Grand Prix

Years ago I enjoyed motorcar and motorcycle racing to the extent of camping infield during race meets. The objective was to get as close as possible to the vehicles as they whizzed by negotiating high-speed turns or passing each other on straightaways. I even participated in a few off-road enduro races enjoying the high-pitched whine of a well-tuned 2-cycle motorcycle engine.

Nowadays, when the annual downtown Grand Prix arrives, I leave town. The caged two-mile racecourse has a long straight stretch right alongside the marina. The Indycar series—an American version of Formula 1 cars—scream by making it impossible to talk or think in the marina.

There are big turnouts and profits generated by this annual event for the city, race promoters, and vendors. Temporary pontoon docks accommodate visiting boats at a rate of $4,000 for a 30-foot boat over the three-day race. It’s both an expensive way to make noise and to enjoy noise.

I fled to explore the solitude of deserted Florida beaches during race week.