The eternal appeal of speedway goes well beyond the obvious visual spectacle of four riders sliding their brake-less, methanol drunk machines around in circles, inches from each other, and the perimeter fence.
It goes back to the first time we ever went to a speedway track (probably as an impressionable, spotty, youngster) and went over to the pits before the riders parade. It was then that we were hit by that indescribable combination of the aroma of Castrol R and the low level hum of fourteen 500cc single cylinder engines being warmed up simultaneously.
No matter how many years may pass by and how disillusioned we may become with shortsighted promoters, slick tracks, shoddy stadiums and the ridiculous rulebook, we are still captivated by that totally unique assault on the senses.
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