Mikado restaurant, Indianapolis - 9:15PM CST

The last two years I'd come to Indianapolis for the U.S. Grand Prix, 2000 and 2001, we decided to have dinner at Mikado on Saturday night before the race. Both years we saw F1 celebrities there. In 2001, F1 supremo Bernie Ecclestone was having dinner with Renault's Flavio Briatore a couple of tables away from us. This was after having seen Bernie in a booth at Morton's the night before. We figured he was stalking us.

Tonight we were at the front desk waiting to be seated, and we noticed that one of the Benihana-style grill tables at the front was filled with what appeared to be some of the McLaren-Mercedes folks, most recognizably Norbert Haug.

I had my back to the door and Behram was facing the door. I saw his eyes go slightly wide and he did one of those little raised-eyebrow motions as if to say, "Look." I started to turn to my left and nearly bumped into Michael Schumacher. He stood there momentarily until the receptionist motioned him and his group of six-or-so people through, and they walked through the restaurant to one of the partitioned rooms at the back.

It is a slightly weird feeling to realize that a minute ago you were standing casually next to the world's most highly paid athlete, and perhaps the most gifted race driver in history, who in most other countries would be mobbed by fans and unable to appear so freely in such a public space.

(Michael was unable to let me drive his car.)

Chicago-Midway airport - 4:40PM CST

I was killing time in the airport food court before my connecting flight to Indianapolis. While waiting in line to get some coffee, I noticed John "Johnny Rotten" Lydon in front of me getting a slice of pizza. He was immediately recognizable, that distinctive face that seems to scowl and smile at the same time. Lydon and his colleague were similarly attired, with spiky, colored hair, long khaki trench coats, and sneakers.

I figure he is able to be fairly anonymous so I didn't want to bother him, but I managed to compel myself to politely acknowledge him and offer a compliment. Despite the fact that I know his Sex Pistols stuff better than the Public Image Ltd stuff, I only have one of his records, and it's P.i.L. 9 -- but there are a couple of great moments on it. The second song on that record, "Disappointed", is a shimmering, glistening, hammering, bitter, hard pop rock anthem.

Disappointed a few people
When friendship reared its ugly head
Disappointed a few people
Well isn't that what friends are for

Rather than say, "Hey, aren't you Johnny Rotten!", I opted for a polite, "Mr. Lydon?"

"That's me," he responded, only half-way turning to respond. (Was that a grimace or a smile?)

"I just wanted to say that one of your records is a favorite of mine."

"Only one?" (Was that a smile or a smirk?)

"Uh, well, I think P.I.L. 9 is really great."

"Thanks."

And by the way, I did not get the feeling that I had been cheated.