First-ever SJ Grand Prix

My friend and I attended the first ever San Jose Grand Prix this past Sunday. Psyched up for this inaugural event, the General Admission crowd was ripe for racing. And, as it was 108-degrees out, just plain ripe. We fought the milling throngs (rumored to be 150,000!), eventually getting close enough to the retention fence and blockades to see nothing more than the protruding rear wing on each of the eighteen open-wheel Champ Cars whiz past. At 170mph along the straightaway where we stood, the wings were a blur. Albiet a very loud blur. Fortunately, there were four Jumbotrons in each quadrant of the track displaying the network television feed. But it seemed pointless to spend $45 (+ $15 in fees, thanks TicketMaster) just to watch the race on a big, bad TV. So we sought out a higher vantage point, finding an excellent one in the parking garage of the Adobe buidling. We could see the main straightaway and a ninety-degree turn nicely until security realized we weren’t employees and asked us to leave. Later, while downing $5 hotdogs and $7 beers, we noticed that the race had abruptly ended, leaving us in the dark as to who the winner was. In fact, I didn’t find out until just today. Some guy named Sebastien Bourdais. Never heard of him.

My friend and I attended the first ever San Jose Grand Prix this past Sunday. Psyched up for this inaugural event, the General Admission crowd was ripe for racing. And, as it was 108-degrees out, just plain ripe. We fought the milling throngs (rumored to be 150,000!), eventually getting close enough to the retention fence and blockades to see nothing more than the protruding rear wing on each of the eighteen open-wheel Champ Cars whiz past. At 170mph along the straightaway where we stood, the wings were a blur. Albiet a very loud blur. Fortunately, there were four Jumbotrons in each quadrant of the track displaying the network television feed. But it seemed pointless to spend $45 (+ $15 in fees, thanks TicketMaster) just to watch the race on a big, bad TV. So we sought out a higher vantage point, finding an excellent one in the parking garage of the Adobe buidling. We could see the main straightaway and a ninety-degree turn nicely until security realized we weren’t employees and asked us to leave. Later, while downing $5 hotdogs and $7 beers, we noticed that the race had abruptly ended, leaving us in the dark as to who the winner was. In fact, I didn’t find out until just today. Some guy named Sebastien Bourdais. Never heard of him.

My friend and I attended the first ever San Jose Grand Prix this past Sunday. Psyched up for this inaugural event, the General Admission crowd was ripe for racing. And, as it was 108-degrees out, just plain ripe. We fought the milling throngs (rumored to be 150,000!), eventually getting close enough to the retention fence and blockades to see nothing more than the protruding rear wing on each of the eighteen open-wheel Champ Cars whiz past. At 170mph along the straightaway where we stood, the wings were a blur. Albiet a very loud blur. Fortunately, there were four Jumbotrons in each quadrant of the track displaying the network television feed. But it seemed pointless to spend $45 (+ $15 in fees, thanks TicketMaster) just to watch the race on a big, bad TV. So we sought out a higher vantage point, finding an excellent one in the parking garage of the Adobe buidling. We could see the main straightaway and a ninety-degree turn nicely until security realized we weren’t employees and asked us to leave. Later, while downing $5 hotdogs and $7 beers, we noticed that the race had abruptly ended, leaving us in the dark as to who the winner was. In fact, I didn’t find out until just today. Some guy named Sebastien Bourdais. Never heard of him.