B–Wild-- On the showroom floor of a small motorcycle shop where Main Street transitions into Fairview, a five year old girl was hoisted onto the seat of a Triumph dirt bike. She leaned her body over the gas tank as she had seen her father do. Gripping the handlebars, her hand twisted the right grip to full throttle. …braap…braap…braap… Sprays of spit misted her lips as she raced the stationary motorcycle around an imagined track. A few feet away, ex-racers and hangers-on congregated around the desk of their tobacco-pipe smoking chief. Pipe and cigarette smoke mingled overhead as they drank coffee and bragged of past glories. Their words floated up into the blue haze and beyond, fortifying the rafters of Buzz Chaney’s Triumph motorcycle shop. Alvin “Buzz” Chaney in front of his shop in Boise, Idaho. (c.1950) My father was one of those ex-racers, the little girl, was me. Most of my days before first grade were spent like this. First, a short stack of hotcakes dri...