Recently I attended a vintage snowmobile race. In the past I have attended vintage car races. Drank vintage wines, by vintage. Even collected a few vintage coins over the years, but nothing prepared me for vintage snowmobile racing.
2-stroke motors have a certain smell, a specific pitch. Its ozone being torched to the soprano of killer bees on the rampage. Plumes of blue smoke billow upwards as the racers hang off the unsprung saddle.
2-stroke is nearly gone these days and for good reason, but sometimes it just feels right.
Blue jeans, banked walls, and the brand new vintage of '85.