All I could think, as I watched the pre-race ceremonies — the drivers shimmy into their cockpits, the engines pop and buzz to life, the pace car leads the contenders to the course — was that this was, well, the most impressive thing ever.

And it’s in Florida. Take that, hanging chads.

This is the haut monde of motor sports — the fastest cars, the most challenging circuits, the most expensive technologies. It’s also earsplitting, adrenaline-chugging fun — the chance to stand mere feet from a scathing swarm of mammoth automotive hornets hurtling at more than 200 miles per hour through a winding street course.

When the race began, I was atop a parking garage adjacent to the urbane Dali Museum. From there, the view of Turns 1 and 2 were pristine, and the vantage seemed safer. Turn 9 funneled the raging cars into a straightaway overlooking a tranquil cotillion of anchored yachts.

Watching practice runs earlier in the day, I became keenly aware that a single errant rivet from one of these high-tech missiles would be enough to hurt a person unlucky enough to be standing nearby. This race can kill spectators, and it has. I decided to take my chances on top of the parking garage.