The Baltimore Grand Prix: A Great Pit Stop

The inaugural reminded me of my first City Fair in the early 1970s, the Tall Ships in the rejuvenated harbor a few years later, and my first Ravens game in the new stadium against the Indianapolis Colts. Looking up at the grandstand on Light Street, with engines revving in my ears and cars speeding down Conway Street, it felt surreal.

The long Labor Day weekend gave the city a three-day respite from how we are typically portrayed on the national stage—as a city plagued by violence and poverty with a losing baseball team. I was impressed by the organization, professionalism and excitement of the racing scene downtown.

My early connections to racing consisted of STP stickers on the inside of my Padonia elementary locker and weekend afternoons as a youth spent with Jackie Stewart watching the likes of Al Unser, Richard Petty, and Mario Andretti. 

We mimicked the racing ads when we turned 16, driving like “Big Daddy Don Garlitz and the Mean Machine” on the back roads of Sweet Air. In Cars 2, Lightning McQueen’s travails against his Italian nemesis Francesco Bernoulli in the World Grand Prix served as adequate preparation.

“I saw Mario Andretti on a scooter,” said Joe McAvoy of Guilford. “I said, ‘Hey Mario,’ and he waved back at me. This is special. I wanted to be here for the first one. Would I want to drive 180 mph down Pratt Street? Hell yes.”

Traffic was light on Martin Luther King Boulevard as we scooted around the back of Ravens Stadium and found a parking space on South Charles. We checked into MaGerk’s for lunch. The Indy Light race with smaller cars was on four televisions.

It was muggy and hot on the street with temps in the high 80s as we headed for a spot to watch the main event. We entered the racing zone off Charles Street, and took in the surroundings.

The Convention Center was transformed into a racing paddock with semis and trailers for the drivers to hang out between the races. It has never looked so small to me. As Danica Patrick emerged and then sped away toward her car on a scooter, the crowd swarmed.

“It would be really cool if a woman won the first Grand Prix here,” said McAvoy.

We found a spot along the straightaway on Conway. When the cars hit full speed, the ground shook with their force, running up the spine. We watched the cars for 20 laps or so before heading back to MaGerk’s.

On the way, we ran into Ken Horsman who was lugging a used tire from one of the cars. He owns the Illusions Theater where his son Spencer performs feats of Houdini-like magic.

“This thing is pretty heavy,” he said, “and I had to carry it over the pedestrian bridge with 100 waiting people in line. I thought my mother was going to pass out. You might see this one later today on eBay.”

He showed us his beautiful theater and talked passionately about South Baltimore. 

We watched driver Will Power outlast the field to win the race over plates of delectable cheese steak egg rolls—the neighborhood haunt perhaps the best vantage point of all with music, atmosphere and air conditioning.

“We need more accessible places for people to see the race,” said McAvoy. “We need more stuff like this to come here, more big concerts like U2.”