Rain Gryphon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rain_gryphon) wrote2006-05-22 12:01 am
rain_gryphon) wrote2006-05-22 12:01 am
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The Akron Airdock caught fire last week, which is a shame. I used to drive by there several times a week. It's one of the biggest things you ever saw. I'm told it was originally commissioned by the Zeppelin Company as a maintenance building for cross-country passenger service, but was sold to Goodyear before it was completed, and never saw any passenger zeppelins.
This picture gives a proper idea of the size of it. It's entirely open inside, without any supporting columns or walls. It's basically the world's biggest Quonset hut. The Titanic would fit comfortably inside with room to park some airliners around it. You could open the end doors and fly a 747 through, if you had a brave enough pilot.
It's one of those buildings like the VAB, where it just doesn't look that large because the ventilators and windows are built to a heroic scale. You think you're fairly close to it, but you keep driving, and driving...
*****
Doves! They're in the air.
Doves! Beyond compare.
Doves! They steal the town.
Doves! They're upside-down.
*****
The weather forecast for next Sunday keeps improving. Thursday night it was being given as 60% chance of rain. Now it's down to just 10% :)
*****
I never did post my Five Hundred or USGP pictures from 2004, I've realized. They came right together that year, and it was all during the run-up the Morphicon #1. So...
It's early Saturday, and I'm getting up to go to Indianapolis. Flaster is annoyed. He wishes I'd quit taking his picture.
2004 was a locust year. The husks were everywhere, blown like drifts of dead leaves. As I dorve along the interstate, I could see them swirling and forming little piles and whorls by the side of the road. The noise just filled the world.
The day dawns cloudy and hazy. It's pretty obviously going to storm before the day is through, but everyone is hoping for the best. Because the track is dry, the Parade of Bands can begin on time. The pre-race parade dates back at least to the 1920s - nobody's actually certain when it began, apparently. This was one of my disappointments in High School. We won the State Championship for Marching Bands, were invited to the Cotton Bowl and Disney World, but never made the Parade of Bands.
The World's biggest drum, a tradition since 1946. University of Chicago had a larger one before the War, but Enrico Fermi managed to spill radioactive crap all over it when he was building his reactor under their grandstands, and it had to be buried.
One of the many blimps. The sky is just filled with blimps anymore. You can see how humid it is - the Indiana summer is beginning. In the midwest, in high summer, you can't see the horizon. It all just fades away to white.
Pushing out the cars.
The race begins.
One of the few photos taken of Larry Foyt. For a variety of reasons, I desperately wanted him to do well. He brought out the first yellow when he got involved in an accident with his own team mate. Shortly thereafter, it began to rain. He did actually return to the race, and make up one position.
Covering the cars. It's begun to rain, after only a few laps. The last of the field are still pulling into the pits, as the first ones in are being covered over. The bleachers in front of the glass windows are temporaries, erected in front of the F1 garages. You can just see the garage doors if you look.
It pisses and pours. This too is characteristic of an Indiana summer. In many ways, summers here are much like those in the rain forest.
People sheltering under the grandstands during the worst of the storm.
The well-loved jet dryers. Nobody wants rain, but if it has to rain, the jet dryers are at least crowd pleasers. They get a big cheer every time they come by. The Speedway owns about 10 of these, and the airport and Raceway Park have a couple too that they loan out on race day. They're just jet engines mounted on a weighted cart, and tuned for heat instead of thrust. Even at the top of the stands, you get a wave of warm kerosene-scented air washing over you. The track is magically dry where they pass. I've been going long enough to remember the old 'fire trucks', which were trucks with forced-air kerosene burners on the back. They'd drive slowly along with a big gush of orange flame shooting out of the burner bar on the back. The jet dryers are much better at drying the track, although it's probably about a tossup for coolness.
The vacuum truck sucks up the water that pools at the south end of the pits. I don't know why they never bothered to raise the track here. Water's pooled at this place since the late 70s at least. The Speedway does possess every conceivable piece of track maintenance equipment, though.
Marty Roth slides to a stop at the south end of the pits, having hit the wall partway up the front stretch.
Greg Ray lost much of his bodywork in the same accident. After a many laps long repair session, he returned to the track, hoping to pass people on attrition. This was his last Five Hundred, I suspect. In the mid 90s he was a perennial favourite to win, sitting on the pole several times when he drove for John Menard. #13 was a private entry that he scraped together without any sponsorship, one of the few unsponsored cars to compete since the War.
Eventual winner Buddy Rice leads Tony Kanaan into the first turn. These two fought a colossal duel in the closing laps of the race.
They skipped the usual post-race festivities, not even riding Rice around the track in the pace car. As soon as the race ended, they announced there was a tornado warning. I have never in my life seen the Speedway clear out that rapidly. When the tornado is coming, no-one screws around.
The tornadoes actually hit the south side of town, and missed the Speedway. That was the eeriest ride home I've ever had, though. The tornado front was crossing the highway at an angle, so it stayed about ten miles in front of me as I went. I kept passing chewed-up places where they had crossed the road, and seeing bits of scattered debris and emergency vehicles. Lots of people were stopped and sheltering under overpasses too, but I kept monitoring my radio and tracking the storm, to stay behind it.
