My Christmas

Aaron Bearden
Jul 25, 2017 · 4 min read

I can travel to multiple racetracks and other locations near and far, but none of them will ever compare to Indianapolis Motor Speedway. And while it may be an unpopular opinion, no race for me will ever top the Brickyard 400.

Sunday’s Brickyard 400 marked my 19th trip to Indianapolis on Monster Energy NASCAR Cup Series race day, an annual voyage dating back to Dale Jarrett’s win en-route to the series championship in 1999.

Back then I was only six years old, and the ‘Brickyard’ was packed.

I actually started going to Indy with my mother and father a few years earlier — I believe in 1996. Because of that the first race I ever took in at the facility was actually an IROC (International Race of Champions) race.

Those days and races were fun, but nothing compared to Cup Series race day.

I remember that first trip vividly.

I was woken up on the old living room couch long before the sun rose, just a couple hours after my excited childhood mind had finally eased, allowing me to sleep. I got ready quickly, eating a quick breakfast and drinking some water while Mom filled the cooler and Dad put on his shoes and socks.

We headed out early — Mom and Dad enjoying the peace and quiet of a cool Midwestern morning with a thermos full of coffee while I played Pokémon on the Gameboy Color.

The drive was smooth, at least until we hit Indianapolis.

Here’s the thing most don’t talk about much from those days (or even modern Indianapolis 500s), you had to get to the track early to get a good parking spot.

That day we thought we’d left in time, having beat the sunrise to begin our 90-minute quest to the Circle City.

We were wrong.

After an hour of fighting through traffic we finally got parked in the track’s infamous Coke Lot. We got our things out of the trunk (cooler, seat cushions, etc.) and headed for the track.

The one thing I’ll never forget from those days were the crowds. There were people everywhere.

Maybe it’s because I was only six years old, but I can remember being borderline overwhelmed by the crowd at first. I had to hold Mom’s hand while we tried to keep pace with my Dad, snaking through traffic like the stars and Hall of Famers we would watch on-track hours later.

Try as we might to make time, setbacks were unavoidable. With heavy packs of people lining every inch of the 2.5-mile oval’s facility, traffic operated much like it did on Interstate 465. Traffic ebbed and flowed, sped up and slowed down.

That first year I sat across from the start-finish line on the frontstretch. We got to our seats early and relaxed as the crowd filled in around us. I took Dad’s binoculars and looked on in awe as my heroes slowly began to work their way to pit road.

I can remember the thoughts filling my head as if it were yesterday.

Oh my God. That’s Rusty Wallace.

Look! There’s Jeff Gordon.

That’s… That’s DALE EARNHARDT.

When I was done fanning out over the heroes on pit lane, I took a moment to look at the crowd around me.

It was more than my six-year-old mind could fathom.

Before that moment I’d only seen people in groups as we walked by them. Given that setting I was able to compartmentalize them all in my head.

However now, as I looked and saw a quarter of a million people filling the grandstands with me, I couldn’t dare process what I was seeing. In this moment I found myself amid a crowd of people that dwarfed the entire population of the city I grew up by.

At the time my excitement was almost too much to bear. But eventually time continued to pass. Pre-race festivities began. The anthem was sung. Engines were fired. Cars were sent on-track.

I’d seen the field before, having watched intently as they all stormed past me during Saturday’s traditional practice sessions and qualifying. But now they were all in front of me at once — 43 gladiators, ready for 400 miles of war.

Moments later I looked to my left. The pace car was pulling off-track.

The field eased toward the start-finish line.

The green-flag flew.

For the first time in my life, I heard the chill-inducing roar of a full NASCAR field roaring past me.

From that moment on, regardless of the on-track product or crowd there to see it, Brickyard 400 race day has been my favorite day of the year.

I suppose it always will, unless the race fades away.

Aaron Bearden

Owner and CEO of Motorsports Beat. Writer of the Morning Warmup newsletter. Chronic overthinker, average dancer and low-key Tottenham fan.

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