They were made to go, to go very fast, and to enjoy. They were a thrill. They smelled of burning castor oil. They revved and roared and whined. They bellowed and bubbled. They were beautiful. And we had the times of our lives working the track corners for their drivers.
We did the tracks. We worked the corners. We loved it. We left it, just at the right time. Here is what I did when I was young.
#44 at Blackhawk
#44 on the road

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