The next year I went to Bonneville with the Bibermans—where the team set more records—and got to know Big Sid even better. He was the real deal, an authentic motorcycling icon that earned his status the honest way, by building and racing very fast, very beautiful motorcycles for over 60 years. Standing 6’5”, Sid was a giant of a man, but a gentle giant who exhibited an out-of-proportion kindness to everyone he met, from fellow racers to wait staff at the casino restaurant where we dined at each night. He was a fantastic story teller, and it didn’t hurt that his subject matter—ranging from visiting the Vincent factory as a GI in the 50s, to underground street racing in the 60s, to hanging out in Jay Leno’s garage in the 00s—was second to none. That he had a definite salty streak—he referred to the ill-tempered Vincent single as “that little bitch,” and unforgettably compared the chore of cleaning salt off your bike after racing at Bonneville to “a whore that gives you the ride of your life and then, when you get home, your dick falls off”—only made him that much more delightful.