The old yellow-shirted ushers, all wearing Indy caps, were trying to herd us along, but the Ferrari fan kept saying that everyone but Michael Schumacher and Ross Brawn had left, so we walked really slow and waited. Finally, it was getting late and he and his friend said goodbye. I walked slowly out towards the street. The yellow-shirts were yelling at us to leave, or at least get on the sidewalk, when all of a sudden who comes driving up but Jean Todt, driven by the stocky chief mechanic. He rolled down his window, called us over and signed some of their stuff. Me, not really being into autographs, handed him my little free program and he signed it, “Merci Jean”. Maybe 20 seconds later, an Indiana State Trooper came roaring up, squealing hard on his brakes, jumps out of his cruiser, looking a lot like the Simpson’s chief Wiggans with a crew-cut, and started screaming at the top of his lungs at us to get out of here.

Instead I walked across the street and ordered a hot dog with fried onions on it,  sat down on the grass and started eating. I had this uncanny feeling like something was about to happen. At this point the street was deserted, and it was now dark out. As I chewed the dog, the sound of a distant rumbling pricked my half-deaf ear. I stood up, and here came Michael Schumacher on his bike, he pulled up to the stop right in front of me, looked left, then right, then turned left and throttled past me on his way towards downtown. I wanted to yell, “Careful on that bike at night”.

That’s how I was involved in my head-on accident in 1978. I was hit by drunken teens in their Dad’s 50’s Plymouth, with no headlights on. I couldn’t avoid it, and totaled my beloved BSA motorcycle that I begged my father to buy me, hitting their windshield at around 70 miles an hour. It paralyzed me for awhile, but I guess, thank God for Ontario helmet laws.

Buying some film was the first order of the night, then it was off to downtown where there was supposed to be a good Blues Bar. The Slippery Noodle proved to be a good time, it’s also the oldest bar in Indianapolis. In the middle of town there is a huge statue depicting the civil war, it is quite impressive. The weekend at Indy was sunny and hot, along with my substantial intake of ale, I was able to get to sleep early and awoke quite early as well.

Sunday morning I was up before the sun, donning my $1.50 Indy cap I had bought at the same place as my camera, (Value Village in Windsor, Ontario) and my complimentary shirt from Montreal, I headed across the street to the Speedway. Not realizing only workers and staff were allowed in, I walked right by the yellow-shirts as if I was one of them. Standing near the entrance where the Ferrari fan said Michael Schumacher had entered before, I got my camera ready just in case.

As the sun started to rise, one by one all of the mechanics from all the teams started walking by me, “Hey good luck today fellows” I said, checking my old camera from time to time to see that it was still operational. From maybe 50 yards I could see that David Richards was on the move, he was walking fast but I still got a great shot of him! Then all of a sudden Peter Sauber walks by, I say “Peter, hi how are you, what no cigar?” He didn’t have his trademark stogie with him.

“Ah, it is too early” he said.

“Well I’m from Windsor, Ontario, they sell Cubans up there eh?”

His eyes lit up, “Oh yes, I like the Cubans, but I also like the Dominican Republic’s too, they are very good”. We talked a bit more, and he posed for a picture with me with a big smile, what a good apple.