The Brickyard

Rookie Orientation

The Indianapolis Motor Speedway, or to be specific, the stands, didn't look impressive on the approached from the east. In fact, they looked like the stands for a football stadium (Which football? American or Association? Yes.) when they finally came into view, emerging from behind the trees lining Little Eagle Creek, which passed under West 16th Street. The first thing Kathrin saw from the van was the Brickyard Crossing clubhouse, then the speedway's stands off in the distance to the west. Passing the Brickyard Crossing's car park, the stands seemed to get larger, despite being obscured by a few more trees along the way, and then, before she knew it, the most famous racetrack in the world was insight.

Despite the unassuming exterior, it was the history of the inside that caused Kathrin's breath to hitch, her chest tightening. She thought about the names that had raced there; Foyt, Mears, Andretti, Schumacher, Clark, Hill, Unser, Castroneves, Earnhardt, Montoya, etc.

Of all the racetracks in America she'd been to, this had to be the first time she'd been here...

Hans, sitting to her left, chuckled. "Anxious?" he asked.

"Very," she answered. Her deadpan brevity made him chuckle.

"What'd y'all say?" the driver asked. They'd been speaking German.

"I was just reassuring her," said Hans.

"So, y'all fans?" the driver asked.

"Nein," Kathrin replied, despite her English fluency. "I'm going to be in the rookie orientation today."

"Oh, good luck," said the van driver.

Child-like glee nearly overtook her as the van turned and drove underneath the south short chute, emerging to see the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Hall of Fame and Museum greeting them like it was Emerald City. She was here. She was here at Indianapolis Motor Speedway! He drove north on Hulman Blvd and turned left on 5th street, before pulling into the parking lot and stopping there. Kathrin jumped out first. It was a chilly mid-morning, and the first thing she noticed was the signature whine of an IndyCar engine zooming past. Her vision began fogging up, and she felt something wet running down her cheeks. It wasn't until Hans caught her attention that she realized she was crying.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"It's... so... beautiful..." she sobbed. "I'm actually here!"

"Yes, you are," said Hans. "Savor the moment, but don't take too long. We have some work to do, first."

"Alright," she sniffed. She felt the papers whack against her stomach. She would have tightened those muscles if she knew he was going to do that, but knew it was in jest. She gathered herself as another car sped past.

The first thing she did was don the lanyard and hard card displaying her entry credentials. The papers she held were other things she needed; residency papers, a copy of her latest physical and psychological examination, a copy of her German birth certificate, her resume, a letter of recommendation from Formula Renault, and copies of her IndyCar and ACCUS-FIA licenses. The organization required a lot of paperwork that needed to be filled out just to race in the series, and she was about to undertake her rookie orientation program. She didn't need to take her oval certification. IndyCar had let her take the oval orientation at Rockingham Motor Speedway in England.

Then, picking up her race bags, she followed Hans into the garage area. She caught glimpses of teams working on their cars before the first practice session after the orientation program's completion. Most of these drivers were older than her. Some of them, while they might not look old enough to be her father, must have been as old as Hans. The tightness of excitement changed, becoming tightness of intimidation. Then she felt a reassuring hand on her back. Hans nudged her forward until she was next to him. She sighed, giving him a "thank-you" glance, one he returned.