Dear IndyCar Series,
I am writing to you from far away. From another continent. From a place where most people sleep while your engines wake up. Where most of the people don’t know you.
Sadly I have never walked through your paddock. I have never felt the concrete vibrate beneath my shoes. And yet you have been part of my life for more than a decade, even more since I’ve started the Allaboutindyracing journey almost 4 years ago.
This is a letter I have wanted to write for a long time. I have written plenty of race previews and race reports. This is not an analysis or a strategy rundown. This is a thank you letter. A love letter. A quiet confession written loudly because that is how you live your life. Loud. Fast. Honest.
I first met you in 2012.
Late at night.
Through a television screen in Germany.
I did not plan it. I stumbled into you while flipping channels and suddenly there were cars that looked wild and alive. They were fast in a way that felt dangerous and honest. No filters. No layers of distance. Just drivers fighting machines and time and fear. I stayed. I watched the whole race. And when it was over something had changed.
I did not know it then but that night you became my sport.
Being an IndyCar fan in Germany means living with distance. Physical distance. Time zone distance. Financial distance. Flights are expensive. Vacation days are limited. Seeing you live has always felt like a dream parked somewhere far across the ocean. One day attending the Indy500, that’S the dream.
So I watched you from my couch.
In the middle of the night.
With headphones on so I would not wake anyone.
While others slept I learned your rhythm. I learned which tracks demanded patience and which punished hesitation. I learned the voices of commentators. I learned the sound difference between an oval race settling into a groove and a street race slowly turning chaotic.
That distance never weakened the connection. In some strange way it strengthened it. Because every race felt intentional. I chose you every time.
Even through a screen you felt closer than anything else. The cameras showed more than cars. They showed faces. Emotions. Frustration and relief and exhaustion.
I could see drivers climb out of their cars covered in sweat and disbelief. I could see crews celebrate like families not corporations.
In Europe I grew up around motorsport that often felt untouchable. Beautiful but distant. You were different. You felt human. Accessible. Real.
You were not trying to impress me. You were simply being yourself.
Every year the Indianapolis 500 became a fixed point in my calendar. Friends did not always understand why I stayed up so late for one race. They did not understand the weight of tradition or the silence before the start or the way forty engines sound like history being rewritten.
I watched winners drink milk while sitting thousands of kilometers away.
I watched heartbreaks unfold depp at night in my time zone.
I watched legends and rookies share the same danger.
And every year I felt included. Even from a living room in Germany.
There were races where I sat forward on the couch holding my breath. There were finishes where I laughed out loud alone in the room. There were moments where I simply stayed quiet after the checkered flag because something beautiful had just happened.
It did not matter that I was watching from Germany. The emotions arrived on time.
One of the strangest and most wonderful things is that I feel connected to fans I have never spoken to. People in grandstands. Families camping at ovals. Kids wearing oversized team shirts.
When I hear them cheer through the broadcast I know exactly what they feel. Because even separated by oceans we are part of the same moment.
That is rare. And powerful.
IndyCar, you taught me that passion does not require proximity. That loving a sport does not depend on geography. That authenticity travels farther than any marketing campaign.
You never asked me to be close. You just asked me to care.
And I did.
Maybe one day I will make it across the ocean. Maybe one day I will finally hear you without speakers in between. But even if that day never comes my connection to you is real and permanent.
I will keep watching.
I will keep caring.
I will keep telling people why this series matters to me.
Because you were there in 2012 when I did not know I was looking for you.
And you are still here now.
Thank you IndyCar for welcoming a fan who lives far away.
Thank you for making distance irrelevant.
Thank you for staying honest loud and human.
This is my love letter to you.
Written late at night.
As always.
written by Philipp Kraus (Founder of @allaboutindyracing) // Media Credit: Penske Entertainment
