STRAPPED INTO A COCKPIT THE SIZE OF A GOLF BAG, ... suspended between four large racing slicks and with a 700 hp engine strapped to your back, ...

you're looking down a concrete and steel canyon filled with hundreds of thousands of people.

The only path through the canyon is a fifty foot wide strip of asphalt stretching nearly a mile in front of you with three foot tall and 24" thick concrete retaining walls on either side to keep you in the canyon.

Your puckered-up hind quarters are separated from the asphalt by about 1 inch of air and another inch of carbon fiber and foam cushioning. The top of your head is less than three feet from the pavement, your helmet exposed to the torrent of wind rushing over the cockpit.

... you're traveling at about 145 mph, a fraction of the car's potential top speed - cruising; but your senses are in overdrive, you are anything but relaxed - your entire body is flush with excitement as you wait for the explosive rush you know is but moments away.

The three cars in the row in front of you have just punched their accelerators and immediately leap ahead into the canyon and away from your row of three cars and the other nine rows behind you. You also punch YOUR accelerator and are instantly hit in the back with a force akin to a jet hitting its afterburner. Your car is light, well under 1/2 the weight of a Nextel Cup car with the same horsepower - you're driving a rocket.

Before you know it, you're halfway down the canyon traveling at 220 mph. And you most definitely are not alone.

Two cars on your left and one car on your right are trying to pass you - your tires are within inches of the car on your left's tires. If your tires touch the other drivers tires, one of you if not both of you will start spinning violently - likely colliding with one of the cars next to you, only to be run into by some of the twenty-eight cars behind you - also traveling at 220+ mph.

You struggle just to keep your car straight and in one piece as the cars in front of you create turbulence that moves your car around like a Learjet in a hurricane, threatening to rip the wheel from your hands. Although the track appears to be smooth, the slightest rise or fall in the track causes the bottom of your cockpit to smack the asphalt sending a strong jolt through your butt and spine, making the car twitch ever so slightly, and sending a crowd pleasing shower of sparks out the back of your machine.

You're most of the way thru the canyon when you and your thirty-two flying colleagues come to a sharp left hand turn - and there's almost no banking to the turn. You let up on the accelerator ever so lightly, turn the wheel to the left, and pray ... The racing slicks, seemingly impossibly, grip the asphalt and your car screams around the turn. The violence of the sudden turn requires all of your strength and concentration to keep the car from hitting the outside wall or the car that is still on the left side of your car. Your knee violently smashes against the side of the cockpit and your helmet strains against it's restraints. Your body is securely ensconced in the custom fitted although minimally padded seat and seat restraints but it's inertia still squeezes your ribs against the seat and side of the cockpit so hard you struggle to take a breath. Your hands already are burning from gripping the wheel so hard - tension and anxiety is high; your fingers feel as though they have molded themselves into the steering wheel. Inertia releases its grip on your body as you whoosh out of Turn One onto the South Short Chute. You now have about 300 yards - 2.5 seconds - before you start your entrance to Turn Two.

That's the first of 800 such turns you'll make in The Greatest Spectacle in Racing - the Indianapolis 500. This will be the ultimate test of your ability, as a racer, to walk a terrifyingly and exhilaratingly fine line between maximum speed and personal disaster. The test will last between three and four hours, with virtually no let-up in concentration and physical demands. All drivers in the modern era race are physically fit; while strength is important, endurance is even more so. The heat will rob most drivers of eight to twelve pounds of fluids and, in some cases, increase a racer's body temperature to the point that cognitive function begins to be impaired. Yet you have more to worry about - there are thirty-two other drivers out their who have the same objectives, strengths, and frailties. What about their abilities to concentrate? to control their car at maximum speed? to make good judgments despite the adrenaline that screams at their brains to go faster? to catch and pass you? or to prevent you from catching and passing them? The slightest incorrect flick of either your or their wrist and you're both eating concrete for lunch. There's no bangin' sheet metal 'n swappin' paint or bump draftin' in Indy Cars; just racing.

