here’s only one racing circuit with the uniquely American title of the “National Park of Speed”—that’s Road America. Daytona International Speedway might claim to be the “World Center of Racing,” and Italy’s Autodromo Nazionale Monza might be the “Cathedral of Speed,” but the rolling road course just outside Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, is more aptly named. It’s as important to our sport as any racetrack in the world. Road America’s lofty status could stem from its majestic setting—a thin ribbon of asphalt unrolled over lush green meadows, rolling glens, and thick stands of elm, spruce, and oak. Or maybe its rich history—the world’s greatest racers, on both two wheels and four, have fought some of their fiercest battles on this breathtakingly fast circuit. Or it could be for the particular rapture a visit inspires—equal parts respect, awe, and revelry. No matter the reason, Road America is a national treasure. I first visited Road America in June 1982, arriving as an 8-year-old perched on the back of Dad’s Honda CB750, a weekend’s worth of camping gear stuffed into homemade denim saddlebags. By day we watched heroes like Eddie Lawson, Mike Baldwin, and Wayne Rainey battle bar-to-bar on great wobbly 1025cc KZs, GSs, and CBs. By night we’d tent among a few thousand others in a lumpy farm field across the highway from the main gate, where I received my earliest education in two-wheeled mayhem—an endless blur of topless women, fireworks, smoky dirt burnouts, and abandoned KZ650s with connecting rods poking out of the cases. Pure delight, plus a side of debauchery.