The story begins as so many have, of two brothers from Indianapolis’ west side whose bond formed closest, not through Little League or station wagon trips or carpooling to school, but with a pursuit. A pursuit to get in to the Indy 500.

Doug Rice first watched his older brother leave for 16th and Georgetown in 1966. Five years the junior of his brother Dick, Doug made the voyage accompanied by his parents a year later. By 1974, the Rice brothers finally combined their experiences into a joint effort. Two brothers raised in the shadows of the world’s greatest race course, but on the day the world converged in their own backyard, the track was seemingly its own world away. The innovations of entry began.

The Indianapolis 500 will stage its 102nd running on Sunday, and will do so with meaning to all of us. In what makes it the greatest event in the world, it is no more special to me than it is to you. The traditions of each family: the coolers packed as your uncle preferred, the navigation to your secret spot once laid out by your grandfather, the morning driver draw conducted by your mom just as your great aunt had done years before. Perhaps you camp with the same group of friends with which you attended your college formal, or perhaps the arrival at your seats is a reunion with a family from four states away. We all hold sacred the bonds and traditions that are our own swig of milk.

This is the story of the Rice brothers, because in its own way, their story is ours. Our story is theirs. It’s the magic that lures us through the winter months, longing for the day when we say yes, in fact, it is May.

They saved their money each year to buy a car to take them through the six lanes intersecting the North 40 parking area of Indianapolis Motor Speedway, free of concern if the journey under the tunnel into the track would come at the price of an unblemished paint job or victimized mirror. A spot in the Turn 3 infield was the destination, and the Rice brothers had one motto: Infield or bust.

Eventually, they’d befriended the family that dwelled closest to the 30th Street gate. Helping sell ice was a small fare to pay for pole position when the land rush began. If you bought ice from Annie’s Ice Palace in the late ‘70s, you justified Annie’s offer of putting the Rice brothers to work. But by 1982, Annie retired to the desert of Arizona and the ice oasis dried up as the beacon of hope in the quest of the Turn 3 infield.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and by the mid-‘80s, the Rice brothers were left returning to their west side roots.

You all have that secret parking spot. You all have that flawless route, one as cherished a family secret as the ideal spot to capture your morel mushrooms. For the Rice brothers, the plan meant starting over close to where it all began.

The familiarity of the Eagledale area around the track led to a scouting mission, and eventually led to success: A vacant house on Mussman Street backed up to an opening in the North 40 gate just wide enough for that year’s “one-off.” It squeezed through by the margin of Johncock to Mears, and the Rice’s hunt had paid off. A new tradition, the exploits of “The Dogs of Mussman,” as they’d been called, was born.

We change as we age. Perhaps you afford yourself the easier Indy 500 entry your matured life affords. Your ticket group may have moved a few rows higher, a few seats fatter, as you progress through the stages of life. But you go back. No matter what curveballs are thrown your way, the old girl at 16th and Georgetown lures you in. The tales of yesteryear may have been replaced by your improvements and advancements over the years, but, like the 3.2 million bricks below its pavement, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway never completely lets them go.

They whisper with the wind each time you walk through the tunnels, long after the roars have subsided.

Last May, I took Doug and Dick Rice to the roof of the IMS pagoda to celebrate Dick’s 50th Indianapolis 500. “We’ve gone from the outhouse to the Penthouse!” Dick quipped.

It was Dick Rice’s last Indy 500, his passing coming unexpectedly this past winter.

Doug will make the pilgrimage this Sunday, his 52nd Indy 500, but first in 44 years without his brother. There is no need for cheap cars or ice sales or scouting trips to cross the gates Dick entered. Just the happiness of looking down from the best seat in the house.

Watching over as Doug makes the journey, with his brother in his heart and his family of 300,000 on his mind, determining again how to beat them to his seat in Turn 3.  

(Veteran broadcaster Jake Query is a member of the Advance Auto Parts INDYCAR Radio Network team and offers his musings regularly on IndyCar.com.)