Vintage-car racing began in the mid-1970s, when a few California collectors got together at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, in Monterey, to put an end to the bragging and show one another what their classic racers really could do. From a few cars and a handful of spectators, the Monterey Historic has exploded into a two-weekend event. Last year, it drew crowds of more than 40,000; the similar Goodwood Revival, in Chichester, England, brought out 116,000 spectators, many dressed in period clothing. Except the drivers, naturally.

As a finely tuned, finicky—and old—beast, the vintage sports car requires infinitely more maintenance than today’s average Lexus. “Compared with a road car of the same period, racecars undergo five or 10 times more stress,” Koleman says.

The antique models don’t handle like a Lexus, either. “It’s a very unfiltered experience—everything is raw,” says Michael Gans, a director and co-owner of Swiss food company Supreme Foodservice AG, whose prewar Bugatti Type 35B was originally owned by a Polish count. “The speeds are not significantly lower than you’d experience in a modern car. But the steering is far heavier. After 10 laps in Monaco, unless you’re a bodybuilder you can barely turn the steering wheel.” With its thin tires and straight axles, the Bugatti slides around corners. The engine always runs roughly, and even the healthiest mill spews lubricant. Since prewar cars such as the 35B were built for smaller drivers, the brake, the clutch, and the accelerator pedal are mounted too close together for anyone wearing a shoe larger than men’s size nine-and-a-half. And the seat can’t be adjusted. Despite such cramped quarters, “it’s very exhilarating driving,” Gans says.

Accidents do happen, especially when the vintage ride is hauling ass around curves at well above 100 miles per hour. At September’s Goodwood Revival, professional driver Martin Stretton plowed a red 1963 Bizzarrini AC3—the first one ever built—off the track and into the wall. The race had to be stopped for 30 minutes while emergency crews cut Stretton from the wreckage. He came out of it with just a broken elbow, and fortunately the mangled $1.4 million Bizzarrini—which then resembled a half-peeled plantain—could be rebuilt. During the same event, a Jaguar blew its engine on a curve, spraying oil across the track. The cars that followed, mostly 40-year-old American muscle cars—Mustangs, Ford Galaxies, and a Plymouth Barracuda—spun out and hit the grass or the gravel. None were badly damaged. “It’s like ski racing,” Gans says nonchalantly. “Sometimes you hit a pole.”

Sports cars don’t have to be racing to get banged up, either. During an upstate New York road rally in May, a 1924 Bentley slammed into a late-model coupe that had no taillights. The Bentley sustained $80,000 in damage. The other car? Well, who cares.

Which begs the question: Why would anyone want to take a multimillion-dollar machine—and a museum piece to boot—out for a Sunday drive on the parkway, let alone race it against other vintage sports cars? It’s simple, says Michael Johnson, of Classiccarguy.com, “Some people find automobiles to be more than just pieces of art.” In other words, even if it costs $15 million, it’s meant to be driven.