Zip Code Tour: In My Backyard

In the fifty years of their careers, I'd never seen either 

the Rolling Stones or any of the Beatles perform. 

When the Stones announced that they'd be playing 

the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, 

I knew I could not pass it up; instead of being in 

some distant city, the band was going to be

 at what is practically my backyard.

When I went to the IMS ticket office on Friday,

I was told by the saleswoman that, while Mick would

be very small, there would be two large video screens 

that would project the concert. I was at least able to get

a spot front and center to the stage, after I arrived at the

track infield Saturday afternoon. Generally used for parking,

the area was covered in white rock. I wondered just how

my "Bronze" area was better than that of the "Silver"

area on the other side of the barrier. 

How were their white rocks an improvement 

over my own patch of gravel?

Other than proximity to the stage, there really was 

no difference. I put my blanket down, 

followed by my bum, and settled in for the duration.

I was glad I'd come early to claim a spot

because the areas became increasingly filled with spectators 

as the time for the Stones' appearance grew closer.

After two bands, Saint Valory and Rascal Flatts 

performed, the Rolling Stones took the stage to a burst 

of red fireworks, working the stage for

two hours, a performance that would have

been tiring for much younger men.

(There are no fat Stones, only flat ones.)

I've been to performances of other musicians

who basically could have mailed in their work.

Not so the Rolling Stones, who sang, played, danced,

and riffed their way through their set list.

Yeah, Mick and the boys were teeny, tiny 

figures from my viewpoint, but the music was grand.

IMS will listen to the grousing from the fans

 to make improvements for future concerts.

As for myself, I was satisfied.

Swim Practice and an Indy Car Race: Best Day Ever

I left for swim practice at about 7 a.m.

Saturday morning. It was going to be a full day: 

I addition to my backpack full of swim supplies, 

I had a ticket in my wallet for the 

2nd Annual Indianapolis Grand Prix.

After practice, I went downtown where I stopped

at a grocery for my track lunch, a sandwich 

and bottles of pop and orange juice, then caught

a bus to the track that dropped me off 

at the front gate of the Speedway.

I headed towards the mounds inside Turn 2

where I found a spot to watch the conclusion of

the Indy Lights race. The Indy Car race was

scheduled to start at 3:50 p.m. so I had 

time to walk around the infield where I found

another nice piece of grass outside the road course

Turn 7. I settled there to enjoy the company 

of other race fans and to bask in the lovely sunshine

as I ate my little lunch.

While the race was a so-so affair,

won by the "usual suspects" (Will Power of Penske Racing),

just hearing the sounds of the engines and seeing

the  low-slung, flying road sculpture took me to my happy place.

Admittedly, these latest incarnations of race cars

are not the most attractive creations; their wings and anglets 
seem like engineers' versions of frippery. 
I want to strip off the carbon fibre ruffles to see 
whether there is a sleek racer below.

After the race was over and awards were made,

 the track was opened to the spectators

to give folks the opportunity to walk as much of

the IMS oval and road courses as they liked.

Many hundreds of people passed through the gates

to check out the smooth pavement, to inspect the

SAFR barrier on the outside of the walls, and to take
pictures of the place to record their visit.

People walked around to see the most famous,

best known sites - the scoring pylon and the Pagoda.

 A number of them rolled through the course

in their wheelchairs, obviously enjoying the chance

to sample a small bit of wind in their hair,

imagining for a second they are driving

the same track as their heroes have done for

nearly one hundred years.

Carrying his daughter on his shoulders,

a father walks through Turn One, his hands free

to record pictures of the front stretch.

Below, president of the Speedway, Doug Boles,

took the time to meet and talk with visitors 

he met underneath the new scoring pylon.

I didn't get a chance to speak with Mr. Boles,

other then to tell him how much I enjoyed the track walk,

and to say, "This should have been done ages ago.

Look at the people: they are all happy and they love this place.

They would never hurt it."

Then the darkened skies released the rain,

closing the track for the day. 

People quietly headed for the gates and shelter.

The place is hallowed ground.

We will all return. Soon.