I’m sure there are thousands of people who haven’t availed themselves of close proximity to visit the world’s most famous racetrack.  Battling the crowds, not being able to see the entire course from any one spot (except maybe the tip-top of the scoring pagoda) or general disinterest in auto racing keep lots of people away from the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

In my younger years I used to visit the track each May for both qualifying and the race itself when there was only one race a year at the Brickyard – the open-cockpit cars of the Indianapolis 500. In those days I virtually had the run of the place with working press credentials as a sportswriter. Beyond that, even though I’d never get behind the wheel of a racing machine myself, I have an appreciation for the competition of man and machine in a day of racing. But as the years passed, the thought of battling traffic to get inside the famed oval for little more than brief glimpses of race cars whizzing by appealed to me less and less.

Thus I had never been to the Brickyard 400, either for qualifying or the race. In fact I hadn’t seen a stock car up close and personal, except for the machines occasionally displayed at malls or the state fair or whatever.

 So when Eddie, my son-in-law, was looking for someone to go with him to the Brickyard qualifying day this year, and he offered to do the driving, I counted it as a good opportunity to take in some NASCAR action. Besides, it would give me a chance to see what changes have been made at the speedway.

One big surprise was the ease with which we got inside the track. Arriving about an hour and a half before qualifying, we came unimpeded down Georgetown Road to 30th Street, made a left and were waved into the North 40 without standing in traffic at all. Ten minutes later we were parked, albeit a mile or so from where most of the action was, and on our way through the gauntlet of souvenir trailers that line the middle of the infield.

From there we headed to the garage area, the better to capture a glimpse of the cars and drivers coming through Gasoline Alley on the way to the pit area for qualifying.

We were about three or four deep along the fence, getting only brief glimpses of the cars as they were pushed through. First, the term “stock car” is a complete misnomer. The only thing stock about them is the mandatory Car of Tomorrow chassis; they look something like today’s racier passenger vehicles, but the guts of each machine are designed to facilitate nothing but speed and the sustenance of the single occupant.

The drivers followed their cars, usually by a few minutes. The “wannabes” stopped to sign a few autographs of eager fans, while most of the better-known drivers, such as Jeff Gordon, merely waved and kept on walking at a pretty good clip.

A good many of the onlookers, Eddie included, sported Dale Earnhardt Jr. colors and numbers. They stuck around after his car was wheeled by hoping to see him. At least until the P.A. announced that his car was on the track for qualifying. He had taken the back way to the pits.

About this time the batteries in my newly acquired camera gave out. I hadn’t had much luck getting drivers or cars in range anyway, but when Mark Martin stopped about three feet from me to sign an autograph, the camera refused to cooperate. When I downloaded the pictures onto my computer, I found out why: Somehow the little switch had gotten moved from still pictures to movie, and everything I was trying to take came out in movie format.

 The garage area, which had a fire many years ago, has been completely rebuilt since my heyday. So have the grandstands, now overlooked by high-priced glass-enclosed suites. And there is a plaza behind the infield seats where entertainment venues and concessions are centered.

NASCAR qualifying is much less dramatic than the Indy 500, a single lap apiece determining the starting grid in about two hours’ time. The real action comes during the practice sessions that follow, cars going at top speed on the track as they try to fine tune their machines for the next day’s race.

Eddie went to the race. I didn’t. But with the tire problems everyone was having on race day, I probably saw as much speed as he did the next day.

We didn’t see too many outrageously dressed spectators, unlike the Indy 500. Most of them wear shirts and hats bearing the logos their favorite driver (I was the oddball with a Statue of Liberty hat).

In fact the dumbest outfit we saw was on the return trip down 38th Street as a guy shuffled along with those triple-baggy jeans, one hand holding onto his belt at hip height to keep them from falling down to his feet.

I wonder if the guy knew – or cared – how ridiculous he looked?

Jim Bailey’s column appears on Sunday. He can be reached by e-mail at jameshenrybailey@earthlink.net.