240,000 seats at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. What's the best one?

• Green flag for the 101st Indy 500 is scheduled for 12:19 p.m. Sunday

INDIANAPOLIS — They come for the speed. This place damn near invented speed. When John Skinner — Turn 2 Guy, 34 straight races — goes back to the first lap of the first Indianapolis 500 he ever saw, he goes back to how breathtakingly fast all those cars were, how it couldn’t be real. “The most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says now. “I swear to God, I thought they were all going to die.”

Everyone remembers their first — their first kiss, their first paycheck, their first Indianapolis 500. On Sunday, the 101st running will spark a fresh set of memories, a renewed sense of awe. No matter how big you picture it, it’s bigger. Grander. Faster. Bolder. The event is staggering in its scope, its size, its audacity. When Bobby Unser drove down Georgetown Road for the first time in 1963 and gazed out at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, he was horrified. “Almost crapped my pants,” he says.

And this is a man who went on to win the thing three times.

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The fans? They come for the sound. David Bixler — Turn 1 Guy, 45 races — first strolled into the track as a 10-year-old in 1969. Dad bought him a stopwatch so he could time his first race. “I remember the streaks of color ... and that roar,” he says. Everyone knows the roar. It’s been sending shivers down spines for a century. “You could feel it in your chest. The cars would go by, and your whole body would vibrate.” Young David timed Mario Andretti’s win that day, and that stopwatch was with him on race day for the next 45 years.

They come for the smell. There is something about the blend of exhaust fumes and fried turkey legs that screams: It’s racing season in Indianapolis.

They come for the ritual. For Kevin Bolin — Paddock Guy, 20 straight races — the 500 is a binding family sacrament, that of which shall never be questioned or altered or broken. He’s been going since he was seven years old. He’s 28 now. He tells friends, “If you’re getting married, that’s great. Just don’t do it on Memorial Day Weekend, because I won’t be there.”

They come for the moments. Forrester Morgan — Paddock Penthouse Guy, 39 straight races —– took in his first 500 in 1978. A day later, he dropped off his ticket application at a post office in Speedway. Hasn’t missed one since. The duel three years ago might be his favorite. Ryan Hunter-Reay and Helio Castroneves, throwing everything they had at each other, chasing the yard of bricks on those hair-raising final laps, neck-and-neck, back-and-forth, all the way through the 800th and final turn of the 200th and final lap. “You couldn’t breathe it was so tense!” Morgan says.

He’s coming all the way from Myrtle Beach, S.C., for this year’s 500, his 40th. “As I’ve told my wonderful wife, she never has to worry about where I’m at on Memorial Day Weekend the rest of my life.”

Most of all, they come for the feeling. Max Fishero — Turn 1 Guy, 65 races — is 82 now. He’s been coming to this race longer than a Hulman’s been ordering drivers to start their engines. His absences are excused: He served in the Army during the Korean War and wasn't there in 1954 and ’55. This year is his 50th straight. “I might have to go in a wheelchair and have my kids push me,” Max said this week.

There are more than 240,000 permanent seats at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. That’s 240,000 experiences, 240,000 traditions, 240,000 viewpoints. The sprawling, iconic venue is among the most unique entities in sports: There is no universally held signature spectator spot, no proverbial 50-yard-line seat that allows you a view of the entire field or court or stadium.

It's up to interpretation. 

A fan in Turn 1 will see a different race than one in Turn 3. A Turn 2 patron could witness a crash right before their eyes, while a fan in Turn 4 will watch it on the video board. It’s simply too massive an event to digest from one vantage spot. A fan has options.

Thus, let the debate ensue: Of the near-quarter million seats at the most famous race track in the world, where’s the best one?

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They are badges of honor in this city, rites of passage: Race fans are measured by the number of 500s attended, identified by the location of their seats. (For starters, the diehards call it The Track, not the Speedway; The Race, not the 500.) There are Turn 1 People. Turn 2 People. Turn 3 People. Turn 4 People. Paddock People. Penthouse People. Infield People.

There are fans that have been coming 10 years, 50 years, 70 years. They come and sit in the seats their father and grandfather sat in. They have a relationship with their seats — it’s a point of pride, a race day community they belong to. It’s where they’ve spent the Sunday before Memorial Day their entire adult lives. Most cherish their spot, and most resist criticizing others. They respect the place too much.

As for best seat in the house, it’s about what you can see and what you can’t.

A spot in the Section A, B or E Penthouse (Turn 1) are the most expensive, along with anything in the Hulman Suites along the main stretch. The vistas in each turn offer some of the most sweeping views, in some cases three of the track’s four turns.

A survey of the top vantage points at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, from those who know them best:

Turn 1:

It’s hard to imagine a better spot than the Stand E Penthouse. Same pretty much goes for anything high up in Stand A, B or the Southwest Vista. The seats offer a breathtaking panorama that wraps Turn 4 with the entire front stretch, all of Turn 1, the short chute and a good chunk of Turn 2. The pits are below. So is victory lane.

The only drawback, according to some Turn 1 lifers: The cars come tearing around Turn 4 so quickly it’s hard to tell who’s who before they cross the finish line.

“Turn 1 is where the bold try and make their statement,” said Jon Albertson, a 500 fan who first attended the race in 1987. “The first lap, with 33 cars jumbled together, coming at you at 220 miles an hour ready to nose-dive into Turn 1? What a moment.”

