Still, I troll Craigslist for an old, beat speedway bike. Still, I look for a steel shoe that might fit my riding boots. Still, I want to get out there and roar alongside some fast guys. I try to explain it to my patient friends. “It’s the Reno Air Races at zero altitude.” I tell them. “It’s Talladega for $2500.” Still, I’m droning about it, and I’m not sure where or when it’ll end. I can’t un-know the experience I’ve had. The bar for thrills is now set at speedway.
What have I learned about riding Hancock’s speedway bike? Almost nothing. I like it. It is entirely unimpressed by me. In this, it’s exactly the same as Vettel’s F1 car. It is perfect at its job and I am not. All flaws were my own, and I took them home with me.