Finally I got too close, and decided to stop at the White Castle in Mount Comfort. You can't see it, but there's a small tornado thundering past in the darkness about a quarter mile away. That was a memorable night.
This picture gives a proper idea of the size of it. It's entirely open inside, without any supporting columns or walls. It's basically the world's biggest Quonset hut. The Titanic would fit comfortably inside with room to park some airliners around it. You could open the end doors and fly a 747 through, if you had a brave enough pilot.
It's one of those buildings like the VAB, where it just doesn't look that large because the ventilators and windows are built to a heroic scale. You think you're fairly close to it, but you keep driving, and driving...
*****
Doves! They're in the air.
Doves! Beyond compare.
Doves! They steal the town.
Doves! They're upside-down.
*****
The weather forecast for next Sunday keeps improving. Thursday night it was being given as 60% chance of rain. Now it's down to just 10% :)
*****
I never did post my Five Hundred or USGP pictures from 2004, I've realized. They came right together that year, and it was all during the run-up the Morphicon #1. So...
It's early Saturday, and I'm getting up to go to Indianapolis. Flaster is annoyed. He wishes I'd quit taking his picture.
2004 was a locust year. The husks were everywhere, blown like drifts of dead leaves. As I dorve along the interstate, I could see them swirling and forming little piles and whorls by the side of the road. The noise just filled the world.
The day dawns cloudy and hazy. It's pretty obviously going to storm before the day is through, but everyone is hoping for the best. Because the track is dry, the Parade of Bands can begin on time. The pre-race parade dates back at least to the 1920s - nobody's actually certain when it began, apparently. This was one of my disappointments in High School. We won the State Championship for Marching Bands, were invited to the Cotton Bowl and Disney World, but never made the Parade of Bands.
The World's biggest drum, a tradition since 1946. University of Chicago had a larger one before the War, but Enrico Fermi managed to spill radioactive crap all over it when he was building his reactor under their grandstands, and it had to be buried.
One of the many blimps. The sky is just filled with blimps anymore. You can see how humid it is - the Indiana summer is beginning. In the midwest, in high summer, you can't see the horizon. It all just fades away to white.
Pushing out the cars.
The race begins.
One of the few photos taken of Larry Foyt. For a variety of reasons, I desperately wanted him to do well. He brought out the first yellow when he got involved in an accident with his own team mate. Shortly thereafter, it began to rain. He did actually return to the race, and make up one position.
Covering the cars. It's begun to rain, after only a few laps. The last of the field are still pulling into the pits, as the first ones in are being covered over. The bleachers in front of the glass windows are temporaries, erected in front of the F1 garages. You can just see the garage doors if you look.
It pisses and pours. This too is characteristic of an Indiana summer. In many ways, summers here are much like those in the rain forest.
People sheltering under the grandstands during the worst of the storm.
The well-loved jet dryers. Nobody wants rain, but if it has to rain, the jet dryers are at least crowd pleasers. They get a big cheer every time they come by. The Speedway owns about 10 of these, and the airport and Raceway Park have a couple too that they loan out on race day. They're just jet engines mounted on a weighted cart, and tuned for heat instead of thrust. Even at the top of the stands, you get a wave of warm kerosene-scented air washing over you. The track is magically dry where they pass. I've been going long enough to remember the old 'fire trucks', which were trucks with forced-air kerosene burners on the back. They'd drive slowly along with a big gush of orange flame shooting out of the burner bar on the back. The jet dryers are much better at drying the track, although it's probably about a tossup for coolness.
The vacuum truck sucks up the water that pools at the south end of the pits. I don't know why they never bothered to raise the track here. Water's pooled at this place since the late 70s at least. The Speedway does possess every conceivable piece of track maintenance equipment, though.
Marty Roth slides to a stop at the south end of the pits, having hit the wall partway up the front stretch.
Greg Ray lost much of his bodywork in the same accident. After a many laps long repair session, he returned to the track, hoping to pass people on attrition. This was his last Five Hundred, I suspect. In the mid 90s he was a perennial favourite to win, sitting on the pole several times when he drove for John Menard. #13 was a private entry that he scraped together without any sponsorship, one of the few unsponsored cars to compete since the War.
Eventual winner Buddy Rice leads Tony Kanaan into the first turn. These two fought a colossal duel in the closing laps of the race.
They skipped the usual post-race festivities, not even riding Rice around the track in the pace car. As soon as the race ended, they announced there was a tornado warning. I have never in my life seen the Speedway clear out that rapidly. When the tornado is coming, no-one screws around.
The tornadoes actually hit the south side of town, and missed the Speedway. That was the eeriest ride home I've ever had, though. The tornado front was crossing the highway at an angle, so it stayed about ten miles in front of me as I went. I kept passing chewed-up places where they had crossed the road, and seeing bits of scattered debris and emergency vehicles. Lots of people were stopped and sheltering under overpasses too, but I kept monitoring my radio and tracking the storm, to stay behind it.
Finally I got too close, and decided to stop at the White Castle in Mount Comfort. You can't see it, but there's a small tornado thundering past in the darkness about a quarter mile away. That was a memorable night.
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Locusts are a variety of grasshopper known for stripping land of every edible piece of vegetation in minutes.
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no subject