A Very IndyCar Valentine’s Day

by Nathan Gruenholz

Yes, I’m doing this again.  Tis the season of men posing as wordsmiths and lyrical casanovas, desperately trying to get into a lady’s den of slumber.  Sure, boxes of chocolate and flowers do indeed work…to a degree.  However displaying your affection for a kind lass in the form of verse is a time honored tradition that is GUARENTEED to get your gentleman’s nether region a moist vacation for a fortnight.

However that is, this time, not (totally) on my agenda.

First, the realm of IndyCar has seen recently multiple events of matrimony and such that my feeble lyrical attempts at impressing the ladies of IndyCar this time would land a fist to my face.  Or possibly I could see a young woman displaying their (lack of) affection for me in a different kind of verse: a legal document.  So I will keep that to a minimum by broadening the subject matter to not just IndyCar’s leading lasses of lap-times, but to IndyCar in general.

Yep, all things racing will be silioque’d in poetic mirth (well, not all things will be covered); from tire smoke to gear knobs (wait, did somebody say “gear knob“?).  After listening to the greatest poet in video game history and listening to heavy metal for so long I’ve caught on a bit on this talent called poetry, I suppose.  Yes, heavy metal can be a bit poetic; from referencing a famous poet’s work, to turning a famous poem into a 13-minute epic.  See?  It’s not just pounding drums and guitars with lyrics about doing it while she bites a pillow.  Wait, that IS POETRY TOO!  SORT OF!

Never change, heavy metal; oh great horny musical genre…

[imagines incredible 4-way with Tarja Turunen, Anette Olzon, and Floor Jansen]

(Wait, her name is Floor?  LOL WHATEVS.  Still epic and epically hot, even if named “Door”, “Ceiling”, “Stairway” or a furniture piece of your choice)

Oh, and of course I’ll drop a rhyme and verse of my favorite fair maiden of motor racing.  Duh.  After all the blog posts and poetry I’ve written about her, I haven’t gotten any response of any kind, good or bad, from her or her people.  I guess that means I’m free to DO MORE poetry, blog posts, and general creepy stalking (wait, is there any other kind?)…

Onwards with the rhyming (and some non-rhyming freestyle poetry, for you hipsters and English majors that think rhyme-schemes and such are HACK).

(Racing-related literary genius after the jump)


Each tire melts into the asphalt
Bounded, unbreakable fusion
Of the darkest of colors giving
The whitest of smoke
In the grandest of moments
A victory lap


Ice water through her veins
2nd-degree burns, yet never complains
A car’s raging horsepower she tames
All with a woman’s touch

Through the many twists and turns
Victory and redemption she yearns
Cool and collected, but inside she burns
To finally embrace glory

Soon, the engines and turbos we’ll hear
Transmissions crackling in and out of gear
It will at long last finally be her year
The one we call Simona

Reasons of her Fandom

Our love of Simona has many facets
Her driving ability?
Her beauty?
Her charm?
Yes to all, but over all else, the possibility
A woman today can make it the right way
Without the need of a centerfold
Unimaginable in our age, now it seems
But glass ceilings are quite venerable
To a simple yard of brick

16th and Georgetown Road

Dysfunctional to the end
No matter who’s in charge
And there will be many more
Yet, the ultimate survivor
World wars, recessions, depressions
Can’t even put a crack into it
The pagoda made of glass
Stands every May

Requiem for a Bump

Drivers and cars, numbered at thirty-three
This past year there were no more to see
Bump Day became a Start and Park session
Hopefully this year Indy learned its lesson

Thirty four or more to pledge
Wish to see drivers on the edge
All the drama to unfold for us
With none supplied by a Lotus

The Mile

State Fairs
Where children play and laugh
At this one grown men do the same
Their roller coasters unbounded
With hundreds of horsepower
Thrilling one mile at a time
For over a century

All That’s Left

A Mopar Michigan man named Brad
Championed the last rooting interest I had
Dodge is the victor, going out in style
Like them, I won’t fully come back for a while

The NASCAR I once knew I’ll miss
Only two remain that gives me any interest
The 500 miles by the sands of Daytona
And a young woman they call Johanna

(Editor’s note: Wait, that’s not IndyCar!  HERETIC!  STONE HIM!)


A basic, brittle element
A building block of life
Woven into a fabric
Stronger than steel
Yet light as cloth
A building block of speed


A knob here, a button there
A bright tactical display
Of precision and instrumentation
Dozens of commands and uses
Adjustments that tame a high tech wonder
Its primary functions?
Go right, go left

Flash Your Badge

It just came in the mail today
Bronze Badge order form, $100 to pay
The pit pass that gives me access
To Indy’s garage all month, oh yes

All month long, I’ll be trolling
Through Gasoline Alley, I’ll be stalking
Simona once again, you all know this
Luckily, in two years she’s not noticed.