She is calling…

(Originally posted by Paul to Planet-IRL.com.)

As you emerge from the tunnel, you wave at the guard sitting in the stand on your left.  Past the guard, you notice the large octagonal, rotating score board. In the distance, you recognize the massive double-decker E and B Grandstands. Your eyes swing toward the northwest, past the pylon and the pagoda. The Terrace Suites block your view of turn four some five-eighths of a mile away. For the umpteenth time, you read the words on the Museum, “Indianapolis Motor Speedway — Racing Capital of the World,” as if maybe they’ve changed this time. The spectator mounds hide the long back straightaway, but you finally catch a glimpse of the track again coming towards you as your eyes continue to move south. You see the Executive Suites that sit outside of turn two. Once again, you think the banking in the southeast turn looks much greater than 9°-12’. You scan across the south chute and again towards turn one, past the Southwest Vista and again towards E stand.

You know you’ve entered a special place. Every time you enter the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, there is a memory to be made.

It’s not just another track. More than a million people enter these hallowed gates every year, and the voices of the track speak to each of those visitors. It’s not just another voice. It’s the voice of champions, of fallen heroes, of today’s legends. It’s your own voice of years gone by recalling the first time you set foot on these fabled grounds. If you’re lucky enough to share this moment with a companion, one of you will no doubt say, “It never gets old, does it?”

She is old, but every spring, she is new again. She awakens from her winter slumber with tenacity and vivaciousness. She longs to accept her visitors and those who would try to conquer her. She loves those from whom she receives loyalty, and in return, she rewards her subjects with experiences and memories not to be found elsewhere in the world. She impatiently waits to erupt with excitement, sending forth a mass of balloons to lands well outside her borders inviting all to receive her glory. She yearns for the day when 33 of the world’s fastest, most skilled drivers will once again set forth on a journey 500 miles in the making over her 2.5 miles of history. When she sleeps again, she will honor her conqueror and open the door to the world’s most exclusive racing fraternity.

Yes, she is old and has cried many tears, and she has mocked those who failed her the respect that she asks. But in her age is her beauty. In her beauty is her challenge, and in her challenge is the glory known only to 67 men, each with a life story that is ultimately defined as being a champion of the Indianapolis 500. Her faithful subjects wait once more until her solitude is shattered by the dreams of a new generation, dreams that all end with the legends of her past waiting to welcome a new member to their society.

She’s weathered wars. She’s weathered storms.  And she will no doubt weather much, much more.  But she stands as a testament — a testament to hopes and dreams, to labor and sweat, to blood and tears, to sorrow and pain, and to elation and reward. The world around her has changed greatly since she was born 100 years ago. Her own face has been altered many times, but her soul and her spirit remain untarnished through all these years. She’s been challenged by others but she has never been matched, for she stands alone in greatness. She is mighty.

She is the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and today she welcomes us all Back Home Again.