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.

Some days are just like that ...

Most days, my little camera is in my pocket,

easily at hand when I see the way the evening sun

describes the delicate turn of a flower's petals,

or when a bit of sun breaks through the gray overcast

 to bathe the Speedway golf course in its warmth.

Then again, there are those times when

the morning sunrise casts a cold eye on a set

of box springs and a mattress,

wrapped against the morning dew

in a torn plastic shroud.

Oddly, the items were propped

against a wall in one of the stalls at

the carwash near where I work.

WTF?

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.

Hello, My Name Is ...

I expected that the orange stickers were like those 

name tags handed out at business meetings.

I should have known better.

They were being worn, sometimes two or three of them 

at once, by spectators on the Turn Two mounds. 

I laughed outright at some I saw, giggled at others, 

and only found one really offensive.

I saw women wearing them, too, but couldn't get

to any of the women to take their pictures.

Men ... gotta love 'em. 

Almost Sublime

When I left my home early Sunday morning 

to walk over to the track, the first thing 
I noticed was the smell of smoke from grills

that had actually formed a haze in the sunlit air. 
The aroma of sausage was joined 

by the rhythm of dance music, both inviting me 

eastward towards the Indianapolis Motor Speedway 
to join a quarter-million or so friends for the 
THE! Indianapolis 500-Mile Race!

While my immediate neighborhood was quiet,

 I only had to walk a block or two before the stream 

of people walking towards the Speedway, 

about two miles away, began to increase in density.
We were all joined in the same mission --
the identical journey, to participate in a colorful rite
that for nearly 100 years has alternately
thrilled, enthralled, and frightened every one
of us, as we watch drivers test their skills
with machines going 230+ mph.

After reaching the track, I stopped at the on-track office 

of the Indianapolis Star to greet photographer friends 

who were working at the race, then proceeded towards 

the viewing mounds inside Turn Two. I hadn't gone more than

a few feet before I saw Dario Franchitti, surrounded by

people, near the black Chevrolet Camaro Z28 pace car

he was to drive later that day. He's a handsome, kind,

and soft-spoken man who seemed to undergo some sort of

personality change behind the wheel of a race car.

Now retired due to injuries received in a race last year,

we are so happy to have him back and hope he chooses to

remain with us for many years. 

Behind Franchitti, standing in the shadow of the

Pagoda, were Ray Harroun's Marmon Wasp,

winner of the inaugural "500" in 1911,

and one of Team Penske's championship cars.

I overheard someone say, "That's an old Indy car."

I couldn't help myself; I turned around to respond with

"That's not just an 'old' Indy car, that's the first

Indy car, the one that won the first race in 1911."

There it stood, only a few feet from a contemporary
machine, yet with thousands of miles between them 
of discoveries about physics, chemistry, aerodynamics, 
and the will to win. Looking at those two cars
made that history almost palpable, something I could touch 
with my heart and mind, if not my hands.
I continued into Turn Two to find 
a place to watch the race.


After having taken pictures from inside Turn One
for over twenty years, I've never found a grandstand
seat to replace that spot. Separated from the track
by the pit lane and a creek, I could watch the cars as
they swept into the turn, a blurred mass of color
and power, then rush away to return forty 
or so seconds later. Two hundred times, slowed
only by accident, rain, or the races' end.

My Turn Two spot was the closest to that pleasure
I've found. I did not sit down, but leaned against
the fence to watch the cars as they streamed past.
The data on the video board gave up just after
the start of the race, but I found I could tell 
the progress of the race just by paying attention
to the cars' green flag pitstops, which occurred every
twenty laps or so. I was surprised that my
estimates were correct when I figured they must
have completed over 100 laps because
they'd come in for fuel and tires for the fourth time,
and the intensity of the race had increased; 
the cars seemed a bit faster and closer together.

There were no cautions until 150 laps into the race, 
just when one would expect madness
and craziness to ensue. Drivers began to take
chances they would not have taken earlier.
The real racing began and we had a 125-mile
shoot-out. Driver Townsend Bell suffered a hard
crash into the Turn Two SAFER barrier and
the race was red-flagged to allow personnel time
to clean up scattered debris and to make repairs 
to the wall. Other than for a mighty soreness 
later on Townsend would be OK.
 The race resumed with eight laps to go, 
Ryan Hunter-Reay and Helio Castroneves
passing and re-passing each other one, two, three times. 
Helio ran out of opportunities and finished second, 
his fourth Indy win just a car length away, while Ryan
dashed across the line for his first.

