I qualified for the 76-mile Novice main in the last row of the first wave. I finished about where I’d started. But I wasn't disappointed. I was a hobby racer, only technically a professional, and lacked the killer instinct of a true pro. In fact, I was happy, almost giddy. I had qualified, and finished. I hadn’t blown up my bike, or crashed, or made anyone else crash. I’d rubbed elbows with––well, lurked awestruck in the vicinity of––legendary riders like Roberts, Nixon, Duhamel, and Agostini. I’d ridden the fearsome banking and lived to tell the tale. It was time to go home.