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Nothing compares
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Nothing compares
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What is it about that darned Speedway that fills some of us with electricity in May. My first Indy 500 was in 1974 and from that point I was hooked. It is that way with some people. My brother and I have taken people over to the 500 and most never really wanted to come back. I can add my ex-wife to that list. LoL! In all seriousness though, she could have cared less. I just could never figure how the pre-race buildup and race itself could not permanently affect somebody. How could a car traveling at over 225mph while dueling with other cars not get your heart racing?
The 1974 race was fanastic with Johnny Rutherford and that M16 McLaren dueling with AJ Foyt in his coyote. Those guys ran lap after lap nose to tail. Foyt eventually lost his gearbox and JR went on to win his first. It was a very popular win as JR had had his share of bad luck over there. Anyways, after the race I recall sitting on my moms lap in our horribly ugly huge brown station wagon in the infield. Three men approached the car and one of them suddenly began to severely wobble and collapsed and fell into the adjacent car's front tire. He then yelled "whoooooo" and proceeded to give himself a Hamm's (Ugh!) beer shower. His friend pleaded with him to get up as they had a long drive ahead of them and had to be at work the next day. To no avail though. That guy just sat there yelling "whoooooo" and pouring more Hamm's beer on himself. I clearly recall my mom watching all of this and laughing. To this very day I always wonder if those guys actually made it back home on time. Then there was the hippie who stole an ice cream truck and careened down Georgetown road swerving to miss all the people. All you could hear was the dull thudding sound of full beer cans hitting the side of that lousy ice cream truck as his fellow partiers tried to stop him. I've got so many of these stories that I think I could actually write a book about it.
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