Overall, the average speed for the race was
186.563 mph. Rather than having the men finish
the race under the caution flag, they were
allowed to settle it on the track, racing for the win.
People cheered with each lead change and,
when the checkered flag flew, the crowd left 
knowing they had seen an excellent race.

Triptych

If one reflection is good, then three - or more!- is even better. Right?

And then there was this mascot, a cobra with 

blood-tipped fangs, poised to strike anything that

got in its way. Ooooh, scary.

In Flight

This fine little mascot, frozen forever in flight, 

accompanies its namesake, a 1930 Swallow, 

on display at the 2014 Celebration of the Automobile, 

held last weekend at the 

Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

The Swallow Sidecar Company was established in 1922 

in Blackpool, England to produce sidecars for motorcycles. 

In 1926, the business evolved to include automobiles 

and became the Swallow Sidecar & Coachworks Company. 

Their first car, produced in 1928, was a conscious

re-creation of larger cars of the time, for a price that was

affordable to more of the populace.

The little Swallows proved popular and the company

became increasingly successful as it responded 

to the needs of the marketplace, 

adapting its name as necessary. It's last name change,

to S.S. Cars, Ltd. in 1934, was changed after

World War II due to the unfortunate association of 

the "SS" with Nazi Germany. In 1945, the company

became Jaguar Cars, Ltd., and the little swallows in flight 

became the sleek, leaping cats we know today.

For Dive ...

Presenting! In person! 

The IRL Grid Girls!

Some of them anyway.

Below is the entire line-up.

There must be something to that 

"the camera adds five pounds" adage, 

because these ladies were all nicely slender 

and long-legged; the camera does make

 them seem a bit squat. 

These women reminded me a bit of Robert Palmer's 

ladies in his Simply Irresistible video.

Reflections

Damn. I did not get the identification for this car.

It was just one of the many beautiful displays brought 

to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway 

by their proud owners for the 4th Annual

Celebration of the Automobile. 

Spectators were drawn to the exhibits like bees 

to flowers; they were seriously appreciative 

of the beauty and craftsmanship

that went into the production of these cars.

I believe the owners were from the Indianapolis area. 

The car was kitted out with folding chairs, picnic supplies 

and a portable phonograph player, everything

needed for a polite alfresco occasion 

some eighty years ago. Party down, peeps!

The kind lady in the period outfit told me

she haunts thrift shops and found everything 

she is wearing at various stores.

It seemed a tad ironic that, for a comparative

few dollars, she found a period appropriate

ensemble to wear with a car the restoration of which

could easily have cost well into six figures.

It's a Race Track! It's a Golf Course! It's ...

... the Indianapolis Motor Speedway!

Indy got the month of May off to a fresh start 

on Saturday with the inaugural Indianapolis Grand Prix, 

an eighty lap race for Indy cars utilizing 

the IMS 2.4-mile road course.

While there may initially have been some concern

about how this new addition to the IndyCar schedule

might be accepted by fans, doubters were left 

in the dust by the large turnout of people who came

to wander the grounds and to watch the IndyCar

race, as well as several other support races.

A young fan watches as eventual winner, Simon Pagenaud, 

leads the field through Turns 7 and 8.

He was joined by thousands of other spectators who, 

snacks and sunscreen in tow, brought their

friends and families to the track for a day of sunshine,

blue skies, and the heady aroma of braking tires.

With about ninety minutes to spare before the start 

of the day's feature race, I decided to explore 

a part of the track I'd not seen before. 

I walked north along a golf cart path, towards Turn 4 

of the Speedway's oval. The grandstands can be seen 

looming in the background. A lot of other folks

took advantage of the groves of trees,

retreating to their shade between races to rest

and cool off, many enjoying a picnic lunch.

Little Day

Here, a security guard at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is interviewed 

by a representative from a local TV station. It's been quite a while 

since I've seen this style of galluses worn, but maybe I just haven't been

paying sufficient attention. After all, most young men seem

to prefer "sagging", so efforts to keep one's trousers at one's waist

would be lost on them.

A crew from the Speedway Fire Department took time from their shift 

to visit the Speedway. Yes, they were on duty, but maintain

radio contact with the dispatcher through communications in the

truck, as well as on their persons. On occasion, I've been at the grocery

when a crew was shopping for their meal, or at a restaurant 

when they've gotten a run. The crews dropped whatever they were

doing and headed out to their vehicle to go to the scene.

With the advent of fire-retardant building materials, building practices

and uniform fire codes, most fire department runs (about 85%)

now are actually medical emergencies, for which most personnel 

are cross-trained. The fire runs that do occur, though, 

can be anything from a trash fire to a conflagration 

in an apartment complex. We'd be lost without these 

men and women; theirs is a special calling. 

