Holy shit. Holy EFF-ing shit. I finally made it into Indianapolis Motor Speedway. For a while there I was thinking "air drop" was the only way to get inside.
Apparently I had the poor manners to arrive at IMS just as the 3 Doors Down concert as firing up on Carb Day (4 p.m. ish). So, following instructions, I drove into Gate 2, only to be directed around the back side of the infield and OUT again.
WTF?
So I drove around the outside of the track (on the Indianapolis streets) and entered again at Gate 2 and, was, once again, directed around the back of the infield and out.
Me: (Frantically waving my official press credential) "But, I'm trying to get to the media center."
Yellow shirt: "You have to turn right."
Me: "But the media center is over there (pointing pathetically at the Pagoda to the LEFT)."
Yellow shirt: "You have to turn right."
Me: "But that will take me out and I want to go in."
Yellow shirt: "You have to turn right."
So I went to the Burger Bash. Here I just need to say that GPS navigation devices were made for people like me. Directionally challenged. I usually take at least one wrong turn no matter where I go. But I managed to make it to the Curt and Kevin Burger Bash without getting lost. I immediately wished they sold beer there, because I'd have inhaled a couple by then.
Unfortunately, I had been up since 4 a.m. and had driven for 7.5 and gone through the IMS infield twice, (plus, I am unimpressive in person, I've come to grips with that), so I had to bail out of the bash relatively early and head for the The Motel.
Dude. If my motel is "Two Stars" I will kiss Hot Wire's ASS. Um, not. But for $89 a night on Indy Weekend this is what you get. Plus, as a special bonus, the Wi-Fi is so weak I cannot connect. (Insert Iowan obscenities here.)
And, yes, Jeff Iannucci from MyNameisIRL.com and I are roommates. I'll just continually apologize for the snoring. PLUS, you can imagine my horror when I checked in to the Roach Motel and found we were in a "jacuzzi suite" which is mainly a room with ONE king-sized bed and a cheapy jacuzzi tub in the corner.
I think my exact words were "What the f*ck?" when I turned the lights on. Fortunately this Roach Motel has plenty of vacancies so I was back to the office in a flash and got two double beds. Dude. Jeff and I are tight, but not that tight.
Today Jeff tells me my problem yesterday was following instructions. My credentials and parking pass came with a sheet that CLEARLY says "ENTER GATE 2." Iowans are a lot like Canadians in that we follow instructions. In fact, "The Follow Directions State" was in the running as a state nickname. (Iowa's official state nickname is "The Hawkeye State." I'm a fifth-generation Iowan and I have no idea what a "Hawkeye" really is, FYI.)
NOW you tell me that I can enter any random gate. THANKS for the memo.
So, this morning, I got up at 6:15 a.m. and Jeff and I motorcaded over here, again came in Gate 2, were allowed to turn left, and made it into the pagoda. Thank you Jesus.
We just had the driver autograph session (see photo above). Pretty sure 99.5% of them were cued for Danica. Kidding. Couple Sarah Fisher fans in there. It's a festival of sharpies.
The Public Driver's Meeting is next. Milka Duno just shot some t-shirts into the crowd via T-shirt Gun. The Firestone Firehawk is menacing the crowd with the T-shirt gun. I once saw a guy do a Super Man dive down about 12 rows at Milwaukee for a T-shirt. He didn't mean to and ended up injuring himself severely (but not lethally) ... but he got the shirt.
Driver's meeting is underway right now. Basically, that goes along these lines: All the driver's get up there, people talk, last year's winner and team owner get their Baby Borgs, rings are given out, participant rings are given out, Brian Barnhart (The Iron Hand of Justice) gives instructions. I'll be back with some more in a bit.
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