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A Bowl of Indy Stew – Day 3, 1986

Hang on just a minute…it’s back here somewhere…just let me move the ice cream…there it is!  Way back in the freezer in an unmarked Tupperware container is the very last bit of the 1986 Indy Stew.  Let me look.  Yep, there’s one bowl left.  I just need to stick it in the microwave and give it a quick stir.  And here it is.  The last bowl of Indy Stew from Day 3 in 1986.  If interested, I suggest you click the link to check out these other servings from 1986 in “A Bowl of Indy Stew” archives.

If you remember, our race goers have been guilty of trespassing, avoided the law, laughed at vomit, watched our biker buddy scare a citizen, and witnessed assault with a hammer.  And now, after three nights on 16th Street and two rainouts, we are entering the gates at IMS for the third time hoping for a smooth landing.

As we entered Turn 2, we saw an open area to park my VW Rabbit, but as we pulled in, an angry young man waving a 2 iron told me that he was saving the ten or twelve spots there for his friends, and we should move along.  He waggled the 2 iron menacingly.  I’m not small.  I shut down the car and got out.  He stepped closer, informing me that his friends would soon be there, and it would be in our best interest to leave.  My friend Gil, an offensive lineman in college, stepped out of the passenger side and looked over the top of the car at golf club guy.  Still emboldened by his club and inebriation, golf club guy stepped closer, raising his voice and frowning powerfully.  I just smiled.  I smiled because our buddy Marv was just starting to get out of the back seat of my small car.  It must have seemed like a nightmare for golf club guy. His buddies had not arrived, and Marv was unpacking his 6′ 5′, 300 pound self from the back seat.  A nicer man you will never meet, but Marv had been in the football trenches as a college defensive lineman.  He knew how to menace.  And he did.  Imagine Swede from Heartbreak Ridge [1] walking around the corner to intimidate Gunny Highway (Clint Eastwood).  Except golf club guy was no Gunny Highway.  After giving us the eye for a few more moments, golf club guy made a great choice.  He said we could keep the spot, but would we help him hold the others?  One confrontation down.

Since the race was now on its third day, you could sit where you pleased, so we decided to see how the race looked from the outside of Turn 2.  We headed for the SE Vista.  All went well until a gentleman wearing black pants, black shirt, black vest, and black boots walked up the stairs.  For whatever reason, an old song called “Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots” [2] went through my mind.  I sang, apparently not softly, the lyrics, “He wore black denim trousers and motorcycle boots.”  From behind me came a female voice singing, “And a black leather jacket with an eagle on the back.”  What could I do?  I turned around to see a quite fetching young lady and sang, “He rode a hopped up cycle that took off like a gun.”  She smiled and replied, “That fool was the terror of Highway 101.”  And we both sang “Doo Wa, doo wa!”  I’m not making this up.  I have witnesses, including a rather perplexed and most definitely scowling boyfriend.  We sang the other verses to the song and had a good laugh.  Later, as I was applying suntan lotion to my back, she asked if she could be of assistance.  Having been taught that good manners meant not saying no to a lady, I allowed her to apply the lotion.  Maybe she had been drinking, I don’t know, but it seemed to take a good, long time for that lotion to soak in.  At some point, I heard her obviously irritated boyfriend say, “Do you think that lotion is rubbed in yet?”  Point taken, I thanked the young lady and turned my attention back to the race.

Being exhausted from the night before (read the previous entry “A Bowl of Indy Stew – The Night Before Day 3, 1986”), I began napping in my seat and was told by my buddies that I was turning my head to listen to the cars go by but keeping my eyes closed.  I informed them later it was a scientific experiment regarding the Doppler effect.  They did not buy it.

From all indications, Bobby Rahal won the race, beating Kevin Cogan in the last laps.  It only took three sleepless nights, two rainy days, and a Saturday in the sun to get it done.  And there is distinct possibility that I did not tell all of the stories of 1986.  Find me at IMS on almost any day in May when cars are on the track, and I will tell you the rest of the story.

I guess it’s about time to start cooking up another big pot of Indy Stew from a different year.  I’ll just need to run to IMS for some 2012 ingredients.


1.  OK, so Marv didn’t look quite like this, but he did to golf club guy.

2.  I have found THREE versions of the song “Black Leather Jacket and Motorcycle Boots.”

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3 thoughts on “A Bowl of Indy Stew – Day 3, 1986

  1. Mike (15 Days In May) on said:

    Three days of swapping stories and you never got around to this one, Mark? Holding out on us!

  2. I never got around to a lot of them. I will be glad to fill in the blanks. I just need to go all raconteur on you…

  3. Absolutely! Go as raconteur (I had to look that one up) as you’d like. Love hearing good stories.

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