The invention of the internal combustion engine was one of the most significant contraptions that ever came out of the industrial revolution. It set man on a pedestal 6″ higher than a bonobo or pygmy chimpanzee. Using a transportable, liquid hydrocarbon fuel for energy, the engine was a collection of timed mechanical components that compressed the fuel and supplied a sequenced ignition source to ignite the fuel/air mixture to produce rotational work. And it was loud like a gun. Young boys were impressed with the performance these engines could produce, such as propelling a craft through the land, sea, and air at face wrinkling speeds. First introduced by their fathers and grandfathers to the marvels of engines, they began to memorize the statistics of these powerplants and could recite horsepower, torque, and rpms better than the Lord’s prayer. This select group could envision transplanting these energy sources into cars, boats, and airplanes to attain a sufficient speed to beat the pants off an opponent in a race that pitted them against their own kind. This sounds gay, but let’s stop right there. Usually lacking athletic abilities, their mechanical aptitude could get them in the running for a vibrant, pretty female and, thus, procreate with a hottie. That is the ultimate genetic race. Wrenching and tweaking these rotational wonders has given them a skill set that is envious to most males. All humans are trapped in an organic casing with a limited range and speed. Installing engines into an improvised, variable chariot, they can now accelerate this organism out front and prove their superiority to others. Whether they chose to go in a circle or flat out in a straight line, racing is a man’s way of feeling masculine. Chrome, carburetors, and candy apple paint are his cosmetics. The little bundle of joy next to him with the single wheelie bar (penis) hanging off the front of the independent suspension (legs) is his real trophy. His apprentice will carry on.