In which our heroes set off to darkest Western Europe, armed only with two fourteen year old motorcycles and two wallets full of credit cards. This trip began, believe it or not, sixty years ago, in Macon GA. I was attending Lanier Jr. High (Go Poets!) and I rode the city bus to school. I had to change buses in front of the Dempsey Hotel and I would go into the hotel tobacco shop and browse the car magazines most mornings. At fourteen, I was just getting into cars (and girls.) The two seemed to go hand in hand, or maybe hand bag and door handle. Even at two years away from that treasured document, the Georgia Driver's License, romance and road transportation seemed inexorably linked. One morning my eyes fell on a new mag among the usual Hot Rod, Hop Up, and Rod & Custom. It was called Road & Track. The cover car was a model I'd never seen before; not surprising in Macon at that time. I had seen my first MG and Volkswagen in the last year. There was a Jaguar that some doctor drove around town but I had never really seen it up close. So I plunked my thirty-five cents down and hopped on the bus to school. In the fifteen or twenty minutes it took to get there I was hooked. The idea of a car just made to have fun was a concept I had never considered. In my little world, a four-door car was sort of posh. Pickups were much more "practical." A car that only held two people and was fun to drive bordered on blasphemy. No, not bordered; it was blasphemy. It wasn't that much of a leap when I discovered motorcycles a few years later. It wasn't only the machines; it was the whole enchalada (another concept I was ignorant of at that time.) These cars had more than one carburetor, multiple camshafts, multiple exhaust pipes; some had fully independent suspension and disk brakes, whatever that meant. And they didn't have cubic inches; they had CCs or liters. And they didn't race at big speedways like Indianapolis or Darlington; they blocked off the roads and had races. To a fourteen year old kid, how cool was that? Several years ago I noticed that four of the races Id dreamed about attending were all within a month of each other. That and the fact that last year I bought a bike to use in Europe and the fact that my seventy- fifth birthday is coming up in July made up my mind to do my dream trip this year. I needed to use it before I lose it. So it was against this background that my old friend, Charlie Brookman, and I set off from San Francisco headed to Europe to take in four major motorsports events in four weeks. Our plans included the MotoGP of France at Le Mans, the Gran Prix of Monaco F1 race, the Isle of Man TT, and the 24 Hours of Le Mans. We had booked nothing; no ferries, hotels, or race tickets. A couple of FaceBook friends in England and the Isle of Man promised us places to stay if we actually made it that far. Charlie works for an airline so we didnt have to book plane tickets, just show up and get on if there was a seat. I love serendipity. Can you imagine anyone turning down a trip of this magnitude? I tried to get my wife Carol to come on the trip with me but she thought four races in four weeks and staying in whatever places we could find might be more fun than she could stand. She decided to have a knee replacement instead. Carol hates serendipity.