The Dalmatian Squad, along with Lightning McQueen and Tow Mater go to help a Cropduster plane named Dusty Crophopper. A small-town plane who dreams of one day competing as a high-flying air racer. However, poor Dusty has two strikes against him: He'...
(The gang soon found their selves at the Airport.)
Wallace: Here we are! The Lincoln Airport.
Lucky: Well, if there's going to be a race, I bet we'll find the race here.
Patch: Hope so.
(They landed in the airport as the gang comes out. They saw every plane roaming around and some flying.)
Precious: Wow! This place is cool!
Wallace: Okay, everyone! If you want, we can split up in one, two or three groups to look around. But be back here at 10:00 P.M.! We don't anyone missing at night.
Gang: Got it!
Mater: C'mon, Lightning! You're with me! [Hooks Lightning with his tow]
Lightning: Oh, boy!
Patch: Me, Woofster and Simba will go with them and keep an eye on them.
(The gang split up and had a look around. We cut in on Lightning, Mater, Patch, Simba and Woofster driving/walking along.)
Patch: So, where do you wanna go, Mater?
Mater: I heard about this wash place called Propwash Junction.
Lightning: Mater, there's no such thing as that.
(Soon, they reached a place called Propwash Junction.)
Mater: Here we are! Propwash Junction!
Simba: Wow. This is quite a sight.
Lightning McQueen: Ka-chow! Looks like you're really telling the truth after all, Mater.
Mater: Yep. I told you so.
(A truck comes over. His name is Chug. He's a tanker truck.)
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Chug: Oh, hey, new guys! Are you new here?
Patch: Oh, we just came to this little airport and heard that there's going to be a race going in a few days.
Chug: Well, you came to the right place. I have to help my friend; Dusty prepared for the Wings Around the Globe race.
Lightning: We would love to enter it too.
Mater: Same for me!
Patch: Us too!
Chug: But you're just a race car, a tow truck and... whatever you guys are.
Simba: I'm a lion.
Woofster: We're dogs.
Chug: Yeah. And besides, how are you're able going to fly?
Mater: Oh, we got that covered. Wait until the big race to see how we can.
*Meanwhile*
MAN: (ON RADIO) Look alive. Contact appears to be heading 315 miles. Speed 430, Angels. Approximately 2,000.
