Baptism by turbo: 5 Things I learned at my first IndyCar race

1. IndyCars Don’t Sound Like Anything Else

Photograph courtesy Firestone

On video, they come across as buzzy, like an angry shop vac with an expensive exhaust. In person? Completely different.

The 2.2-liter twin-turbo V6 makes this layered howl, mechanical and raw, with a top-end shriek that feels like it drills straight into your rib cage. Every throttle stab ricochets across the concrete of Nashville Superspeedway, turning the entire facility into a giant echo chamber.

Photograph by James Wood

I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. Earplugs became survival gear, but I still left with my head buzzing in the best possible way.

2. Superspeedway Speed Feels Different in Person

Photograph courtesy Firestone

I’ve watched oval-track racing before, but Nashville Superspeedway showed me something new about IndyCar. On TV, the cars look smooth, almost serene, like they’re just flowing through big, graceful arcs. In person? It’s violence disguised as poetry.

The entry speeds are shocking. You see them rocket into Turn 1 and your brain insists, “No way they’re going to make that corner.” But they do–lap after lap–slicing within inches of the wall, flat out, with turbulence so strong you can feel it in the grandstands.

The draft games are constant. One car slingshots by, another tucks in, and the whole pack pulses like a living thing. You suddenly understand why superspeedway strategy is its own art form–timing, momentum and guts all play equal roles. Watching it unfold at Nashville, I realized this isn’t just turning left. It’s a knife fight at 200 mph.

3. Pit Stops Are Over Before You Blink

Photograph courtesy Firestone

TV does pit stops no justice. You think you know how fast 7 seconds is. You don’t. Blink at the wrong time and you’ll miss the entire thing: jack up, tires swapped, fuel dumped, car gone. It’s so absurdly efficient it almost looks fake, like someone edited out the boring parts.

But what really stood out is the sound. Forget the air guns of NASCAR or F1. IndyCar pit stops are this symphony of clanking fuel rigs, hissy air jacks and quick bursts of human chaos before the car slams back onto the pavement and screams away. It’s violent, precise and addictive to watch.

4. The Strategy Is as Wild as the Driving

Photograph courtesy Firestone

On TV, strategy talk sounds like filler. In person, you realize it’s life or death for race position.

Fuel windows, yellow flags, tire compounds–it all matters, and you can watch a mid-pack car leapfrog into podium territory just because the crew chief nailed the timing of a stop.

And speaking of tires, watching the difference between fresh rubber and worn-out stints was eye-opening. The cars on new Firestones had bite, diving into corners like they were magnetized.

Photograph by James Wood

The ones on old sets looked like they were skating, twitching through exits like someone had swapped the asphalt for soap. Suddenly, tire strategy wasn’t abstract–it was visible right there in front of me.

5. The Culture Is Pure Superspeedway Americana

Photograph courtesy Firestone

If F1 feels like a champagne gala, IndyCar at a superspeedway feels like a county fair strapped to rocket fuel. At Nashville Superspeedway, it’s tailgates, grills firing up before dawn, fans waving flags from lawn chairs, and cooler-laden golf carts zipping between parking lots and the track.

People bring banners for their favorite drivers, debate setups while tossing footballs, and share beers like they’ve been doing it for decades.

It’s casual but passionate. Everyone knows their driver, knows the history, and is ready to cheer, groan and scream for 200-plus laps.

Photograph by James Wood

And yet, amid the barbecue smoke and fan chaos, there’s a palpable sense of professionalism: Teams are sharp, cars are precision machines, and the drivers are stone-cold beasts behind the wheel.

Superspeedway IndyCar racing is approachable, fun and communal–but it never sacrifices its high-stakes intensity.

Final Thoughts

Walking out of my first IndyCar race, I realized two things. One, IndyCar racing is criminally underrated compared to the attention F1 gets.

And two, there’s no substitute for being there. The noise, the speed, the smell of ethanol fuel–none of it translates through a TV screen.

My first IndyCar race was like a first concert: You don’t realize what you’ve been missing until the amps kick on and your chest rattles. And now I’m hooked.