At this time we choose not to recognize Soup’s long-held, steadfast viewpoint that sidecar rigs are not motorcycles; they are, UNDENIABLY, three-wheeled cars.

Because whatever semantic crime the above machine may be committing, it is also doing something undeniably right.

This beautiful photograph was shot in the late 1960s in Great Britain, likely at a circuit such as Three Sisters, back when sidecar racing required equal parts bravery, athleticism, and a complete disregard for personal safety. The rider steers. The passenger—known without irony as the monkey—does everything else, including hanging their entire body off the machine at speed, trusting that physics, timing, and mutual faith will keep all parties alive.

There are no electronics here. No rider aids. Just a narrow ribbon of pavement, skinny tires, and two humans working in perfect, violent coordination. The passenger’s job is not optional or decorative; without that human ballast, this rig would be slow at best and upside-down at worst.

You can argue all you want about whether a sidecar is a motorcycle. The men in this photograph didn’t care. They were too busy going very fast, very close to the ground, with nothing but leather, nerve, and each other between them and the grass.