Standing alongside hundreds of thousands of race fans gathered to watch 33 drivers go over 225 mph for 500 miles at the world-renowned Indianapolis Motor Speedway was an experience like no other.
Over the Memorial Day weekend, I made the trip to the Indianapolis 500 with my brother, Bruce. And although I have been to other races, this one was obviously special.
My connection to racing started when I was a child. Like most little boys, I had quite a collection of Hot Wheels I would roll around in a storage case. Ever since I can remember, I have had a fascination with fast cars.
One day before Little League practice in 2007, I was flipping through the channels to buy some time before tossing some strikes on the ballfield. I stumbled onto the Samsung 500 – a NASCAR Cup Series race at Texas Motor Speedway. Ever since then, I was hooked.
NASCAR, aka the National Association of Stock Car Racing, is the most popular form of motorsports in the U.S. Second on that list is IndyCar, the premier series of open wheel racing in the U.S. and home of the biggest race in the county, the Indy 500.
The Indianapolis 500 is considered one of the three crown jewels of motorsports, alongside the 24 hours of Le Mans and Formula 1’s Monaco Grand Prix. Safe to say, the Indy 500 is a bucket list-type of event for many race enthusiasts.
My brother invited me to the race in March, and I snatched the opportunity. Although I’m not an avid IndyCar fan, my favorite NASCAR driver, Kyle Larson, was set to attempt the “Double.” Larson would race the Indy 500 around noon before taking a helicopter to drive in the Coca-Cola 600 starting in the evening. Unfortunately, he crashed in both races.
But, there was so much more to the road to Indy than Larson’s double attempt.
Bruce picked me up from the Chicago O’Hare airport on Saturday afternoon so we could make our way to Kokomo, Indiana – not the same “Kokomo” of Beach Boys fame.
We spent the night in Kokomo, about an hour north of the race track. I made my brother aware: “We have to get to the track early. It will be like nothing you’ve ever seen.” I don’t think he believed me until we were waiting at the bar for some dinner at Texas Roadhouse and engaged in some small talk with a local resident who said we needed to be out of Kokomo by 4:30 a.m.
That was a little bit too early, but Bruce and I left Kokomo at 6 a.m. and got to Indianapolis around 7 a.m.
When we arrived, the exits to reach the track were backed up for miles. We found an alternate route to get near the track, but of course Siri was unaware of which roads were closed.
Trust me when I say this: use Google Maps.
Before arriving, I checked the track’s official parking site, but it was sold out. Apparently, homeowners near the track offer parking for a fair price since they are gridlocked all day anyway, but we found no suitors.
Eventually, we stumbled upon a T-shirt business that had its metal-fence gates open, and the store’s marque read: “Welcome race fans.” A sign outside in red letters said “PARK.” That was good enough for us.
We walked nearly 3 miles to reach the race track, with a stop at an Irish pub for some breakfast tacos before we finally arrived. Once Bruce and I stepped foot through the gate, we could feel the electric atmosphere.
Think about it: More than 350,000 race fans come to Indianapolis to view what is called “The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.” The stands for seating extend from the beginning of turn 3 to the end of turn 2 – a twomile sea of people. We sat at the end of turn 4 on the front stretch of the 2.5-mile oval track – a perfect spot to see a last-lap pass.
The pre-race festivities were special but most importantly, patriotic – a great way to start the day before Memorial Day. The best part was when Blackhawk helicopters flew close to the ground alongside racecars during pace laps before the race started.
When the green flag finally did fly after a short delay, it was exhilarating. For three hours, we saw some of the most fearless men reach speeds in excess of 230 mph to etch their names into immortality.
It’s hard to explain the feeling you get when cars whiz by each lap. But what I can tell you is that the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, and you can feel the goosebumps on your arm. Even with earplugs to protect the ears, you still can hear and feel true speed.
The race may not have been the best I’ve ever watched -- there was no last lap drama, and my favorite driver didn’t win -- but the experience was unmatched.
For those you can’t make it to the Hoosier State to enjoy the thrill of racing, a local dirt track will do.
Even if you think cars going around a racetrack is “not for you,” you are mistaken. There is nothing like the atmosphere motorsports bring or the thrill of the vibrations from racecars zooming by. You should try it!
ERICK MITCHELL is managing editor of the Dispatch Record and a sports enthusiast extraordiare.
