(triumphant music)
- Phew. It's just like being on a real track,
so put your hours in!
Okay, let's hit the treadmills. Come on!
Show me whatcha got!
- Wow, pretty fast.
Who's the racer?
- No, no, no, no.
She's not a racer.
She's a trainer.
Cruz Ramirez, the best trainer in the business.
- Ready to meet it, greet it,
- [Racers] And defeat it!
- All right! Now bring up those RPMs!
- Like the attitude.
- Yeah, we call her our maestro of motivation.
- You're driving a little tense again, Ronald.
- No, no, no. I'm cool. I'm cool.
- Do your exercise.
- I am a fluffy cloud.
I am a fluffy cloud.
I am a fluffy...cloud.
- [Cruz] There ya go!
- You're a cloud!
- Shut up, Kurt.
- Here come the bugs, Kurt. You ready?
(spraying)
- Hey, I kept my eyes open this time.
- Gotta see that track.
Oh, no. Homesick again, Gabriel?
- Si.
(mariachi music)
Santa Cecilia! Mi Pueblo!
- Win for them!
We need to loosen those ancient joints.
First, the wheels, and forward.
And rest! And forward, and rest.
Join me! Rest! And rest!
- Is all this resting necessary?
- We're working you in slowly.
- And reach for your lunch.
- Okay when do I...? Reach for your lunch.
Now reach. - Shouldn't we?
- To the front. What is there?
- I don't think this is... It's your lunch!
- I don't need a trainer out here, Cruz.
- You're old. What if you fall on this beach,
and can't get up?
- Well life's a beach, and then you drive.
(laughter)
- Oh, McQueen. - Thank you.
- This is beautiful.
I can see why Mr. Sterling said
you wanted to train out here.
As soon as this thing's booted up,
we'll get you on the treadmill,
and I'll track your speed.
- What? No.
The whole idea is gettin' my tires dirty.
Real racing. I'm not driving on that thing
when I've got the sand, and the whole Earth.
- Quicker than quick, faster than fast. I am speed.
Come on, Luigi.
- On your mark. Get set. And go!
- [Hamilton] 46 miles per hour.
53 miles. Out of range. Out of range. Out of range.
- Huh. That's odd.
I didn't go.
- On sand you gotta easy into your start
so your tires can grab, okay? - Okay.
- You do work with race cars, don't you?
- Yeah, but never outside.
- All right, let's go again.
- Go!
- [Hamilton] 54 miles per hour.
- There ya go! 75 miles per hour.
Out of range. Out of range. Out of range.
- Sorry! Got stuck!
- Go again.
- And go!
- Sorry! - Go!
Go!
(car revving)
- The beach ate me.
- All right, Cruz. Pick a line on the compacted sand.
You gotta have traction or you're gonna spin out.
Let's do this thing - On your mark.
Get set. Go!
[Hamilton] 122 miles per hour.
134 miles. Out of range. Out of range. Out of range.
- Now what?
- I didn't wanna hit a crab.
- You gotta be kidding me.
- What? It was cute!
Ask me if I dreamed of being a trainer, Mr. McQueen.
Go ahead.
Ask me if I got up in the dark
to run laps before school everyday.
Ask me if I saved every penny to buy a ticket
to the races when they came to town.
Ask me if I did that so that I could be a trainer someday.
Ask me.
- Did you? No!
I've wanted to become a racer forever.
Because of you.
I used to watch you on TV, flying through the air.
You seemed so...fearless.
Dream small, Cruz.
That's what my family used to say.
Dream small, or not at all.
They were just trying to protect me.
But I was the fastest kid in town,
and I was gonna prove them wrong.
- What happened?
- When I got to my first race, I figured it out.
- What?
- That I didn't belong.
The other racers looked nothing like me.
You know, they were bigger, and stronger,
and so...confident.
And when they started their engines, that was it.
I knew I'd never be a racer.
I just left.
It was my one shot, and I didn't take it.
Okay, I'm here. What's going on?
- No, not me. Her!
- What? - What is she doing back here?
- Come on, guys. Get her set up. Quickly!
- Okay! Hot tires! - Wait. What's happening?
- Hey, Ramone! You got your paints?
- You know I do!
- Wait. Guys, what are you doing?
- [Cutlass] Man, I don't understand it.
- McQueen's just sittin' there.
Somethin's gotta be wrong.
- Mr. McQueen?
- Today's the day, Cruz.
You're gettin' your shot. - What?
- I started this race, and you're gonna finish it.
- What? She'll damage the brand.
She's just a trainer!
- No. She's a racer. Just took me awhile to see it.
- That can't be legal.
- The rules only say the number has to be out there.
Doesn't say who has to wear it.
- No, you can't do that! - Hey, did I ever tell you
how much I love your mudflaps?
- Out of my way, bumpkin. - Got my fishin' flaps,
got my church flaps, my goin' out and eatin' flaps.
- Come on, guys. We gotta get her out there! Let's go!
- Tires! Check. - Fuel! Check.
- Ramone!
- Best I could do in the time frame, boss.
- Yeah! That'll work.
- Why are you doing this?
- You said it yourself, this might be your last chance.
- Which makes it my last chance
to give you your first chance, Cruz.
And this time around, I want you to take it.
- She's gotta beat that pace car out.
- No, no, no. You can't do that!
- Now or never.
- Whaddya say?
Whoa! Hey, 35 mile per hour pit speed!
- I knew that!
(dramatic music)
- And how far back is she, now?
- [Automated Voice] Look behind you.
- What? - Good evening, Storm!
- Wait, how did you? Just back here
drafting on your butt.
Nothing to be concerned about.
- Like two June bugs on a summer night.
(laughter)
- Hey, Hamilton!
- [Hamilton] Hamilton, here.
Call out our speed!
- [Hamilton] 208 miles per hour.
207 miles per hour. - Would you stop that?
- 205 miles per hour You're taking me off my line!
- Last lap! - Come on, Cruz!
- Uh-oh! My GPS is saying I have slow traffic in my way.
- No, no, no. You are not winning this.
- Ah, you're angry!
- I am not angry.
- You know, you can use that anger to push through!
- I said I'm not angry!
Oh, I don't think so.
No!
- Cruz, get outta there!
- You don't belong on this track.
- Yes, I do!
(inspiring music)
- [Cutlass] I don't believe it!
It's Cruz Ramirez for the win!
- [Cartrip] I am speechless!
(triumphant music)
- Woo-hoo-hoo!
- [Mater] Who's your daddy?
(playful music)