For those lucky enough to be at a California desert race in the 50’s and 60’s the excitement cannot be
forgotten and will always live in our memories.
Just before the start of a desert race it was eerily quiet. Then suddenly the banner would drop. The sound was deafening! Everyone would cover their ears. It was so loud. The riders were racing madly towards the smoke bomb as we spectators heard the “ring-ding-ding” sound of the two strokes and smelled their spent castor oil. There was the roar of the four-stroke and the choking cloud of dust as hundreds of riders stretched out across the desert. After the dust lifted there were always a few frustrated stragglers attempting to join up with the crowd.
If we recognized any club jerseys we kids would jump up and down yelling excitedly cheering them on.
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