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The board track racers were men who were prepared to die. Motorcycle safety was in it's infancy too, and considering the wobbly, splintery, almost fragile nature of those tracks, road rash was likely the least of their concerns. It wasn't unheard of for the track to start missing boards as the race went on, and for crews to be sent out in the middle of the race to fix the track. Broken bones, busted heads, and ripped off skin, came with the sport of jumping on a new motorized bicycle with no brakes, throttle control, gears, rear suspension, and tires which had little grip and would often burst, and and launching yourself at speeds approaching 100 MPH around a track made of wood.
In my opinion, neither a million leather clad Hells Angels, nor a million more Hayabusa riders will ever be as cool as those pioneers who peered into death's face and smiled. They blazed a trail for everyone who dreams of the edge, and anybody who rides on two wheels; and they did because they were in love.
In my opinion, neither a million leather clad Hells Angels, nor a million more Hayabusa riders will ever be as cool as those pioneers who peered into death's face and smiled. They blazed a trail for everyone who dreams of the edge, and anybody who rides on two wheels; and they did because they were in love.