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I’m not a big race fan. That’s not a secret. But when the Grand Prix comes within 5 miles of your home, you don’t really have to be much a fan to make the 10 minute trip to the track. I usually keep my travels to The Strip environs, but I will venture Downtown maybe once a month just to keep in touch with the old school.

The race started at 1pm on Sunday, so I played some poker at the Hilton at about 10am, then headed Downtown about noon. I was on my scooter.

Of course, with VegasRex, nothing goes off without a hitch.

I rode around the track area for about 20 minutes looking for an ideal spot, and imagine my delight when I spotted a designated motorcycle parking area right next to the start/finish line. There were bikes of all sizes from 49cc Vino’s to 1,800cc+ behemoths parked in there. And to top it all off, this area was guarded by Metropolitan Police Officers. Cool! This was too good to be true.

And like most things that seem too good to be true … it was.

When I pulled my bike in and parked, one of two officers standing by the entrance (hereby referred to as “Genius Cop”) shouted “Scooters are not allowed to park here!”

“Okay, I’ll just park my motorcycle here, then … like that Vino over there”.

This is where I realized that Genius Cop seemed to be training the cop standing next to him … on how to be an asshole. And he was doing a spectacular job.

This is how the rest of the “conversation” went:

Genius Cop: “That Vino is not supposed to be there.”

Me: “Where should I park my bike then?”

Genius Cop: “Find a car garage.”

Me: “So my scooter is not a motorcycle, it’s a car?”

Genius Cop: “No, it’s a scooter”

Me (I really was being polite … honest): “No, it’ a motorcycle. There is no separate ‘Scooter’ vehicle designation in the law. ‘Scooter’ is the body style of a motorcycle characterized by a step-through frame design. There are 500cc scooters. The only non-motorcycle legal definition of motorized cycle is a “Moped” which is defined as a bike with less than 2 horsepower and will go no faster than 30Mph on level ground. Such vehicles are not required to be registered or insured. Under both the Nevada State Code and the DMV Code, I am riding a motorcycle. I am required to have a motorcycle license to ride this bike, this bike is required to be registered at the DMV as a motorcycle, I am required to carry motorcycle insurance on the bike, and I am required to wear a DOT approve motorcycle helmet. I could drive this on the freeway if I so chose. This, sir, is defined and regulated as a motorcycle by the State of Nevada, and as a peace officer obviously specializing in traffic duty, you should be fully aware of this.”

Genius Cop: (Says nothing and stares at me)

Me: (Sitting on my bike and waiting for a response)

Genius Cop’s Student: (Looking at Genius Cop, eagerly waiting for him to point out an error in my statement)

Genius Cop: (Continues to stare at me)

Okay, you get the point. Genius Cop said nothing, and I mean not one, single solitary word.

He had obviously heard the cliche’ “It’s better to stay silent and be thought a fool, then open your mouth and remove all doubt”, and dammit, he was pleading the 5th on this one all the way.

To be fair, he really had only three options:

1) Concede the point, say “I’m sorry, sir, you are correct, feel free to park” and be a stand-up public servant. But then what would this teach his student? Respect for the citizen. Holy shit, perish the thought.

2) Say something that I would obviously rebut at which point we would start over. At this point the trainee would begin to wonder if the teacher had any idea of what the fuck he was talking about.

3) Shut up and glare at me with a gun clearly visible in his holster. This maintains the badass “I could shoot you in the face if I wanted to you little fucking prick” image, while not conceding any point, and leaving room for doubt in the trainee’s mind over whether or not I was correct.

He chose #3.

If you are surprised at this choice, then you have obviously been living in a cave for the past, I dunno … 100 years.

Seriously, I just feel lucky the guy didn’t put a bullet in my skull for the offense of “Quoting facts to a Peace Officer” which is probably high treason buried somewhere in The Patriot Act.

After he just stared at me for 60 seconds while saying nothing I decided to move on. I didn’t trust the cop around my bike. I figured if I parked it near him he would kick it over or purposely have it stolen. It’s refreshing to have so much confidence in the people who are paid to protect us.

So I opened the throttle, got out of bullet range, and took a couple of blurry zoomed snapshots of Genius Cop:

Then I went around the corner and parked on the sidewalk like I would park a bicycle or a “scooter” you would buy at Toys R’ Us. After all, I wasn’t riding a motorcycle, and there was a cop right around the corner willing to vouch for that fact.

I headed one block south to where the starting line was. They wanted $47 to get inside.

Yeah right. And I want 24 karat gold testicles. Looks like neither of us are getting what we want today.

So I stand outside the fence with my fellow riff-raff to watch the cars zoom by for 1 second every 2 minutes or so. Honestly, it seemed like more people didn’t pay to see the race than did pay to see the race, because they were hanging out of parking garages and stairwells everywhere I looked.

Right before the race started, 3 fighter jets roared overhead to the applause of the crowd - your tax dollars hard at work. Do you have any idea how much jet fuel costs these days? Hint: It’s even more than the premium stuff you put in your SUV.

The race starts, and the cars disappear. Where did they go? I don’t know. Somewhere. Somewhere I couldn’t see. Probably Scores or the Spearmint Rhino. How the hell would I know?

But eventually they came back. For a about one second. And then they went somewhere again.

So I stood there and watched the cars go by a couple of times, and it was cool. Extremely loud (some people had earplugs), but interesting to watch them whiz by. But, only for like the first 5 times.

After that I got bored.

I could only see about 200 yards of the track and they buzzed through that piece of track every few minutes. Most of the time was spent waiting for the cars to come around the corner, and as soon as they came, they were gone … at which point we waited again.

It didn’t help that I didn’t know any of the drivers or cars. I had no idea who was who. Cars just drove by every now and then. And they drove by at about 120 decibels. After about 20 minutes of this, my ears started ringing, and I completely lost interest.

Every time they went by, the alarm on my scooter went off … and my scooter was a full block away. That’s how much vibration these machines produced.

But in 20 minutes …. I had gotten the gist. Wait 2 minutes, cars zip by. Wait 2 minutes, cars zip by. Someone wins and gets paid.

I could only imagine that this would be much more interesting to watch on TV.

So I hop back on my non-motorcycle (which I have wasted my money on by registering and insuring as a motorcycle), and head south on Las Vegas Boulevard. I pass the Stratosphere. I’m back in my neighborhood now.

Such was my experience with the Grand Prix.

Was it worth the effort? Sure.

I can now say that I have witnessed a Grand Prix race in person. I got to hear the high-pitch whine of the engines, smell the putrid exhaust, feel the ground shake like crazy, feel the speed-wind hit my face, and see cars whiz by in Downtown Las Vegas faster than I have ever seen cars go in my life. It’s cool to see cars go past you at 200Mph a mere 10-20 feet in front of your face.

But it’s probably something I would only do once.

Maybe someday I will become a die-hard race fan, but seeing as I still have a full set of teeth, have fewer than 20 tattoos, and have yet to have an alcohol problem … I just don’t quite feel qualified.