David Bixler’s sat in Stand A for four decades. He remembers the first lap in ’73, Salt Walther’s fiery crash, the car spinning down the straightaway, spraying fuel, engulfed in flames. He’ll never forget the heat of the fire on his face.

“I’m 14 at the time and I’ve got my camera around my neck,” he remembers. “I told myself, ‘I’m not going to take a picture of a man dying.’”

Walther survived. Somehow. Raced at Indy four more times.

There have been great memories, too. Go to 45 Indy 500s and you see some things.

Bixler is 58 years old now. He’ll need a cane on race day. Getting to his seat is harder than it used to be. Each year, he wonders how many more he'll make.

Then he settles in his spot in Turn 1, watches the first lap and remembers why he keeps coming back.

“It puts a lump in my throat every time,” he says.

Turn 2:

No finish line view from here. But you’ll see plenty of racing, and you’ve likely seen plenty of crashes over the years. Turn 1 and the short chute hang to your left, and you can follow the cars all the way down the backstretch and into Turn 3. You’re gazing out at half the oval, maybe more.

“I wouldn’t want to sit anywhere else,” said Skinner, who’s watched 25 of his 35 Indy 500s from the top of the Southeast Vista. “We’re so high up you can almost see all four turns. For some reason, I have always gotten a great sense of the speed as they go down the backstretch. Many times I’ve watched two drivers set up for Turn 3 and thought, ‘No way they make it out without contact to each other or the wall.’ Most times they do.”

He remembers Al Unser passing his pops on Turn 2 in 1988. Rick Mears zipping by Michael Andretti in ’91. Hunter-Reay passing Castroneves right in front of him in '14.

“I love every single thing about it,” Skinner said. “How many dads out there can say the first song they sang their daughter after she got out of the hospital was, ‘(Back Home Again in) Indiana?’”

Turn 3:

The penultimate turn at Indianapolis Motor Speedway offers fans one last look before the cars zip around Turn 4 and head for home. The drivers arrive at your left, flying down the backstretch at peak speed, before braking for the short chute. They vanish just before the yard of bricks.

Dave Fields is a Turn 3 Guy. His co-workers at the Tate & Lyle plant in Lafayette know they won’t see him come the month of May: He annually burns three weeks of vacation so he can properly digest the entirety of race month in Indianapolis. His first 500 was ’67. He’s been to every one since ’74. Give him the chance, and he’s taking his group of eight tickets to Turn 4. High up. With a view of the finish.

Not that he’s complaining.

“My parents made me an addict,” he said. “I’ll be coming to that place until I’m in the ground.”

Turn 4:

Where the drivers go for broke. It’s their last shot at glory. The 17,000-seat Northwest Vista is prime real estate. Fans catch the final two turns and the finish, and they can follow cars all the way down the homestretch until they dart into Turn 1.

“Turn 4 is where the desperation comes in,” Albertson said. “In some ways, it’s what makes Indianapolis Indianapolis. I’ll probably debate which is better — Turn 1 or Turn 4 — until the day I die.”

"Best seat in the house," said Mike Bohman, a Turn 4 loyalist who hasn't missed a race since 1957. "I like watching the cars come through the short chute, picking them out, knowing where the drivers are at before they hit the homestretch." 

Turn 4 fans like Bohman have witnessed the incredible, the improbable and the inspiring. Their jaws dropped when JR Hildebrand slammed into the wall in 2011, just one turn — one turn! — shy of winning the race. They held their breath as Sam Hornish Jr. and Marco Andretti turned a 500-mile race into a quarter-mile drag strip in 2006 — Hornish won by .06 seconds. They watched Little Al hold off Scott Goodyear in ’92 by even less.

Tim Lauffer — Turn 4 Guy, 42 races — drives in from Pittsburgh every year. He’s sat in the Northwest Vista for four decades. Ask him for the best race he saw from those seats, and he goes back to May 30, 1982. Rick Mears giving chase, Gordon Johncock holding the lead ... holding it ... holding it ... and finally winning. Barely. Indy had never seen a finish like that.

“You could literally hear the crowd roar over the engines,” Lauffer remembers.

Paddock:

There’s something to be said for a spot that towers above the yard of bricks. If there’s a 50-yard-line at Indianapolis Motor Speedway, this is it. You’re front and center for the spectacle. For the prerace traditions, for the heart-pounding start, for all the action in the pits, for the winner crossing the finish line. The only snag? You’re only seeing two turns. And the cars are a blur.

Morgan, of Myrtle Beach, S.C., has lured about 50 Indy 500 first-timers to his highly sought-after seats in the Paddock Penthouse. He wants them to see the spectacle with their own eyes.

“You should see their faces when their green flag drops,” he says. “Before that moment, they have no idea.”

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Most don’t. Not until the first lap of their first Indianapolis 500. Stack up the races over the years and across the decades, and you still never forget your first.

Best seat in the house? Hard to beat a penthouse seat on the main stretch, like the one Forrester Morgan has. Or David Bixler’s spot in Stand A, the one he’s sat in since 1973, the day he had a camera around his neck and felt the heat of the fire on his face.

Or Tim Lauffer’s in the Northwest Vista.

Or John Skinner’s seat at the top of Turn 2, the one he’s had for a quarter-century.

Or some-240,000 others, home to the fans who give this race its soul. It’s what keeps them coming back, year after year after year.

No matter where they sit, it’s that speed. That sound. That smell. That feeling.

They come for all of that. They come because it's home.

Call IndyStar reporter Zak Keefer at (317) 444-6134. Follow him on Twitter: @zkeefer.