A fascinating infrastructure exists to support flogging multiple Superbikes for 8 hours. It makes for rich color, the obvious millions spent by the factories, the umbrella girls, the dry ice to cool the fuel, pneumatic jacks, the trickest quick-change everything, piles of tires (Michelin brought 3000!), armies of mechanics and neatly organized tables of titanium and other exotic spare parts. It begins to overwhelm you. Suzuka gets between your organs, if not your cells, and you merge with the 85,000 race-day fans to become part of the event. Never mind that as someone who knows no Japanese except Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, I understood the loudspeaker commentary as well as I would Herr Wagner's German libretto. I understood the story being played out on the great stage before me.