Anne Stark in her first race, at the 2005 Corsa MotoClassica at Willow Springs Raceway in California. (Ralph Hudson photo)

Late last summer, I got this great idea to go out and buy a Honda CB160. It would just be a small bike that I could use to commute to work or putt around town. You see, at AHRMA events in the past I had watched the guys from Portland and Washington buzz around the track on these machines, and also visited them in the pits and talked to them. And I sat on some of the bikes.

"They're so little," I said to myself; this is definitely a motorcycle where I could touch the ground with my feet. And the top speed was only 80 mph; fast enough, but not so fast that it would scare the daylights out of me. Perfect.

So late last summer following the AHRMA national at Thunderhill, I said to my husband, Dave, "I want a CB160." It seemed like as soon as we got home, Dave put the word out. In less than two weeks, there was a red 1966 Honda CB160 sitting in our garage. I already had my motorcycle license from previous years of riding a 1976 Vespa Rally.

I practiced and practiced how to get the CB up on the center stand. The rule was, I couldn't ride it to work unless I could get it on the center stand by myself. I remember just how heavy that little bike seemed. Wait a minute, if it's so small, why does it weigh so much? I asked myself. Well, I learned to get it on the center stand real quick since I wanted to ride it to work, which I did a few times. Then Dave suggested I ride it at a track day.

Sure, no problem. I'll just tape up the headlight and taillight, do a track day on it, bring it home, take the tape off and continue putting around town on it.

But something happened during that track day last October. I was hooked.

I've done some crazy things in my 35-year-old life: mountain bike and road bike racing, sprint triathlons, and 24-hour mountain bike relays. Sure, they were all highs in and of themselves. But the racetrack was something different; an experience I couldn't stop thinking about.

Dave and my father-in-law, Chuck Stark, have been racing vintage bikes for the last several years. Dave races a 1967 Bultaco Metralla, and I can't tell you how many times I pushed that bike around to get it started, either at the track or up and down our street. A couple of years ago, Dave bought his dad a 1967 Kawasaki A1, which the senior Stark prepped for the AHRMA GP classes. It was on: father versus son. Meanwhile, I stood by, always the support crew, never complaining; after all, watching close competition on the track is fun.

But after that track day at Thunderhill, I counted the days until I could do another one. Less than six months later, I sat Dave down one evening and said: "Dave, I want to race AHRMA."

Dave was speechless. He hugged me and said, "We're going to have so much fun."

The CB shed most of its street bits and gained clip-ons, a race seat, a Manx-style number plate and flyscreen and a sweet-sounding two-into-one megaphone exhaust system.

I signed up for Jason Pridmore's STAR race school at Laguna Seca so I could obtain my AHRMA license. I had already ridden at Laguna during a Vmoto event last November and loved the track. Though I had heard of the ominous Corkscrew, I wasn't intimidated. Because when you don't know any better, you just ride it.

I was on the oldest and smallest bike at the school, yet passed with no problems. I learned some great techniques, like running tighter lines and increasing my speed out of corners, deep breathing and working the track from the inside out. But my favorite technique was leaning the bike and getting my butt off the seat in the corners. It felt very strange at first, and a bit shaky, but I soon learned that on a bike the size of mine, if you want to go faster in the corners, you better lean that bike. During the "graduation ceremony," STAR school instructor James Lickwar acknowledged that I was riding "the coolest bike here today."

After the race school in March, I was counting down the days to the MotoClassica AHRMA national at Willow Springs. I'd been to the track before as a spectator and knew it as "the Fastest Track in the West." But seeing it and riding it are two different beasts.

I signed up for the 200 GP and 250 GP classes. In the 200 GP, I would be competing against several of my friends: Mike Polkabla, Mike Riddle and Paul Turek, all racing similarly prepped CB160s. We would be up against another one of my friends, Scott Clough on his Yamaha CT1. But in the 250 class, not only would I be racing against my husband, but also my father-in-law. Three Starks on the grid; a frightening thought, but at the same time priceless.

The first race I didn't know what to expect, other than go fast as hell and don't let those other CBs lap me; a simple plan. Sure, they've got years of experience on me, but they're also my friends and we were out there to have fun.

Strangely, I didn't have the usual pre-event nerves that I had gotten before bike races or triathlons. For some reason, even though I was the only woman rider in an event dominated by men my father's age, I wasn't nervous. In fact, I felt secure. As I rolled onto the pre-grid, I turned to the right and saw Polkabla and Riddle on their CBs. I turned to the left and saw Turek on his CB. I'm among friends. Then AHRMA board member and friend Fred Mork pulled up next to me. He gave me a thumbs up; I gave him a thumbs up and pressed my thumb against his. And behind those thick glasses and under that helmet, I saw a huge smile.

"Gotta remember, when the 1-board goes sideways, it's any time now," I repeated to myself.

The races went well. The bike ran well. And I've never had so much fun in my whole life.

Earlier in the day, I saw Mork like a proud father, encouraging me and asking me how we can get more women out there on the track.

Well, there's one way, I told him, I'll write my own story.

Three Starks: Anne flanked by husband Dave and father-in-law Chuck. (Photo by Liz Stark)

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