Smoke and Rubber: The Indy 500

The Indy 500 is the largest single day sporting event in the world.

As such, the aptly named town of Speedway, Indiana doesn’t play around when it’s time to race. Usually a sleepy little suburb of Indianapolis, it becomes the second largest city in the state during the annual event, dwarfed only by the capital itself.

The air is electric from the moment you reach the city limits. Miles out from the track, some fans begin their pilgrimage on foot, coolers and lawn chairs in tow. Homeowners near the track offer up their yards as prime parking spaces, the cost going up the closer they are. Between the mass of cars they still manage to set up their grills, chairs, and portable speakers; you’d be hard-pressed to find a larger tailgate anywhere else in the country.

The inside of the stadium is a city in itself. Throngs of race fans storm the outer circle, leaving every bathroom and concession stand packed to the brim. Early in the morning, the stands serve as a breath of fresh air. From the highest seats nearly the entire track is visible, an asphalt ouroboros which will serve as the proving ground for those who dare to push the limits of human engineering.

The northern side is intersected by a tunnel which goes underneath the track. From here you may enter the infield, an entirely new experience. Attendees walk to and fro, surrounded on all sides by the stands as well as flags which tower over the landscape. A stage in the middle blares dance music to a crowd of younger fans- this is the Snake Pit, a music festival which takes place inside the track during the race.

The space underneath the stands in the infield really drives home exactly how packed this race will get; it’s hard to move among the countless bodies now compressed within the metal structure. This year the event sold more than 300 thousand tickets. When you think of that many people pressed inside one racetrack, it’s not hard to understand why the crowds are so dense.

There’s a whirlwind of sights near the IMS Pagoda, a famous structure which serves as the control tower for the race. Layered floors surrounded by sheets of glass create the iconic shape, which stands as just one more testament here to the love of motorsports. The drivers move freely around this area- if you’re lucky, you can catch one hamming it up for a photo, or speeding by on a golf cart to get in place for the event. Another cordoned off area features a line of celebrities eager to have their pictures taken; it wouldn’t be a world-renowned event without a little glitz and glamor.

Further off in the infield, a helicopter takes off. A sign nearby warns attendees of an incoming storm cell. The feeling changes now- once full of excitement and anticipation, there’s a palpable air of disappointment from many visitors. The upper stands empty, as their metal construction is a prime conduit for lightning strikes. The interior road course now serves as a major pathway for visitors seeking shelter or even returning to their cars.

I opted for the latter. Miles of foot traffic return you to the surrounding neighborhood, where the festivities are no weaker than they were before. The rain would delay the race for about two hours, but I elected not to return. It was unfortunate not to see the main event, but the buildup was its own experience. And besides, I was never completely in the dark about what was coming.

With some clever navigation, you can actually find yourself standing on the track itself. Behind a building somewhere in the maze of the infield, attendants allow you to cross the track itself and stare directly down the oval. It’s dizzying to even look out on the wide expanse- one may wonder what it would feel like to be in the car itself, gunning for the checkered flag in the face of danger. I overheard the answer, in the form of a challenge.

“You’re driving at two hundred miles an hour down the straightaway, and you have to hit that turn without letting off the gas. Think you can handle that?”