The flying start at the Indy 500 is the single most exciting moment in all of sports. Nothing else approaches the incredible anticipation, the sound, the speed, the violent acceleration, the pervasive perception of raw danger, excitement, and fear at the start of this great race. The most common statement of first time guests as they witness the parade and pace laps, and anticipate the flying start: "If these cars wreck (it seems they surely will - how could they possibly avoid one another at speed on this pencil thin track), can they fly all the way up/over here?" The Super Bowl has the hype, the celebrity buzz, the "well, it's winter and what else can I be doing" factors - but not the actual adrenaline producing excitement of seeing, hearing, feeling a herd of open wheeled cars scream down the narrow front straight towards the green flags. The NCAA Finals typically produce GREAT basketball games, and are among the finest sporting events in existence - but lack the inherent danger, the speed, the intensity of moment of the Indy 500 flying start. Daytona and other superspeedway Cup races have close racing, color, and sound - but lack the incredible acceleration and thrill of eleven rows of three cars each negotiating the front straight and first several turns - not to mention the sheer spectacle of the packed stands on both sides of the front straightaway (actually, Turn Four through Turn Two), and top speed is noticeably slower (at the start, about 140 to 150 mph for Cup cars vs. 220+ for IRL cars). Not even the World Cup - what am i thinking ... probably not much of an argument for readers in this forum, ... nevermind.

For racing fans of any stripe, it's a must-have on your spectating resume. For sports fans in general, it's an experience well worth the investment of time and effort. Indy is a FAR more enjoyable town now than it was twenty to thirty years ago - the entire race week is a very festive time with many high brow, medium brow, and low brow parties, a wide range of excellent restaurants & bars & clubs, etc. to accommodate the entertainment tastes of just about any type of fan.

I'll save the history of the race - a dimension that when appreciated adds immeasurably to the experience - for another post, maybe for another year (winning The 500 remains the common desire of nearly every race driver who's ever gripped a steering wheel in anger - most of the greats have at least competed in the race at one time or another). It IS the Month of May - and when I'm not working, I'll be spending a fair amount of time at the track ...

I'm surprised it took me this long to figure out how to keep fans from pelting the track with beer cans and other dangerous debris.  And the solution shows once again how Hollywood is way ahead of reality.

Given the significant investments made by NASCAR in innovations such as the SAFER barrier, the HANS devices, and sani-gel in the portapotties, this solution will cost next to nothing:

COMPLETELY ENCASE THE ENTIRE TRACK, front straightaway, turns, pits - EVERYTHING, INSIDE A CHICKEN WIRE BARRIER/CAGE.

I got the idea watching my 23rd rerun of "The Blues Brothers" late last night. This solution worked in protecting the stage at the allegedly fictional "Bob's Country Bunker" - and it will work at Talledega, Dover, Daytona, and any other track at which NASCAR competes.

Dale Jr. - head of the clan that seems to be doing most of the beer chuckin' has said that there seems to be nothing that can be done to stop the fans from this type of behavior. So the solution must be to insulate the fans and their debris from the drivers, cars, and track. This will work, friends and race fans.

An engineer friend tells me that this solution should cost no more than $85,000 on average (per track); less for Bristol and Dover, much more for the Brickyard, Daytona, and Talledega - and "quick removal" type debris cages could be developed for about 50% more - all with stuff cobbled together either from the local Lowe's or Home Depot (or Menards - who shops at Menards though?).

So, whether thrown in disgust, hate, drunken stupor, or deep admiration, fan's beer cans will no longer be at risk of hitting a driver or car. It's the best of both worlds, and should be adopted post haste. It will have the added benefit of making it far harder for Tony Stewart to climb the catch fence (fingers likely don't fit in the chicken wire holes) - this is both a benefit to Stewart and to the fans upon whom he is bound to fall one of these days.

I am, indeed, blogging naked from Indy! This is wonderful - so freeing and comfortable. May I suggest that we all remove our clothes and blog naked from wherever we are. I have a knack for spotting hot trends, and naked blogging is IT.

