I went to see the MotoGP round at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, where 250-horsepower motorcycles approach 200mph, so naturally you might wonder why I’m showing a photo of Bambi in a 30mph zone. It’s mainly because I do MotoGP a little differently from most race fans.
Watching motorcycle roadracing and going on a motorcycle camping trip are two of my favorite things, so for the past few years I’ve combined those interests into a short trip to Indiana for the annual race at the Speedway. (Fortunately, I skipped the first year, in 2008, when the remnants of Hurricane Ike cut short the race and drenched all concerned. I had enough to do dealing with the week-long power outage at home in Ohio.) But while many race fans take advantage of the “camping” available across the street from the Speedway, I’m not a fan of pitching my tent in a shadeless, urban, vacant lot.
My approach involves trading some proximity for some tranquility and natural surroundings. My favorite spot (so far) for my annual Indy trip is Brown County State Park, located about 40 miles south of Indianapolis. Not only does it have some of the most entertaining motorcycle roads in the area, such as Route 135 shown to the right, but the park also has a lodge, swimming pool, fishing lakes and horses for hire, and the nearby town of Nashville is known for its wealth of restaurants, art galleries and other attractions, should I need any of those amenities.
Of course I don’t need any of those amenities.
All I really need is a quiet and shady spot to pitch my tent. By August standards, the sun rises late here at the very western frontier of the Eastern time zone, so I’m usually awake on race day while it’s still dark. That gives me time for breakfast on my way north to Indianapolis.
At the Speedway, the Moto3, Moto2 and MotoGP bikes respectively buzz, scream and roar around the infield road course, and I take in all the sensations I just can’t experience at home, where I typically watch every MotoGP race on television. This year, that included the unexpected sensation of smelling the burning oil of Ben Spies’ Yamaha as his engine self-destructed on the Indy straight, sending a cloud of smoke drifting over the south end stands where I sat. (Not a good year for U.S. riders on home soil: 13th, 15th, 16th, DNS, DNF.)
Then, after a day of noise and bright colors and high speeds, I ride back to the tranquility and drab nature tones and walking pace of my campsite. The campground is now quiet on a Sunday night, with all the families having packed up the kids and gone home to get ready for school to start.
This year, like most years, nearly all of the more than 500 campsites in Brown County State Park were taken on the Saturday night before the race. About 65,000 people attended the race at the Speedway. I have never seen any evidence that those two crowds have anyone in common, other than me.
Combining roaring racebikes and peaceful woods into one weekend experience doesn’t seem to be the common way. Just my way.
