Driving Indy at ‘slow’ speed still a thrill ride

By Michael Marot

updated 12:22 a.m. ET May 5, 2007

INDIANAPOLIS - Going 90 mph never felt more thrilling.

Sure, I’d gone around the historic 2½-mile oval at Indianapolis Motor Speedway at faster speeds, 180 mph in a two-seater, topping 100 in the pace car. Heck, I’d probably driven that fast on a Montana highway in a minivan.

But driving at Indy never was purely about speed.

This was my chance to play A.J. Foyt or Mario Andretti in a real race car, the way we always dreamed it up as kids.

Clutching that tiny steering wheel, sitting a few inches off the warming track and pressing the accelerator promised to be exciting and nerve racking. Signing away your life in waivers increased the anticipation and the anxiety.

For four laps, it would be me against one of the most famed and feared tracks in the world. The trick, as any pro driver will tell you, is finding the proper balance between courageously staying close to the lead car and being intelligent enough to avoid trouble.

Clearly, I was no pro, but I’d always wanted to play one at Indy.

A decade of covering the Indianapolis 500 taught me some critical lessons about survival here. Stay low. Keep your line. Avoid the marbles. And, of course, always, always turn left.

The biggest struggle here, where a few rain drops can make waits incessantly long, is being focused. At Indy, the most tense moments come from overthinking before you get onto the track.

I was no exception.

As I sat on the pit wall dressed in my fire suit, the thoughts constantly raced through my mind. There was Arie Luyendyk driving through the grass to win in 1997 and Sam Hornish Jr. making the pass of a lifetime to win last year’s race — certainly more daring than my inexperience ever would allow.

There was also a fear something disastrous could ruin this dreamy, four-lap excursion. My primary goal on this sunny 70-degree day was to avoid joining the crash club or writing a first-person account of being airlifted to Methodist Hospital.

But I had one advantage — I knew the track.

So as I plotted this run in my mind countless times, one overriding concern kept recurring: wind. For years, I’d heard top drivers bemoan the constantly shifting, sometimes tricky wind that can ruin a good run in the blink of an eye, and the steady breeze blowing through my hair was a constant reminder of what I was about to face.

For 45 minutes, I waited, wondering what the wind would do and how I would respond, and now I was about to find out.

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