Motorcycle racing is an inherently foolish activity. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Dressing in a leather suit, going out to a remote track to bake in the middle of the summer (or shiver in the winter), riding a fundamentally unstable machine around in circles as fast as it and the your capability will allow – while simultaneously pouring buckets of money into other people’s pockets – is ridiculous. And dangerous.
Racing is also incredibly fun. And educational. I consider the five years I club-raced to be one of the high points of my motorcycle riding career. I made some great friends, challenged beliefs about myself and my riding ability, improved my riding skills, and created amazing memories. How many people can say they’ve caught on fire from sliding through burning fuel at 90 mph? What can top watching sparks fly off the pegs of the bike in front of you in a high-speed corner at 3:00 am? Or being able to tell who was running race gas just by the smell while dragging knee only a foot or so away from their exhaust? Good times.