Or was it the Indy 450?

N39 ° 47.891’
W86 ° 14.355’

After the camping debacle last year, Indy was to be a new adventure for us. And, was it ever.

We got an early start Saturday from home. We left the house around 5:15 a.m. and finished some last minute errands (ice and the like). We hit the open road with a slight cross wind from the south-southeast. After a great breakfast at Cracker Barrel outside Davenport, we kept sailing toward Indianapolis.

Since we were staying on the north side of town, we decided to avoid Boob Alley and cut over away from I-74. At Crawfordsville, we picked up Highway 32 to the east. It was a great road that wound through some beautiful farmland. We headed south on 421, right into our hotel. We picked a Drury Inn because we’d been so impressed by them before. We weren’t disappointed this time, either.

The area north of the hotel was obviously a growth area. We passed many new housing developments, restaurants and stores, including a Super Target. The Drury was ready for race fans, particularly by adding a special Happy Hour on Saturday night.

There was already talk of rain for Race Day, but folks took it in stride and talked of the “Race Window.” We learned that if it rained, it took about two hours to get the track dry.

We spent Saturday afternoon and early evening in downtown Indy, checking out the Circle Center Shopping District, exploring the Circle Center monument and grabbing a bite to eat. Aside for an Indy store, Circle Center was a mall like any other mall. It did help, though that we would get our trinkets early.

Early Start to a Long Day

We started Race Day early, intending to get tot he track early enough to walk around. Through some great instructions from the Drury staff and a little dumb luck, we were parked in the free Coke Lot within 10 minutes after leaving the hotel. We headed straight for the infield to explore. Access was through an under-track tunnel between turns 3 and 4. It was like entering another world when we emerged from the other side of the tunnel.

The large sloping grandstands around the turns make you realize how a salamander in a terrarium feels. The infield is fairly flat, but is punctuated by “spectator mounds” at strategic locations. The Formula 1 road course takes on a sense of permanence with its groomed “sandtraps” and concrete barriers.

A short walk up Rose Hulman Boulevard, hang a right and you come face-to-face with the Pagoda, the stepped glass and steel building behind Pit Lane. We strolled through the famed Gasoline Alley, but were too early to spot any drivers or cars heading into Pit Lane.

We stopped in the main Indy Store behind the Pagoda. Yes, it’s the same merchandise as the mall store at the same prices.

We took our time to get to our seats on the exit of Turn 4. After buying a $3 Coke (that must be how they give away free parking) and a little wandering, we plopped down on the metal bleachers marked 13 and 14. We know from the previous year that there was plenty of activity to keep us occupied, so 8:15 didn’t seem so bad. It was sparse, but a few folks were already seated. We were joined by a band of Canadian men (the self-proclaimed “Dumb Canucks”) who kept us entertained for most of the wait (though, ultimately, they were in the wrong seats). At some point, the sky opened. “This’ll separate the men from the boys.” Deb and I had discovered two old ponchos in our bag, which we donned and watched the stands empty. A few other hardcores decided to keep their seats dry rather than wimp out and hide under the grandstands. We held our ground through several waves of heavy rain, rewarded by the sun. Cheers went up through the crowd each time Sol made his appearance.

Finally, safety trucks and tow trucks (about 10 of each) started their drying laps around the course. We had heard it would take about 2 hours to dry the track. As the drying laps started to take effect, the jet dryers were fired up. These are, literally, jet engines with huge ducted exhaust that blast the water off the track. They were primarily focused on several “weepers” along the track; thin cracks that let water ooze up through. Between the jet dryers and good old-fashion terry towels, they eventually go the track dry enough to race.

They moved us quickly through the race prep festivities, including Florence Henderson (who’s seemingly past her singing prime), Jim Nabors (gaw-ly, he can still belt it out) and a parade of service men and women.

The pinnacle (of the pre-race) took place when Jessica Simpson took the stage. She’s seemingly maintained the high road in her career, opened herself to a fair amount of good-natured joking. But there was no joking when she let the National Anthem fly. A couple botched words aside, she proved her star power.

Then, about an hour after scheduled, the cars took to the track, following Morgan Freeman around in his Corvette pace car. (Jim Caveziel was in a parade car, so both “God” and “Jesus” were driving Corvettes at Indy.)

The green flag brought a loud roar from the crowd to match the loud roar on the track. The field was just getting its groove on when rain brought out the red flag. That was enough for most folks, as the stands emptied out. We were in it for the long haul, though, and waited out the two-hour delay.

The warm track dried quickly under the drying laps and jet dryers. Once the lesser drivers were weeded out through their own ineptness (AJ IV should never be allowed on a race track again), we saw some heavy racing. Lap 100 brought another cheer from the crowd as it signified an official race. Then, things got wild. It became clear that a full 200 laps would never get run, with heavy rain headed our way. Strategies immediately shifted. Cars were run as long (or longer) as possible on existing fuel since a pit stop could mean falling way behind.

I think it was about lap 172 that it got really intense. Their 30 gallon tanks running dry, many of the drivers were forced to hit the pits. The leader board on the Jumbotron in front of us suddenly seemed stuck on lap 172 as a couple laps went by. I suspect the scorers were struggling to keep up with the constant lead changes and pack order. Maybe they wanted to have the leader clear before the impending yellow flag for rain.

The shuffling was dizzying, but it ended with pole sitter Buddy Rice, Letterman’s boy, in front. Sprinkles turned to rain. The yellow flag came out, joined by the white flag.

I don’t think we even saw the field cross line for for the checkers (or yellow-and-checkers). As they headed for home, the announcer declared, “Buddy Rice wins the 88 th Indy 500. There are tornado warnings throughout the area. Clear the stands! Can you hear me? Clear the stands!”

Where Do You Hide?

Shelter, car or under the grandstands? We made our way to the car, thinking we might be able to get out; knowing we could at least listen to the radio.

It was not chaotic, except for the occasional drunken reveler. We made our way around the northwest corner then up to the middle of the short-chute to our car.

We dove into the car. A quick radio search netted as an AM news channel that seemed to be closely tracking the storms. “Tornadoes were headed toward the Speedway. Expect them in about 10 minutes.”

No one was leaving the lot. Traffic was stopped. We were facing the south, so we scanned the sky and listened to the radio. There were no ditches to hide in, so we figured outside the car with blankets over our heads was the best we could do. Deb later told me she planned for us to split up in case...well, in case.

Callers were seeing multiple tornadoes at once. Cars were overturned. Roofs were gone. But it appeared it was all headed east, not toward us.

At 7:15, traffic finally started to move. We were herded east on 31 st Street, all lanes given to our egress. The rain had let up, but was still coming. We made our way east, apparently past our two northbound streets, so we double back and round Martin Luther King.

The trek north on King was as easy as the morning trip, just a little wetter. AS we grabbed a quick bite of dinner, the skies opened up. The torrents and wind reminded us of a hurricane. We ran through the flooded hotel parking lot and closed out our night.

Thirteen tornadoes blew through, over and around Indianapolis. Roofs were blown off, cars tossed and roads flooded. We even heard a driver that left his van just in time to be lifted with his van into a funnel. He thanked and praised God for sparing him.

The uneventful trip home was a welcome relief to the long race day.

We dreamed of following the IRL to all 16 race venues some year. Who knows what the series will look like then. It’s a great dream.