The Indy 500 will go off this Sunday, weather permitting. It's nothing like it used to be. Quick, other than Danica Patrick, name 5 drivers. Chances are, you can't.
I used to go every year back in the 70's and into the 80's. Names like Foyt, Rahal, Dallenbach, Ongais, Rutherford, Andretti, and the Unsers were very well known. I watched Janet Guthrie, the first female to ever particpate in the race, and some kid named Rick Mears, who would later go on to win a few of them, was just arriving on the scene.
It was called the "greatest spectacle in racing", and indeed it was. Besides Indy, the same circuit of cars raced a lot of other places, including right here in Michigan at MIS, but no doubt, the Indy 500 was the crown jewel. Open wheel racing was very popular. Then Tony George, the President of the Indianapolis Speedway, went on an ego trip, decided he would be the boss of the sport, and wanted to change everything, especially the cars. This resulted in a feud with the owners of the cars that lasted for years, and eventually the sport self-destructed. As we all know, NASCAR has since filled the void.
But back in the day, it was a blast. Serious partiers, such as myself and a few friends, would arrive in Indianapolis on Thursday, and certainly no later than Friday, with our "infield" tickets. The whole town was one big party. Bar owners made a ton of money, as did their help; motels were booked solid at exorbitant rates, and then there were the people like me that would head down I-69 in a van and find a parking lot close to a grocery or party store, and hopefully a gas station. I'll get back to that. What may have been in the back of those vans is open to your imagination, but let's just say "different strokes for different folks".
The store owners didn't care that we camped out in their parking lots. After all, they were selling are the booze, beer, pop, ice, and munchies they could get their hands on. Unless you did something outrageous, the cops would leave you alone. Toilet facilities? Sometimes the stores would oblige, and sometimes not. Then if the obvious wasn't going to work in the parking lot, you hiked to the gas station and stood in line for the restroom. They might charge you a buck. Didn't dare move the van or somebody else would take your spot. Showers? It was usually a good idea to bring a sponge along for when you were in that restroom. Needless to say, those restrooms got rather ugly after a while, but when you're hanging out with the hard cores, ya do whatcha gotta do. Walk back to the van, throw on a different shirt and carry on. The same pair of Levis was good for the weekend. Underwear and socks? Never wore them, but I'll own up to deodorant and a toothbrush.
On Saturday morning, a day before the race, at some time, which was a big secret, the Speedway would open up the "back forty". This was a huge field on Speedway property, but outside the track. Getting in there was the next step. While the cops were trying to keep things semi-orderly on the streets, it was pretty much a madhouse getting to the entrance, and then stake out a "spot". Normally, within a couple hours things were starting to settle down. Tents went up, lawn chairs, grills, and some rather innovative ways to provide "shade" appeared. People would even haul mini-bikes, or small motorcyles out of the backs of vans or pick-ups with campers and start roaring around. The fire marshalls would show up and clear "fire lanes" in case something bad happened. But there was only one set of restrooms on that property, and they were close to the entrance to the track. If your spot happened to be on the far end away from them, it was quite a hike to get there, and those facilities made the gas station restrooms look like the Hilton. This was not a place for the feint of heart. You had to want to be there. Bad. You had to sense it, feel it, breathe it, and whatever it took-- it took.
It was also a pretty good idea to have your coolers stocked up when you got into the back forty, because there was no going back, at least in a vehicle, and that grocery or party store was a mighty long ways away to walk, let alone carry a cooler. The partying went on throughout the day and into the night, and a lot of things happened, most of which I can't mention here. Even stuff that, on the surface, sounds ridiculous. There was a time when I got offered a 6-pack of beer for one measly can of Coke. Guess he was all beered out and had some seriously hot pipes going on. After a couple days of non-stop partying, things like that happen. What's even worse is -- I didn't take the deal. You had to be there to appreciate that.
But we all knew that at 6:00 AM sharp, the next morning, on race day, ticket-takers would appear at the gate, and the tunnel would open to let us under the track and into the final frontier, also known as the "infield". This was no time to worry about properly collapsing and rolling up a tent. You got it down the fastest way you could, chucked it in your vehicle, and got in line again. Snooze, ya lose. Even the fire marshalls didn't get in the way of that.
By the way, such vehicles as Winnebagos had their own area, off to the side of where we stayed. They had lived in relative luxury for a few days, compared to the rest of us that had been reduced to the bare necessities, but Winnebagos were too tall to clear the tunnel, so those folks had to hoof it. Maybe that was a fair trade-off.
Race day next time.
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