Driving Indy at ‘slow’ speed still a thrill ride

The one time I glanced down, the yellow light was on. Nobody had said what the yellow light indicated, and I briefly considered driving back into the pits, worried I’d done something to the car. Fearing embarrassment, I kept going like Foyt.

By the time I made it across the bumpy yard of bricks, I was beginning to gain confidence. I followed Sinden closer and closer into the turns, gradually coming nearer the outside walls while still keeping enough distance to avoid the dreaded crash.

“This isn’t too bad,” I thought. “Let’s see what it really can do. Maybe I can hit 120.”

That’s when the fun began. Dodging debris that had blown onto the track and running over an unexpected bump coming out of turn 2, I suddenly had to contend with that famous wind in the back straightaway.

I could feel my head bouncing against the HANS device, enough to make me a little woozy. Rather than slow, I went flat out down the straight, through the short chute between turns 2 and 3 and back across the yard of bricks.

What struck me was how smooth the car really was. There was no wiggle, no bobble and it steered easier than a passenger car.

By now, I was gazing at the empty stands as I went around, savoring every moment.

Then came Lap 3, one 500 veterans might call a true Indy experience. With my head buffeting coming down the back straightaway, my vision suddenly blurred. I thought maybe my glasses were off balance and could do nothing to fix them. It was only then that I realized it was probably from either G-forces in the turn or my head bouncing around like a pinball.

As I hung onto the car in turn 3 and into the short chute, I thought all was well. Again, I was wrong.

Suddenly, the gusts roared through my helmet — louder even than that famously noisy engine. I fought to keep the car steady and eventually made it around one more time before finally pressing the brakes as Sinden led me onto pit road.

Immediately, I wanted to take the car out again, figuring four more laps would go smoother and faster. And, of course, I promised to be more fearless. Yes, I think I could have gone faster, but at 90 mph, it was every bit the thrill ride I encountered on the Olympic bobsled track in Salt Lake City, and more.

When I stopped in the pit box, the safety crew unbuckled the seat harness, offered congratulations and snapped pictures. It was enough to make a first-timer like me think I’d just won the greatest spectacle in racing.

Next time, I’ll meet you, A.J. and Mario, in Victory Lane.