Vintage Racing: Revving Up History On The Big Track - Part 2

I rolled up to the entry booth and signed in.  The wind was gently nudging me around as I scribbled my name and paid my entry fee.  Once I entered I was greeted by the sights and sounds of vintage racing nostalgia. I rolled up to the bleachers along the front straight and propped the bike on it's kick stand. I had made pretty good time and there were still 6 races left to put my photographic prowess to work.  I sauntered up to the gate along turn one, set myself up a few feet away from the corner worker and starting snapping off shots.

Behind me the paddock was extensive. Motorcycles, scooters, side-cars and other make-shift motorized machines were strewn about as people feverishly tended to tire pressures, tire warmers, shuffled around for wrenches and clacked away on hard parts in an attempt to dial in their machines in time for the next race.  

After a few laps of taking pictures, I had wandered into the pits to explore.  There were hundreds of bikes, Hondas, Kawasakis, Benellis, BSAs, Harley Davidsons, Suzukis,  Nortons, Ducatis, and more.  Different sizes, colors, modifications, and on more than a few occasions I found myself watching some of these guys and go around the track, fully tucked on motorcycles that I could swear had smaller, more fragile frames than most of today's mountain bikes.  Still, they made it look and sound amazing; reeling back the throttle and infusing life into these old relics of motorcycling history and riding them like there is no tomorrow.  It was spectacular, the aroma of race gas, the whine of two strokes and the thunderous roar of the twins duking it out in the Sound of Thunder class. I chatted up the builders, the riders, and the support folks, I watched as entire families wrenched on bikes, test rode bikes, and came together for pre-race high-fives, hugs and encouraging cheers before the racers went out onto the grid to line up for another heat of friendly rivalry. My love of bikes and racing culture was even more affirmed; this is how every red blooded American should be spending a weekend. Nascar, football, Jerry Springer... these things simply can't hold a match to two wheeled racing.