Checkpoint 3: The Event

I grew up in the car crazy Southern California during the 1990s. The CART series came to town every year at Long Beach, and for several years they raced at Fontana, too. I was fortunate enough to attend the races there before the decline of the series.

In 1998, I attended my first CART event at the California Speedway. Actually, I only went on Saturday, to watch Bobby Rahal qualify for the last time. He was quick, too----5th fastest in a competitive field of 25. During the evening, there was an autograph session out behind the grandstands. I remember lining up for almost a half hour to get Rahal's autograph; I had planned to ask him when he was going to come out of retirement and race again, but when I got to the front of the line, I was so awestruck meeting my childhood hero that I only mustered up the ability to say thank-you.

I also attended the 1999 and 2001 races at Long Beach. Both times, my friend and I had a paddock pass which gave us access to many of the CART drivers and team members. To amuse ourselves between practice sessions, we would try to get autographs from as many drivers as possible. Naturally, some of them were more accessible than others. I found it difficult to get a hold of the more popular drivers such as Al Unser, Jr. and Michael Andretti. But there were also drivers like ex-F3000 ace Nicolas Minassian, who just hung out on the side of his garage and seemed happy to sign my program, and Jimmy Vasser, who told me to "stay cool" on his autograph card.

Out at the track, it's hard to describe what it's like to see the actual race cars just several yards from you. The first thing you notice is the noise, especially the loud crunch associated with a gear shift. And then there is the smell of burning rubber and fuel. You just can't get any of that from a television.

In 1999, I attended the Los Angeles Grand Prix at Exposition Park. It was a ridiculously small street circuit featuring a unique "switchback" section of three parallel straights separated by two 180-degree hairpins. The headlining event was the NASCAR West series, but the main attraction for me was the American IndyCar Series, which raced a bunch of old Indy cars from the 1980s and early-1990s. As I recall, it was quite entertaining even though the drivers were only semi-professional (I do remember a fierce battle between Bill Tempero and Ken Petrie).

The same year, Los Angeles got its first short oval in many years, with the opening of the Irwindale Speedway. I attended a night race at the half-mile oval, which hosted mainly regional stock car and midget competitions. It's as far away from Formula 1 as you can get, but you have to go to these events like you would go to the cinemas to watch a mindless action flick. With the right mindset, it's actually quite entertaining. You can see the whole track from pretty much anywhere in the one grandstand. Absent any prior knowledge of the competitors, you start cheering for your favorite paint scheme. There are cars everywhere, there are overtaking maneuvers, there are the inevitable crashes, and everybody has fun.

Then I went to college and became disenchanted with racing. I tried to rekindle my interest in live racing by attending (and, in fact, volunteering at) the 2006 Champ Car race at San Jose. But what I saw was a pathetic attempt to stay relevant with 5-year-old race cars in front of people who didn't care and hardly knew their racing. The weekend was capped off by the unveiling of the Panoz DP01, which I regarded as the end of technological progress in American open-wheel racing.

Every day, I walk past the Almaden Boulevard hairpin on my way to work. The yellow curbing is still there, as well as tire marks. I wish I could tell you that it conjures up memories of great cars and drivers, great overtaking moves and dramatic accidents. But it doesn't. It's a monument to an era of Champ Car that is best forgotten.