what is it about people and their love of machines? I went to the Indy 500 for the first time last week. My wife told me I had to go, because it was a work-related social event, so I did. But I wasn't that excited about it.

We got there smoothly because the police escorted our bus in (I thought I was special, didn't know why at the time) and we found our seat. Or I should say suite. Open bar, great food, right over the pits on the front straight-away. I could have poured beer on the pit crew for car #24. Glad I didn't have to pay for my ticket. I told my wife they should have just given us the money so I could have bought a big-screen and watched it at home. But still, I felt no particular thrill and I spent my time looking at my watch and looking at the rain clouds. Filling up the stands were 400,000 people--picture the entire population of Wyoming packed into about 3 miles of 60' high bleachers--who all came to watch 33 cars make 200+ mph circles.

 

 

 

 

Marching bands are making agonizing walks down that mile of road. Then a parade of 66 Corvettes, then a bunch of these ugly Chevy pick-ups with no beds carrying a bunch of celebrities I had never heard of before. Helicopters are beating around the place making it hard to talk. Yawn. Then it rains. A guy tells me it takes 2 hours to dry the track after the rain stops. Damn.

Then the rain stops and dizzy blonde barbies sing a few songs. And a guy talks for a while. And Jim Nabors, who I thought was long dead, sings another song about how sweet it is in Indiana--I think. Then another barbie sings the Star-Spangled Banner and I am annoyed at the creative inflections people add to our national anthem--give me a straight, old-school round of Star Spangled Banner anyday--and that everyone seems to have forgotten the hand on the heart.

After that, the pit crews begin to push the cars to the starting line and it is far away and slow going. The whole time the clouds sag above us, loaded with another rain. It doesn't look good. I look at my watch praying for the Enterprise to beam me home. Then, it's "Gentleman, and woman, start your engines!" And a huge roar comes up from the crowd, and from the cars. It's loud, but I don't see why I need these earplugs they gave me. Heck, I'm an old artilleryman.

Finally, they drive away. The starting line is off to the left of me so they make a little roar and then are gone. Big deal. I look to the right, whistling, looking at my watch. Looking at the clouds. I can hear the cars somewhere behind us over the huge cement grandstands. Then, suddenly, a lesson in why 400,000 people will come from all over the world to see a couple dozen cars make circles.

Buddy Rice's #15 car suddenly flings itself around the turn, inches from the outside wall, and screams down the straight-a-way, the 650hp 3.5 liter V8's shriek is buzz-sawing the massive concrete grandstands under my feet at 10,300rpm, the 5,000# of downforce rips the tires in a low squall and then it is gone and I am trying to figure out how to get the damn little earplug pouch open as the other 32 cars savage the crowd. Now I am standing up. And then they are back. And then they are back. And then they are back. Two and a half mile circuits in about 40 seconds. It isn't about favorite teams or whose winning, it is about the physical rush.

It's a sensation similar to watching a tornado or an airstrike. You just lay there with your mouth open, awestruck--no thought for personal safety, like a deer in the headlights, as the noise and visuals beat up on your senses. Maybe that is why people like their machines. You can unleash a little chaos for a couple of hours and satisfy some inner need for mayhem. Keep those adrenal glands functioning. No skydiving, bungy jumping or big-wave surfing required. Just sit there with your mouth hanging open and let those little Indy cars circle you.

Will I be back? Only if my wife makes me. It was cool, but it still ain't my scene. And why the police escort? Turns out, we had a US Congressman in the group. I wish I would have known so I could have thanked him for the quick ride the wrong way up a four-lane with two motorcycle cops parting oncoming traffic like the Red Sea. Saved about three hours on either end I should think. Maybe I will go again if he comes along.

Have a rant? E-mail me at wwills@iquest.net, or contact me via PM, and I might just let you put it here!