You'd think she would be playing the game like a damn YouTuber, spewing funny commentary left and right whilst keeping her eyes on the road and generally doing a good job, but no... she would actually openly swear and do exaggerated motions with the controller, rocking it violently as if that actually steered her bike on the game. It was amazing seeing her lose her cool like that, particularly on split-screen multiplayer.
Then you had my best friend, Alexander. Ridiculously smart and with the patience of a saint, he's the one who taught me how to take apart toys without actually breaking them, getting to the little engines inside just so we could extract them to power our Lego creations on the kitchen table, knocking over glasses of chocolate milk and generally being a nuisance. Logic would dictate that that skillset would make him a very smart player, one who knew the courses like the back of his hand... but no, he was actually the total opposite, crashing into every obstacle imaginable and always falling on the same turn during the snow stage. There was no method to that madness, only the joy of witnessing it.
And, of course, there was Karen. Originally from the Northern Provinces, Karen had traveled more than 1500 kilometers just for the "privilege" of attending our school. She was always true to herself and really respectful of her roots and heritage, which made her never lose her accent and small town values, despite living the vast majority of her life among us, city swines. Karen became the little devil I didn't know she was capable of being whenever we played the game, often running people over for a laugh and making sure that other racers (and the police) would fall off their bikes by sheer force, caving-in their skulls with a glee that made me honestly wary of her. It was great.
It was impossible not to have fun with the little "cinematics" that played after each race and that depended on how well you did. They were either glowing or like throwing salt on an open wound. And I loved them for it!
I distinctly remember the day we decided to join forces to finish the game once and for all, passing the controller back-and-forth as we cleared raced after race, openly mocking each and every mistake the others made and cheering like we had won the lottery whenever a particularly tough race had been conquered. We played so much that the AC adapter of my Genesis Model 1 was actually hot to the touch when we finally decided to take a break, which included all four of us writing down the passwords individually just to make sure we wouldn't get it wrong (yes, we were really into this dumb game).
When we returned to our game, there was an intense debate on what to do next: half of us wanted to buy a new bike to have an edge over the competition, whilst the other two wanted to spend our hard-earned cash upgrading the bike we already had, explaining that we could really use more shielding (we had blown up several times at that point, so it actually made sense). We were glaring at each other and making a whole bunch of nonsensical arguments of increasing intensity whilst my mom hovered around the room, smiling at us and handing us snacks, oblivious of the whole thing. It was absolutely beautiful.
I think we actually ended up buying more armor for the bike in the end, which quickly turned into an "I-told-you-so" fest when the next race we had to play happened to be the one set in Japan, with its long and treacherous track that made us crash and be knocked off our bikes constantly. The fact that we even managed to finish that race at all was a huge win for those who had suggested upgrading our bike like that, and torture for the ones who had to admit they were right. I really do miss being seven-years-old and absolutely hating my best friends for things that wouldn't matter five minutes later. There's something precious about the quickness of it all, the enormous futility of the act, and the joy it brought.
I enjoyed the extra level of complexity brought about by the bike shop. It turned an otherwise uninvolved arcade racer into a bit of an strategy game, without going overboard. This screen could make or break your run, though.
We finished the game a few weekends later, only stopping momentarily due to a complicated schedule that prevented us from hanging out and the promise we had made regarding completing the game together. But did that mean we discarded it and moved on to other things after it was all said and done? Not really.
While the game had lost some of its appeal once conquered, it still remained a really fun thing to play (not to mention, the only one we could all agree on), and I'm still amazed by how much fun we were able to get from it. It suddenly wasn't about beating the whole thing, but about the experience of playing it as a group without the expectations we had placed on our ourselves to finish it... and once freed of that, comedy ensued.
I will always remember the look of pure joy on Alex's face when he told us that he had come up with "the ultimate strategy" to win each and every race, which consisted on placing 2nd up until the very end, basically copying everything the lead driver would do and "shadow" them to avoid obstacles, only accelerating at the last second to overtake them and rob them of the win. It was a great idea... on paper, but the fact was that he had been laser-focused on following this dude, so he really didn't have time to react when something inevitably went wrong in front of him. Can you even begin to imagine how hilarious it was to witness my friend confidently sticking to his plan only to crash into a cow seconds after the computer did? Words can't even describe the feeling.
Another time Karen decided to hang back just to split skulls open with her newly-acquired club (as one does), only to crash into a police chopper because she wasn't paying attention to the road, which resulted on her taking a ramp she was supposed to dodge when the cops were onto her. I didn't even know that was possible! But maaaaan! I needed new ribs after that.
And the less it is said about Sofía's newfound obsession with running over the flag-man at the start and end of every race, the better.
I always liked the little stage select screen. Simple, but very effective.
Yours truly wasn't merely a spectator, either.
After a particularly poor effort, I found out that the energy meter on my bike had gone down to zero and that it was due to explode as soon as I would get near to it (which the character would automatically do once they fell off). Dreading having to relinquish my turn after such a pathetic display, I did the only thing I could: force my driver to walk his way to the finish line, constantly overriding the command that made him try to return to the broken bike. I did this when the race was not even half-way done, to the endless groans and open annoyance of my friends, working my way to the finish line one miserable tap of the D-PAD at the time... and you know what happened? The f**** police caught up to me when the goal was just within sight. I can still hear the cutting taunts and industrial levels of mockery that the other three threw my way (deservedly, too).
Pictured: What my typical run looked like on the later levels.
It is really unfortunate that my friend group dissolved as soon as we all hit our tween ages (Alex had changed schools due to the economic crisis that was destroying the nation, and it wasn't "cool" for me to hang out with Karen and Sofía at that critical age). We were still friendly to each other, but it was clear that our days of gaming together had come to a close. I didn't officially fell the curtain on that whole chapter until a few years later, though, as that happened when I traded in my original Road Rash 3 cartridge on "Ciudad Gótica", one of the many shops that started appearing in the wake of YouTube and the "retro wave" of the early aughts. I regret getting rid of that one cart due to the enormous significance it had, but I didn't have much of a choice: I was saving up for my next big project, and they offered a really good price for a cartridge that was both in great condition and had all the "telltale signs" of a well-loved game -- little scratches and the kind of marks on the label that can only be obtained through constant handling.
Is it stupid to feel that much nostalgia for a game that was little more than an excuse to misbehave at really high speeds? Maybe, but I'm not actually nostalgic for what happened inside the screen. It's the stuff that came with playing the game than I'm thankful and nostalgic for. The taunts, the laughs, the open cruelty that was delivered with the deadly precision that only a kid could master, the cheers we shared, the high-fives we gave, the snacks we ate, the "bathroom break sabotages" and pranks we played whenever someone paused the game and expected us to respect their run whenever they had to go... it was all amazing and yet another reason for which I keep returning to that part of my life. Simpler, crazier, better times.
What about you? What were your experiences with Road Rash 3 (or Road Rash in general)?
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