In 1958, at age 12, I heard an LP recording (long-playing vinyl record, if you're too young to remember) of the sounds of the 1957 Isle of Man TT. There were V8 Guzzis, Gilera fours, MV Agustas, Manx Nortons by the truckloads, AJSs, Matchlesses and a host of pre-expansion-chamber two-strokes emitting awful, disharmonic noises. I'd pay good money to hear that record again. It sent me on wild flights of fancy that brought racing into my life as an exotic adventure, like traveling to China or living on a horse ranch. I just had to go racing, and so I did four years later.