I was born on May 25th, 1975 much to the annoyance of my Father and the Doc that was delivering me as I was interrupting the radio broadcast of the Indy. Strangely my Mother didn’t have the same view when the story is told by her.

It wasn’t until I was 12 or 13 that I was allowed to join my Father in his annual pilgrimage to Indy. We piled into an RV and drove all night, parked across the street from the speedway. One year we had these horrible mesh back hats with “Iowa, big cock country” and a picture of a pheasant, I had no clue at the time of the other meaning. We went for eight years, always sat on the pit straight not too far away from the yard of bricks.

Later when F1 came I went to every race with my Uncle. We did the RV thing, even motorcycled one year. I remember from the first F1 race we snuck onto the track and walked it with all the teams, kissed the yard of bricks, actually hung out with a Ferrari mechanic on the pit wall.

I’ve seen and done so much at Indy I can’t pick one thing that stands out except Jim Neighbors, when he (used) to sing ‘Back Home Again’ that pretty much is the Indy 500 and to some extent motor racing to me.