The Greatest Spectacle in Bucket Lists

In 49 other states, it’s just going really fast in a circle, but this is Indiana.

Ok, so I might have stolen that from a different sport, especially from a team that recently broke my heart in game seven, but that’s a column for another day. This one is about that legendary rectangular oval on the west side of Indianapolis. No, not a Long’s Bakery donut! Although they are quite delicious. Great, now I’m hungry.

What I’m talking about is the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the home of the Greatest Spectacle in Racing. And for a few short moments a couple weeks ago, it is where I lived out one of my lifelong dreams.

I am an IndyCar enthusiast, but I especially love the Indy 500. I grew up understanding how special the month of May truly is. I’ve always known all the drivers and have kept up with all the drama that comes with the month. At this point in my life, I’ve been to somewhere north of 25 races. I’ve met drivers, taken pictures, received autographs, and even had a chance to talk racing with radio announcer Jake Query, when I met him for an interview for American Heart Awareness Month a year and a half ago for my column.

But even with all of this, one thing still eluded me. I’ve always wanted to know what it actually feels like to go insanely fast on the track itself – to have a small taste of what the drivers experience.

On a hot Monday in June, I finally got that opportunity.

I’m not really much of a daredevil. I’m not exactly the jump-out-of-a-plane type of guy. I’ve never even ridden a motorcycle. I can barely even look at a boat without getting motion sickness. And don’t get me started on the Scrambler ride at the fair. One could say I’m a “keep my feet solid on the ground” person. Regardless of all that, I have still always wanted to ride in the two-seater IndyCar. Thanks to an awesome, amazing, spectacular wife, I got that chance. She knew this was a bucket-lister for me, so she finally caved and bought me an IndyCar Experience.

I looked forward to that day for weeks, and finally it came. We arrived at the hallowed grounds well before the experience was scheduled to take place. I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. I’d rather get there at 2 a.m. and sleep in Gasoline Alley than get stuck in traffic and miss this chance to grunt and beat my chest like never before. As we walked in, we were directed to a tent where I was immediately handed a clipboard with a waiver attached that basically said no one can sue if I take a 180-mile-per-hour faceplant into the Safer Barrier wall.

You read that correctly … 180 miles per hour. Yes, that is how fast you go as a helpless but smiling passenger.

From there I was directed into a trailer where I was fitted for and put on a racing fire suit. This was the moment I realized, for the first time in my life, that it is called a fire suit because it will help protect me in case I catch on fire! Eh … carry on.

When I saw myself in the suit, I realized this is a moment of badassery that I had never experienced before. No wonder girls flock to these drivers. I would’ve flocked to myself if I could have, after strapping that thing on. I’m considering buying some and making these suits my daily uniform going forward.

Once I finished ogling myself, it was time to head to the pits, where my two-lap voyage would begin. I stood in line patiently and excitedly, waiting for my turn. There were three cars that took to the track at the same time, each driven by experienced IndyCar drivers.

When I was toward the front of the line, a crew person handed me gloves and a flame-resistant mask that goes on before the helmet. Again, with fire! Then he strapped the helmet on my head and told me that once we get going, the G-forces will make it feel like the helmet will be sucked right off my head, but not to worry because it is safely secured. That was a little nugget of information that I wasn’t expecting, but, I guess, thanks for the heads up.

What he didn’t tell me was don’t shut the visor on my helmet until they do it for me when I get in the car because it locks and fogs up. That would have been good information to have because once my helmet was on, I immediately shut my visor and spent the next two minutes looking like a moron who put his head in a box and was desperately trying to remove my head from this situation. He eventually walked over to me and opened it for me and told me not to do it again. This guy was not messing around and was in no mood for a rookie helmet putter-onner.

Finally, I was directed to a two-seater car being driven by IndyCar driver Spencer Pigot. I climbed into the car and immediately realized the second seat was not designed for comfort. I wasn’t able to straighten my legs, so I had to sit in an awkward bent-legged way. Small price to pay.

Our columnist’s biggest takeaway from his IndyCar Experience is that he looks completely amazing in the fire suit. (Photo provided)

Next, two crew guys reached in and started buckling me in. There isn’t a lot of space for moving around in these cars, so they were a lot closer to me than I’m generally comfortable with. Who can blame them, though, with how awesome I look in this suit?

Once I was buckled, I didn’t even have time for one more Hail Mary. Off we went … and let me tell you, the speed is immediate. I have no idea how these drivers are able to keep these cars on the pit road, let alone hitting full speed on the track itself. It’s so fast, the steering wheel literally jerks the entire time. As we approached one of the turns, I realized I probably should have asked to be given Last Rites before getting in the car. There was no way we could possibly make this turn without becoming one with the wall. Somehow, we managed to stay on the track. Then I realized, they do these turns 800 times during the race, surrounded by 32 other drivers. Respect!

The back stretch and the main straightaway are where the car really gets up to full speed. As we accelerated, I realized the crew guy was not lying to me. I felt the helmet pulling on my head, like it wanted to jump right off my face. I was certain it was going to, but as promised, it never did.

As we came to a jarring stop back in the pit lane, I was under a full understanding of why I had to sign away my first-born on the waiver. It was a true lesson to me of the unbelievable skill (not to mention massive cajónes) it takes to be this level of driver. I walked away a bit wobbly, but with a lot of respect for these drivers and crew members.

The moral of the story is … I look amazing in a fire suit. Oh, and I never did catch on fire.

Tim Rathz can be reached at 40somethinginfishers@gmail.com. Follow on Facebook or Instagram.