If Lisa can blog naked from Talledega, who are we to keep our clothes on in the comfort of our own homes or offices or internet cafes?

Already, I feel my nakedness producing a change in perspective - my writing has become more fluid, more stream of conciousness, maybe even more lucid. I feel as though I have no inhibitions at all. I get some of Marty's jokes now. I can read Ultra and Pig exchanges without breaking out in hives. I can appreciate Florida's basketball team, and even admire the tall dude with the fake ghetto rap and semi-rasta hair just for his basketball talents. I can listen to Al Michaels without retching. I just might tune in that synchronized swimming tribute tonite. I can accept that baseball might be interesting to some people. I can appreciate hockey on television, ... well - I'm not that uninhibited yet. THIS IS THE GREATEST!

Nevermind. The wife just walked in. Got some 'splainin' to do. Was a bit hasty - failed to think this trend through. Florida, well, they suck again.

Crap, there's a Dateline NBC truck outside the house now. Gotta go.

Does ANYONE on here think that Billy Packer's comments "you always fag-out on that one for me" made to Charlie Rose in the midst of good natured banter between the two were anti-gay? I certainly don't.

The looks on the ESPN news readers as they shifted from "booyaahh" silliness to grotesquely somber expressions as they relayed Billy's remarks, along with their own speculation that he may be fired for having made such remarks, to the public were just nauseating. (Adopting expressions as though they were telling the world that we had just invaded Iran - ) "No word from CBS Sports as of this time as to whether Packer will be fired as a result of these remarks, and Mr. Packer has not yet issued a statement following these remarks." Ridiculous. Billy is an older person, and those of us over 35 or 40 can remember when "fagged out" meant the same as "wimped out" - having absolutely NO reference to homosexuality. I am quite confident that Packer was thinking along these lines.

Until he comes out with a statement (maybe he has already - I haven't heard or read it) that indicates otherwise, I hope the news readers and those who prepare their copy will hold on the hysterics. Like him or not, Billy Packer deserves to not be pilloried and to not have his career pulled-out from under him as a result of hysteria over a more modern interpretation of what an older guy said.

Now if he issues a statement that says something to the effect that "yeah, I was joking about Charlie Rose being a homo - what's wrong with that", please proceed with the pillorying and career pulling-out-from-undering.

Like a fool, I just posted on another blog that I totally bought the arguments brought forth by many others on this site - that Global Warming was a hoax perpetrated by Hollywood personalities and "dems".

But then I read the following, coming across the wire this afternoon:

CHICAGO, Illinois (Reuters) -- Earth's dusty neighbor Mars is grappling with its own form of climate change . Researchers have been watching the changing face of Mars for years, studying slight differences in the brightness and darkness of its surface.

NASA scientist Lori Fenton and colleagues, reporting this week in the journal Nature, now believe ... by studying changes in light reflected from the surface of Mars -- a measure known as an object's albedo -- they predict the red planet has warmed by around 1 degree Fahrenheit from the 1970s to the 1990s, which may in part have caused the recent retreat of the southern polar ice cap. (some portions of the Reuters story edited for literary convenience)

I AM REPULSED BY MY OWN IGNORANCE ! Not only is our own global warming not a hoax, but a very real phenomenon, generally acknowledged to be a product of our use of incandescent bulbs, Ford trucks, weed whackers, chloroflourocarbons, homosexual marriage, the burning of coal, declining educational standards, and mammal farts. AND OUR SELFISHLY SELF-INFLICTED ENVIRONMENTAL CRISIS IS NOW SPREADING TO MARS. People, when will you bow down to data, to science, or at least to the conclusions of radio talk show hosts, politicians, or sports site bloggers? We've not only begun the destruction of our own planet, but are causing the polar ice caps on MARS to recede as well. It's even affecting Mars' ALBEDO. Tragic, ... so tragic and preventable.

Let's stop this senseless bickering. IT'S REAL. We need to come together and change our behavior before we destroy Uranus.