Enfield punches the ground, wheels throw up muddy rainbows from where they sank with the rain. The rider, some fresh young college thing, flinches as it ricochets off his goggles, then unsteadily pulls away wrestling with this strange machine. The old blokes laugh with their propane cookers and badger-stripe beards, slick with bacon grease and spit. Outside the beer tent a kid fingers an old blues tune on a scarred and beaten acoustic. Coins thrown into an old railway cap, her grandfather’s smile golden in the sunrise.