I (Jack McIntyre) just received my media pass packet for the 2026 Race of Gentlemen in Wildwood, New Jersey. This year that pass carries a little extra weight. TROG is greatly limiting media access to only a handful of invited photographers, making the opportunity to once again stand on that beach, cameras in hand, even more special.

Come this October, I’ll be back where the pavement ends, the Atlantic begins, and some of the oldest, wildest, and most beautiful motorcycles on the planet come roaring back to life.

The Race of Gentlemen, TROG, as everybody knows it, isn’t some polished racetrack production with million-dollar teams, corporate hospitality tents, and computer-controlled machines. This is old iron. Real iron. Motorcycles and machines from another time, brought back to life by men and women who understand history wasn’t meant to sit silently behind velvet ropes.

While the vintage hot rods are certainly a huge part of the show, it’s the motorcycles that grab me every time. Old Harley-Davidsons and Indians, stripped down, hand-built, tuned, repaired and pushed harder than anyone who built them nearly a century ago could have ever imagined.

The rules keep TROG rooted firmly in the past. The motorcycles are traditionally 1947 and earlier American-made machines, powered by period-correct engines and built in the spirit of the early days of racing. We’re talking flatheads, knuckleheads, side-valve Indians, and other pieces of American motorcycle history that most people would be afraid to start, let alone race wide open down a beach. These machines weren’t designed with electronic ignition, traction control, ABS, or computers. Hell, many of them barely have brakes. What they do have is soul, and plenty of it.

And then there’s the beach.

For an entire weekend, the sand of Wildwood becomes one of the most unusual and unforgiving racetracks anywhere in the world. Racers line up, engines barking and coughing, rear tires digging into the sand as they wait for the flag to drop. Then they’re gone, hammering down the beach with the Atlantic Ocean beside them and thousands of spectators watching from behind the ropes. Racing on sand is nothing like running on asphalt. The surface changes constantly. Tires spin, motorcycles move around underneath their riders, engines work overtime, and one small mistake can end a run in a heartbeat.

It’s hard on the motorcycles, hard on the riders, and hard on everybody turning wrenches behind the scenes. Sand gets everywhere. Salt air attacks everything. Engines break. Parts fail. Racers work late into the night trying to put machines back together, so they can line up and do it all over again the next morning. That’s TROG. Nobody comes to Wildwood expecting an easy weekend.

What makes it even more incredible is how far these racers travel just to be there. Motorcycles, parts, tools, families, and crews make their way to the Jersey Shore from across the United States and from countries around the world. Some travel thousands of miles. Others cross oceans. Think about what that takes, the transportation, hotels, fuel, trailers, shipping, entry costs, broken parts, time away from work, and countless hours spent in the garage preparing a motorcycle that could break before it ever reaches the finish line.

There’s no giant payday waiting for most of these racers.

They do it because they love it.

They do it because somewhere along the way, old motorcycles got into their blood and never left. They do it because firing up an engine built before most of us were born and racing it down the beach is worth every busted knuckle, every sleepless night, every mile traveled, and every dollar spent. You can’t explain that kind of dedication with a spreadsheet. You either understand it, or you don’t.

That’s what separates TROG from just about every other motorcycle event in America. It’s not simply about winning. It’s about preserving a piece of motorcycle history by actually using it. These motorcycles aren’t museum displays. They’re alive. They leak oil. They make noise. They break. They get repaired. And when that flag drops, they race.

For a photographer, Wildwood is almost impossible to describe. The old motorcycles, the racers covered in sand, the leather jackets, vintage helmets, flags snapping in the ocean wind, engines screaming against the sound of the Atlantic, it feels like somebody ripped a page out of American motorcycle history and dropped it right onto the Jersey Shore.

And in October 2026, we get to do it all over again.

I’m incredibly proud to have received one of the limited media passes for this year’s Race of Gentlemen, once again They must like me lol, this is my 8th year in a row. With TROG cutting photographer access down to only a handful of invited shooters, I don’t take the opportunity lightly. My job is simple: get down on that beach, get as close to the action as they’ll let me, and capture the motorcycles, racers, machines, faces, dirt, sand, smoke, and stories that make this event unlike anything else in the world.

The countdown to Wildwood has officially begun.

Old iron. Open throttles. Sand flying. Engines screaming.

And some of the most dedicated motorcycle racers on Earth are coming together for one unforgettable weekend on the beach.

See you in Wildwood October 1st through the 4th & STAY TUNED for the weekend's images just after the 5th of October in Easyriders Magazine!

---PHOTOS AND REPORT FROM Jack McIntyre