Honestly, I don’t know anything about motorcycles. If someone handed me one, I’d probably end up in a ditch at the first corner. But there’s something about them that completely captivates me. The speed, the sound, how they zoom past you, it all has this adrenaline-charged magic that I can’t resist. That’s why I sometimes go to races. Not because I understand what’s happening on the track, I have no idea who’s leading or how risky each move is. I just like being there, hearing the crowd roar, seeing the colorful helmets, and watching the almost superhuman courage of the racers. I usually don’t go alone. I always gather a few friends, none of them know much more than I do, really. For us, it’s more about hanging out together: laughing, cheering for someone at random, and trying to catch the moment when Alex, the world-class rider, pulls off his famous wheelie. The whole track seems to explode in excitement when he does it, I just stand there, smiling like crazy at a stranger who will probably never even know I exist.