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You are right, Rick. Worth more than a look. Good photos and stories.
The only thing I ever raced were motocrossers and then, only non-AMA Wednesday nighters, a local low cost affair. But the excitement was there, complete with anxious drizzles before gate-time.
It was enough that I can somewhat identify F5000 and moto-x with trials and tribulations of failed parts and elusive skills. Stuff that those that did better had mastered. I didn't have a lot of money in the '80's because work was extremely slow. But I suddenly had a lot more time. I bought really old bikes and ran out what little life was left in them. I did get a few trophies, one time missing 3rd in my class for the season because all the guy ahead of me had to do to beat my points was show up. He lined up at the gate with a broken leg in a cast and started. Don't blame him a bit.
A year or so later, I got an unusual trophy for the year. My bike, an old 450 Kawasaki, caught on fire twice while racing. I replaced the fuel lines after the first time but never could find the dang leak. If I could have observed it under race conditions, seconds before it caught fire, I know I could have found it. But if a toad had wings, he wouldn't wear his a$$ out hopping.
The club literally torched a trophy and presented me the melted black award at the end-of-season banquet. To my surprise and embarassment. It's funnier to me now than it was at the time.
A year or so later, Stadium jumps came into vogue and there was no way a guy in his 30's was going to stay healthy with old bikes with 2-3 inches of suspension. Talkin' about wearin' stuff out hoppin'. Probably not the first guy to get regulated out of a racing sport, eh?
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