Before we went to the track Wednesday morning, 

my friend Bessie and I went to Lino's Coffee in the Dallara

IndyCar factory building on Main Street.

We took our coffee and wonderful breakfast sandwiches

outside to enjoy the beautiful morning --

and to watch a crew of men at work installing

a new gas line. Personally, I prefer to watch men in

harness, but the time spent watching these guys bore a hole 

through the ground to run a new gas line into the

building was educational, too.

(That gray device being used by the man on

the left allows him to "see" the progress

of the boring below the surface.)

Early Childhood Education

On Wednesday, there was a test session at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway 

to check various configurations of the IMS road course. 

It is anticipated that IndyCar will a add a road course event 

to the schedule next year, to be held at IMS.

Of course, the sound of a race car engine will lure racing fans

from their homes or workplaces. Folks bring chairs and coolers to spend

the day watching and listening to the cars as they navigate

the oval or road course. They indulge in various interpretations

of fact, rumor, or fantasy as they pass their time

on the spectator mounds inside Turn Two, a pastime

otherwise known as "bench racing." 

People bring their children, introducing them to what is hoped 

will become a lifetime love of the speed, smells, and skills

involved in this sport. In the top picture, a young man experiences

his first interview, perhaps in anticipation of a future as a driver or

a chief mechanic, where development of the savvy needed

to cope with the ever-present media cannot start too early.

The second young man is observing, carefully noting how the car

is handling through the tight turns. Perhaps his future is to be that of

an engineer or as an official, observing the behavior of all the

competitors on the track.

Participants in the Wednesday session were the National Guard-sponsored 

car owned by Panther Racing and driven by Ryan Briscoe,

and the Rahal-Letterman-Lanigan Racing team, whose Hewlett-Packard 

car was driven by Graham Rahal. During the time I was there, 

Ryan Briscoe, whose car is shown above, made most of the laps.

Among the visitors to Turn Two was the recently hired Director of

Operations and Competition for Indycar, Derrick Walker.

Walker began his auto racing career in the 1970s as 

a mechanic for the Brabham Formula One team,

then owned by Bernie Ecclestone. He eventually worked for

Penske Racing, first for Penske's Formula One effort,

then on to Indy Car racing, where he enjoyed a great deal of success, 

being involved in the team's four series championships,

as well as four wins of the Indianapolis 500.

Walker's knowledge, experience, and integrity are

well-known and respected by the racing community,

which has led to his current position.

More, More, More!

For the past several years, I've been looking 

for a good seat from which I can watch the races.

I wander, looking for place where I can see

the cars as they speed by. However, after having spent 

each May for twenty years standing inside 

Turn One to take pictures, I've not found a one 

that equals the view I had there.

To build the road course, the creek inside Turn One 

was covered over and paved, and bleachers were 

removed to create the carousel for the motorcycles.

Hulman Boulevard, which bisects the infield 

north to south, becomes a section of

the road course that can be seen from viewer 

mounds or from concrete barriers

such as the one this little boy and his mother

are sitting on. In fact, the barriers seemed to be pretty

popular viewing spots for children, supported

by their parents, to stand to get a good, close view

of the cars as they enter a series of small turns

on their way back to the main track.

Just behind the mother and boy, the NASCAR haulers

were parked, by order of championship points.

Currently, five-time champion Jimmy Johnson is leading,

so the hauler of his car is first in order, 

on the left. If there are any changes after tomorrow's

Brickyard 400, they will be reflected in the 

trucks' line-up at the next race.

This is the view passers by on 16th Street have 

of the inside of the Speedway. The large building

at the center is the Pagoda scoring and media

center for the track. The scoring pylon can be seen,

poking up from above the main grandstand about 

a fifth of the way from the center left of the picture.

The South Short Chute is just on the other

side of the concrete wall in the middle of the picture.

All one can see of the cars is, maybe a roof top

on a stock car. However, one can see cars as they enter

Turn One from the Front Straight. Whoo-hoo!

By the way, the Pagoda is the tallest 

building in the town of Speedway. 

This was my view Saturday afternoon of the starting grid 

for the Rolex Grand Am race. I love the sound of those cars, 

an intriguing mix of growl and purr that's seductive. 

When I entertain fantasies of driving a race car, 

these are the ones I choose. Every time.

I've always felt that these guys were the elite 

of race car drivers because they were good for the distance,

for their staying power. Conversely, drag racing has

always seemed to be all braggadocio and display

with four seconds of action - Pfft! and done.

And ... more, more, more ... lame.