DEATH KARTS

HOW DO YOU PUT SOME JOY BACK IN RACING? DROP-KICK THE RULEBOOK AND GET SMALL.

- KYLE KINARD

Modern race cars are magnificent things, objects of danger and beauty that glisten with temptation in our fantasies. In great temples of speed, we gather to watch them race. Daredevil elites who centuries ago would've battled on horseback pilot them. The action is dramatic, poetic, thrilling. And utterly beyond our grasp.

But how 'bout some fizz for the common man? For thrill-seekers without Red Bull patches affixed to their Nomex suits (or even a comma in the bank account balance), there is an answer, so long as you ask the right questions of racing.

I offer the humble, spectacular Cyclekart.

The Cyclekart was conceived as a one-fingered salute to the establishment, so the legend goes. From a circle of insiders gathered around Negronis and Rainier tallboys in an industrial Seattle warehouse, several versions of the Cyclekart's hazy history percolate forth.

"I think it started in France," said Daniel, a Swiss architect, and Cyclekart builder. "Or maybe it was England." He paused, then considered me there, cocktail in hand. "Yeah, definitely France or England." To skirt taxes levied on car owners, I was told, an impish proletariat took to the shed. There, stoking the rich man's ire, they produced rolling revolution, a scaled-down four-wheeler driven by motorcycle parts. Their wheeled rebellion offered a bike's mechanical honesty wrapped in chic prewar drag. The Cyclekart was born.

Definitely in France. Or maybe England.