Artists of All Stripes Put The Indie in Indianapolis

On this particular day, though, many of the artists were visiting from elsewhere in the city. The draw was Masterpiece in a Day, a competition in which participants had until 5 p.m. to knock out an artwork, song or piece of prose that could stand up to a panel of judges. With the clock ticking loudly, not a second could be squandered.

"I think I will write a tragic country song using street names," said a beret-capped chap with a guitar as he waited at the intersection. "Morris loves Shelley, so Virginia has Prospects."

If he finds a rhyme for Mitthoefer, he deserves the prize.

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Indianapolis's layout has more than just a whiff of Washington to it: It was planned by Alexander Ralston, who assisted Pierre L'Enfant in designing the nation's capital and employed the Frenchman's signature style of gridded streets and traffic circles. (Somehow, though, Indianapolis lucked out with only one of Dante's rings of hell, Monument Circle.) The city is further divided into cultural neighborhoods, each characterized by a particular flavor, scene and set of denizens. There's Mass. Ave. for imaginative galleries and restaurants, Fountain Square for up-and-coming artists and old-timey attractions such as duckpin bowling, and Indian Avenue for African American heritage. The Wholesale District is frenetic with shopping and sports venues, while the Canal and White River State Park area is a calm oasis of museums, green spaces and lazy waterways. A sixth, Broad Ripple Village, is linked to downtown via a greenway rail trail; its personality is split between rah-rah rowdiness and bohemian mellowness. (Translation: You can chase your Bud with a flavored hookah.)

To unite the neighborhoods, the city is constructing the 7 1/2 -mile Indianapolis Cultural Trail, a $50 million bike and pedestrian route that ribbons through multiple landscapes. "It will connect every arts, cultural, heritage, sports and entertainment facility in our downtown," said Brian Payne, president of the Central Indiana Community Foundation, the nonprofit group behind the project. "Once on the trail, you can figure out what you want to see on a very spontaneous basis. You can stop and have a drink, or go to the theater, or eat in an outdoor cafe."

At this early stage, even Magellan would have a tough time figuring out where to navigate. The trail will be built in six stages, with completion targeted for 2010. (The group is putting the finishing touches on the first half-mile.) During my visit, chewed-up sidewalk blocks and heavy machinery were the most obvious signs of the trail-in-progress. Yet with Payne leading the way on his mountain bike, and a green line marking about 80 percent of the planned route, I could almost connect the dots.

The off-street path is urban, paralleling major thoroughfares, yet it seemed bubble-wrapped against the usual hazards of metro biking. I never feared errant car doors or potholes, and I could hear birds chirp in the trees. As Payne and I swept corners and hopped on and off sidewalks, I glanced fleetingly at the slide show blowing by: a 19th-century church that would fit well in a French village, war monuments august and tragic, pubs worthy of ditching the bike for. Halfway through our ride, the city clatter quieted to a pastoral hush: We were entering White River State Park.

One way to access the park is by Canal Walk, a peaceful promenade lining a narrow waterway evocative of Venice, complete with gondolas and romantic bridges ideal for proposals and serenades. Rolling along, I dodged dogs on leashes and wobbly children on bikes, and nearly toppled over myself trying to spot Garfield (the cat's creator, Jim Davis, is from Delaware County) in the Indiana State Museum's exterior. (The institution's outer wall contains sculptures representative of each county.) From the canal, the route peeled off in many directions, leading to the White River, or the zoo and gardens, or back downtown. However, I chose to dismount and stand for a moment in the hollow of an outdoor amphitheater, beneath a ceiling of blue. In the distance, the hulk of the old football stadium and the frame of the new one loomed like graceless beasts. I simply turned my back on them to focus on Indy's more artistic views.

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"Are you here for the baby shower?" asked the woman staffing the booth at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

Who opens breast pumps and plays "How Big Is Mommy?" at a racetrack? Apparently, the owner's stepson.

Despite not being on the guest list, I was granted entry to the venue, which includes a museum, a hall of fame, restaurants, a gift shop and a $3 bus ride around the track. No fire-retardant suit required.

The driver, probably dizzy from circling this route so many times, was a man of few words; the taped narrator did all of the talking. As we crawled along the track at a sloth's pace -- lead-foot it, man, the voice in my head screamed -- I half-listened to the history of the famed Turn 1, Gasoline Alley and the 13-story pagoda where the winners kiss their trophies. An excitable passenger asked to get off the bus and touch the bricks; he was denied.

The tour lasted no more than 15 minutes, though it felt three times as long. Driving under the speed limit has that time-bending effect. Had Andretti been behind the wheel, we would've completed 16 laps to the bus's one.

Getting off the bus, I hardly felt a sports fan's adrenaline rush, yet I knew exactly where to get the pickup I craved. I raced downtown and flew through the doors of the Indianapolis Museum of Art. I had only 30 minutes before closing, but that was all the time I needed to take the lead.