On my tombstone they will carve, "IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME.

There is something about the sight of a passing motorcyclist that tempts many automobile drivers to commit murder.

I am not a yachting person, by nature, but I have just enough experience on the sea under sail to feel a certain nostalgia for it when I see a big white racing yacht heeled over at cruising speed on the ocean, and I can still tie a mean bowline knot on just about anything in less than 10 seconds.

He's the Dale Earnhardt of sprint car racing,

If I'm out trailriding, I have a favorite motorcycle. Riding on the road, I've got a favorite. If I'm jumping, I have a favorite, and if I'm racing, I have a favorite.

Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ''the rat race'' is not yet final.