I ate my track picnic at my kitchen counter this year. I don't know if I've ever done that before, so I'm writing it down for future reference. The fried chicken was as delicious as any other year, though it felt weird eating it over a plate. Every year, the Indianapolis 500 is our city's most special event. It's embedded in our culture, so grandly, so omnipresent, it's hard to find a person or a place in the area untouched by it. The event and its long list of traditions can feel delicate in some ways, reliant on something as unpredictable as the weather. In other ways, it feels as strong as Indiana limestone. When a few hundred thousand diverse people have a shared purpose, it's amazing how well we can adapt. A weather delay that forecasters began predicting in the middle of the week actually came true. I love not trusting the National Weather Service when it gives me bad news five days ahead of time. I treat those people like NBA referees: every call they make is the beginning of the argument, not the end of it. But they got it right this time. Golf claps for them this weekend, and I will go back to not trusting them by Saturday. We ride our bikes to the track on race day, a tradition I recommend for anyone capable within about ten miles of Speedway. It's a thirty-minute ride for us and we buy advanced parking from Bike Indy right outside the main entrance. It's so convenient, we waited at home for the weather to pass. Much like my strange race picnic, I took my traditional post-race nap before the race this year. Odd, yes, but I'm too old to complain about any nap. I started to stir around 2:00 p.m. and when I realized it wasn't raining, I jumped a little. I yelled at my no-napping wife for a weather report, and she told me things were looking good, so I better get it together. The text messages from our bike group started chiming in while I was in the shower, and at 3:00 p.m., nine of us left the neighborhood for the track. When we got close to our seats in Stand A, we wondered what the concession stands would run out of first. With a four-hour delay, that's like hosting two races to the vendors. Beer was the consensus pick, but we were wrong. Food ran out first. I'd like to think that collectively we simply drink less these days, but that can't possibly be true.   Connect with Michael Leppert Visit michaelleppert.com to read the full post and links to any resources or articles mentioned. Twitter @michaelleppert  Facebook at Michael Leppert  

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