On a humid July morning at Schenley Park, the Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix feels more like a neighborhood festival than a motorsport event. Families wander the hillsides with lemonade cups, children climb over hay bales, and the scent of fuel blends with kettle corn. Spectators drift between polished British roadsters and brass-era antiques. But tucked between the hillside trees and the makeshift paddock, the heartbeat of real racing still pulses.
