Baltimore Braces for Grand Prix Chaos
Walking or driving in downtown Baltimore these past few weeks has been akin to walking through an ever-changing steel obstacle course. One day, a new grandstand goes up on the corner across from Orioles Stadium, blocking off a sidewalk. The following day a giant protective fence, designed to keep race cars from careening into crowds, is lining the city’s main downtown artery, Pratt Street.
Sure, there have been some positive surprises, such as the police at every intersection directing traffic, reconciling the problem of endless red lights. The roadways are also marginally smoother. But, for the most part, the preparation for the Grand Prix this Labor Day weekend has proven to be as costly and irritating as originally expected.
The law firm I work at is scheduled to close on Friday, the first day of the race, as the office is located on Pratt St., right at what will be one of the race’s hairpin turns. Despite the firm offering beer, wine, and snacks to anyone who comes in to watch the race from our 13-story vantage point, few people are talking about the race excitedly.
If I had a dollar for every time I had the following conversation, I’d have a significant wad of cash in my pocket:
“Plans for the holiday weekend?”
“Getting well out of dodge of the city. Are you sticking around to watch the race?”
“God no. It’s going to be utter chaos.”
Roads are already closing. Interstate-95 leading into Baltimore will be shutdown. Parking will be impossible.
This morning, I hopped on the Circulator bus that I take every-other-day to Baltimore’s Penn Station. Five minutes into the ride, it dawned on me that we were not heading towards Penn Station. “We were told to avoid downtown,” the driver said. “You and everyone else,” I responded, irritated.
After the bus literally wove through a maze of orange cones, we were dropped off under a highway underpass. Taxi it is! But there were no taxis to be had and, even if there were, there’s no way it would have been quicker to be in a car. So, I walked. I walked two miles to the train station.
During my half-run, half-walk to the train, I ran into a number of police officers. Upon approaching the fourth or fifth group of State Troopers, I decided to ask one of them his thoughts on the Grand Prix.
“It’s going to be chaos. Most units will be downtown.”
“So, what’s going to be happening on the periphery?” I asked, well aware that the periphery of Baltimore City is where the cops really need to be.
The State Trooper rolled his eyes and exhaled, looking wistfully into the oncoming traffic, “Just have to cross our fingers, I guess. That’s Baltimore for ya.”
