A smell hung in the air , not overpowering or offensive , just sweet , and somewhat welcoming . The air heavy with a damp that had rolled in overnight , the cloud low and threatening . An excited murmur drowned by the occasional roar of an aging and arthritic engine , mirroring the many grizzled and bearded faces amongst the crowd .
‘ Old shitters ’, mechanical and organic together in a motorcycling utopia , this collection of man and machine something special .
A machine pops , farts , then blasts into life . A heady perfume puffs from the exhaust , it ’ s that sweet , welcoming smell , that distinctive aroma of Castrol R , the mainstay of classic , high performance engines .
A crowd gathers .
A wrinkled , weather beaten hand twists the throttle while another fiddles with something that looks like it just rolled out of a museum . More hands , of the same vintage , cracked , swollen , disjointed through age and a life lived in a different era , point with enthusiasm . Long grey beards wriggle as if having a life of their own , voices chatter excitedly . Could this machine be something special ?
An overheard comment suggests that this very machine is almost 100 hundred years old , a Douglas , a name long since vanished from the realms of the motorcycling world , it was about to do the unthinkable , take to a beach and race amongst the sand and salt water .
TRAVERSE 10