The following feature was originally published in the September issue of Rider and tells the story of a young aspiring motojournalist in the early 1990s rubbing elbows with his heroes – Grand Prix world champions such as Wayne Rainey, Kevin Schwantz, John Kocinski, and Mick Doohan – at the famous Laguna Seca Raceway in Monterey County, California.

Wayne ?Mr. Clean? Rainey and the author, Glen ?Baby Face? Weaver, who forgot to remove his freebie Honda cap before posing with Yamaha?s World Champion rider. Photo by Eugene Leydiker.

It was that shriek. Something wicked this way comes.

On a foggy spring morning in 1989, my teenage self eagerly pressed against a spectator fence overlooking the Turn 1 summit at Laguna Seca Raceway, and I could hear and feel the wickedness approaching. Wayne Rainey was winding up his beast.
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This was the era of absolute lunacy on brutally unforgiving analog 2-strokes. Before programmable powerbands, quickshifters, or even fuel injection, Grand Prix motorcycles dared riders to tame them by feel alone.

Soaring torque outputs with old-school carburetors. Tires struggling to provide enough side grip. Simply surviving on a 500cc GP bike required exquisite throttle timing with adroit pressure on the controls. And as Americans raised the ante, success demanded peak physical conditioning to precisely wrestle one?s mount into submission for an hourlong race.
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