These are follow-up stories to my chance meeting with Sir Frank Williams on my way from the Formula One race in Montreal to the Formula One race at Indy, in 2004. We recommend you start with story #1 in these Meeting Sir Frank series.
It’s seven pm when the Toyota Echo rental car pulls out of campground number one onto Georgetown street, alongside the Indianapolis Speedway, and starts its long drive down the stretch to Sixteenth with Motorhead cranked to eleven. It never fails to amaze me how long the Indy straight-away is! I am missing Jeopardy tonight, my favorite show, but my Rainman condition is under control and I have assured myself that it is worth it for three days; I haven’t missed an episode in three years!
Arriving at the corner of West street and Meridian at seven forty five, after getting purposely lost a bit in downtown for some sight-seeing, the Echo pulls into the parking lot across from the blues bar called The Slippery Noodle. The guy who runs the lot shows up on Friday, so parking is sorta free until then. My plan is the same as last year: listen to music, and drink as many cheap beers as comfortably possible here in the lot before nine pm, when the bands come on. Several motorists show up, and insist on paying ‘me’ for their parking. After explaining to each one that they can put their money into the honor box, they still hand it to me. I wind up with almost twenty five dollars in loose bills, and it could help pay my bar tab tonight. I pass the time in the car by writing in my journal, and listening to the new White Stripes CD Get Beside Me Satan. Situated between two other parked cars facing the street, I don’t fear being seen drinking by cops. Each cold Molson Ice gets me more hammered, while I bake in the Echo in the hot early-evening sun. The nice thing about Wednesdays at the 200 year old bar for me is ‘no cover’. I’m a poor person, this whole weekend is ‘on a shoe-string budget’. So tonight I won’t have to go in early, bide my time until after eight hanging out in the empty arcade room, and then walk out and get my hand stamped for free – I can slide right in at nine unmolested. Sure would like to get a game of table – soccer going with someone later, it’s been a few years since I’ve played.
Its quarter to nine and my nineteenth beer tastes great! Now I can go in and take it easy, just sipping on the expensive bar beer, and occasionally visit the car for a beer while the band takes their break. After attending all the festivities at the track, this is my second favorite thing to do here during the United Stated Formula One Grand Prix-watch live Blues music at the Slippery Noodle! Stuffing the money in the honor box I cut across the street, primed-up and feeling no-pain literally.
Making my way through the front part of the tavern, and looking up at the old tinned ceiling; I’m sure it must be original from the eighteen hundreds. My father used to say he always felt the most comfortable in a bar. He didn’t so much like the taste of beer, as just the “ambiance” and “camaraderie” of it all. One of his favorite TV shows was Cheers. But for me, ‘comfortable’ has always been garages – and this weekend I’ll be in a Formula One one! Making a right and then a left, using The Force to keep off the walls, I start the long trek down the hallway to the back, where the band is warming up. People are lined up, standing on both sides of the hall, drinks in hand; it’s party time!! Approaching the entrance, the back-room appears packed with no place to sit. Looking down on my left at a small table, right against the wall by the threshold, sits a lone male patron at a table by himself with an empty chair. Bet he’s waiting for a friend to show up. Giving one last glance around, there are just no other spots. I need to sit down now. My back pain is back, and my feet are killing me from the Montreal F1 GP race.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” I ask him politely.
“Naw, g’ rawt ahead mate.” Says the guy, as he waves to the empty seat, in what is surely an Australian accent. Luckily, he seems fairly friendly.
Settling into the offered seat I inquire, “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Formula One fan by any chance?”
“Ah am at that” he answers back with a glint in his eye, presenting me with a new air of familiarity.
“Then are you ready for the coolest Formula One story ever?!!” I proclaim, and proceed to tell him about meeting Sir Frank- the nutshell version of course. The band is getting ready to start up, and as I recant the experience he seems unimpressed.
“Yeah ah ‘eard that ‘e drove down lahst ye’ ah.” He replies soberly, taking a sip of his Guinness.
“What?!!!” I ask him incredulously “how in the world could you have possibly known that??!
“Ah werk for ’em.” He grinned.
Don Lugers in middle, with Aussie Rick on the right and Biddy (another Williams mechanic) at The Slippery Noodle
