Friday’s ride took me quick-like-a-bunny-rabbit to as east on Fleet Street as I could go for a doctor’s appointment that took too long and then over to the Inner Harbor to see what the Grand Prix was doing so as to add evidence to my complaintapillaring about the thing and then around to Federal Hill for a massage–rough life, I know. Following the googleymap directions to the doc’s I rode past the building I saw on Thursday, and it looked different this time, when it was on the main drag heading south from when it was stumbled upon as I was coming out of being lost. I didn’t think much of it, or of the old library building I saw earlier in the summer or the growing pile of dirt and emerging buildings from the Johns Hopkins project on the east side that has been nothing but gonna-happen-later until just now. The ride to the Harbor was speedy, too, as I pedaled along Fleet Street, taking the lane once I got to the traffic. And then, the Grand Prix. Baltimore’s greatest boondoggle (at the moment). I walked my bike around the new infrastructure erected for the event, all of it empty still. I was finally back on my bike and riding through a basically empty Federal Hill. On the way back crowds started to gather for the race. Ok–maybe not crowds, exactly, but a few more people than earlier. I could hear the too-loud buzz of the cars and saw this spot open in the vinyl wall that’s been woven in and out of the fencing. If I looked just right and squinted, I could see the cars in that tiny hole. A small crowd started to gather here, and I snapped this picture of a guy with a real camera waiting to snap a picture. I have no idea how much tickets were to this thing, but what I saw here was plenty of auto racing for me. I walked my bike around the harbor until there was room to ride home, and no, I would not be down at the harbor again until this monstrosity was over. I prefer to complain from a distance on Labor Day Weekend.