Reporting from Indianapolis—My recent trip to Indianapolis seemed nearly flawless — save for the drippy rain, save for the continuously bad directions from the locals. Asking for directions is always a great way to meet new people, not to mention an instant IQ test for a local populace. Can they think on their feet? Do they have any uncommon powers of description? In my Indy experience, no.
Yet in the way stories unfold with surprising twists and unforeseen character development, I came to discover the people of this city are its greatest attraction. The speedway may be Indy's cynosure, but the people are the place. I suggest meeting as many as humanly possible.
The city's hub is a gracious old war memorial — the Midwest's Trafalgar Square. But for 100 years now, Indy's main attraction has been that sprawling speedway, by the same dude who blighted us with Miami Beach. Best not to hold that against him, because:
1) He's dead
2) He did leave us with this landmark speedway complex, where in a week, 400,000 screaming fans will celebrate 100 years as the nation's wildest one-day sports spectacle.
Indianapolis has not reinvented the modern American metropolis, but it's sandpapering the edges, buffing the chandeliers, cleaning the sidewalks. The next nine months may be the city's biggest ever: It's not only holding the 100th incarnation of its epic racing event, but also the 2012 Super Bowl (courts willing).
In the process, Indy has made itself into the sort of prairie stopover that is worth a look even when not hosting mega events or your company's annual sales confab. Did I mention that the bars stay open till 3 a.m.?
And as a sporting destination — the Colts, the Pacers, the NFL Combine, NCAA tourneys — it seems a Midwestern overachiever.
That winning Hoosier hospitality I mentioned seals the deal. In fact, Indianapolis may well be America's friendliest city. In three days, I didn't have a single encounter that was less than pleasant — and most were uncommonly warm.
Score bonus points for world-class beefsteak, surprisingly fresh seafood and dozens of attractions, from a renowned art museum to a little library that just opened to honor native son Vonnegut.
Indianapolis is the kind of town Mom wanted you to marry. So get in. Let's take a few laps:
THE STARTING LINE
That handsome hub we mentioned? Monument Circle, the centerpiece of the bricky downtown and darling of blimp shots during Colts games. What Michigan Avenue is to Chicago, Monument Circle is to Indianapolis — a twinkly, overlighted, postcard shot.
On my first visit, I used it as my starting point. I bunked at the Columbia Club, a brassy, old private club that sits on the circle like a 10-story period piece. It rents rooms to nonmembers, and at $89 weeknights, Columbia Club is a stately bargain.
Now usually I'm repulsed by the chatty vibe of hotel bars, yet I find myself in them over and over. Ironic, right? So, on my first night, I wound up at the Capital Grille, where a heavily peppered, dry-aged piece of rib-eye was my date for the evening.
The Capital Grille is part of the city's Conrad Hotel, where visiting NBA teams stay. High-end stuff to be sure, but the Cap Grille is worth a stop, for a drink, dinner and a sampling of Hoosier friendliness.
The city's football and basketball arenas are downtown, and games draw fans to Meridian Street, sure to be the main gathering place for Super Bowl activities. Locals say that this boulevard will be tented to keep out the notorious, clammy February cold. The free-flowing booze will work too.
Most times, though, Meridian Street is a beery younger scene, and except for the Slippery Noodle — once a bordello and now a popular blues club — grown-ups might do well to play elsewhere.