The torque of the bloodline, a mechanical grace, Passed down
from the father to set a new pace. Doug took up the mantle, the
suit, and the steel, With the same hollowed hunger for what he
could feel. From bikes like the old man, he climbed to the seat
Of Top Fuel machines where the ground and sky meet. A
champion four times, he mastered the flame, And etched in the
three-hundred mark his own name.

Now the cycle returns to the white, sun-bleached floor, Where
the legend of Chet waits for one chapter more. With hope by his
side and a dream made of lead, The modern-day "Beast" has a
needle to thread. A five-hundred mile-per-hour ghost in the
works, Where the spirit of innovation still lurks.

The salt is calling this August, once again, For the technical
check and the meeting of men. To qualify hope and to measure
the air, For the run that’s to come when the timing is fair. In
twenty-seven, the hammer will fall, And the Herbert legacy
answers the call, Aiming for records the world hasn't seen,
Fueling the ghost of the salt-spray machine.