https://fastdeli.club/the-weird-and-wonderful-world-of-carb-day-at-the-indy-500/

SIMON CHAPMAN AT INDIANAPOLIS: I think I get it now. It’s not even race day, but I think I understand the hype. The Indianapolis 500 is going to be the most bonkers race I’ve ever been to, and watching six wienermobiles wobble around the speedway is just the beginning.

It’s six o’clock on Friday at Indianapolis Motor Speedway as I write this. The on-track action is done, the pit stop challenge is complete, and the Snake Pit is just getting started where debauchery is the name of the game, according to my Uber driver.

I tried to explain to him that the Bathurst 1000 was our Indianapolis 500. In reality, Bathurst doesn’t even come close to Indianapolis — and I say that after a practice day.

My first interaction with IMS is seeing the grandstand on the outside of the first turn. This isn’t just a race track, it’s got a real football stadium feel about it. Observing the cars entering turn one feels an awful lot like watching an NRL match at the Sydney Football Stadium, except this football field seats 350,000 fans.

The media centre is massive. Rows and rows and rows and rows of tables stretch about 100 metres, each with four televisions hanging from the ceiling. Just about every seat is taken. I’m about three-quarters of the way down the back.

The sheer scale of IMS is incredible in its own right. What’s more daunting is the thought of what’s to come.

Carb Day, which acts as the warm-up to the great race, gives teams and drivers two hours to practice. By 11am in the morning, the place is heaving. I’m warned by most who have been before that Sunday’s race is like nothing else. It’s hard enough to move around and the noise from the inside grandstand alone is immense. They know how to party too.

First impressions? The paddock is surprisingly accessible. Spectators rub shoulders with drivers, literally, as they walk to their cars for practice. Marcus Ericsson walked without a soul bothering him for an autograph. I hung out behind Gasoline Alley as the drivers wandered to pit lane. Most got cheered for, except Josef Newgarden who received some boos.

There’s just a few feet in most cases separating the throng of spectators from the cars too. It’s a neat experience. Behind the pit lane, it’s a wild scene. There’s a small alleyway for people to walk through, and just about anyone can get there if they’ve got their hands on the right pass. If you thought the garages at Winton were tight, this is even more compressed. Most teams have space for a pit stand, a toolbox, tyres, and not much else.

Seeing the cars in full flight for the first time is pretty awe-inspiring. It’s already given me a better appreciation of the series and the sheer danger involved. These cars are hooking.

The best is yet to come though.

Having breakfast this morning at my hotel, all I heard anyone talk about was the Weinie 500 – a two-lap race for Wienermobiles. As it turned out, all the drivers were staying at the same hotel. By eight o’clock they’d already suited up to take their sausages for a spin.

Seeing six of these gargantuan pork-filled jackets sat on the grid was hilarious. I laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. Every minute of the build-up was like a fever dream. Two Apache attack helicopters flew overhead. Fighter jets roared around the speedway. An old lady had a sign up that said ‘nice weiner’. Someone sang a song about sausages. Then the drivers jumped inside their Wienermobiles and forgot to go when the green flag dropped.

The crowd went wild! Mind you, most of them were three sheets to the wind by that point.

Somehow they’d managed to craft a villain arc for one of the Wienermobiles in the space of half an hour and everyone booed that particular sausage. Then one sausage had a blow-out! Steam started pouring from it like it had been left in the microwave for too long.

These had to be the two slowest competitive laps of Indianapolis Motor Speedway ever. It took about 10 minutes to finish, and it came down to a photo finish that definitely wasn’t orchestrated.

I could go on, but it’s probably best if I stop there. The pit stop challenge was nothing to write home about. The people had come to watch the sausages race. That was the reality. Not long after the Wienie 500, the crowd dispersed to prepare themselves for whatever debauchery was to come in the Snake Pit where Bret Michaels sang Talk Dirty To Me.