Towards Mulsanne
Le Mans is an immense racecourse and walking around to distant locations on the track to photograph is virtually impossible. So when I was invited to ride to Mulsanne with several French and English photographers I jumped at the opportunity. Named after the nearby village of Mulsanne this turn is at the end of the Ligne Droite des Hunaudières, a 3.7 mile straight where the cars can reach 220 MPH before they heavily brake for this famous right hand corner. The sun was setting as we drove at speed on this unpaved road through the Sarthe forest. We had some distance to go when suddenly one of the French photographers started yelling “Freins, Freins!” He was shouting “Brakes” because we could smell the brakes from the racing cars in the air before we ever arrived. When we finally parked the car and walked to the track I was incredulous. The screams from the glowing red/orange brakes hauling the cars down from over two hundred MPH filled the night and the air was thick with the smell of their efforts and the torture of tires. The sun had gone down and I had no tripod and my lenses seemed to all be the wrong focal length. I tried a few pictures anyway but I couldn’t begin to photograph the awe-inspiring spectacle I was experiencing so I just watched in wonder. Later when sorting through my slides I found this photograph and I remember my anticipation, excitement and what I witnessed that night in June.
Self-Portrait With Rothmans Porsche 956 #111
A detail of the car I rode in with Derek Bell at 215 MPH.
Pilgrimage
At about 75 kilometers from Paris the magnificent Cathedral at Chartres is a sensory overload. The exterior is covered with narratives in extraordinary detail and the interior is one of the great architectural experiences of my life. The modulated light through the exceptional stained glass windows and the soaring space left me speechless. Regardless of one’s religious training or belief the makers of Chartres cathedral created a truly transformative experience.
Detail of archway above an entrance door at Chartres Cathedral:
Around 106 kilometers from Chartres was the second stop on this personal pilgrimage. I was riding in a car driven by the amiable French motorcycle racer René Guili. We had entered the main grounds of the Le Mans circuit and as we drove across what I thought was an access road I shouted “The Dunlop Bridge!” René turned left, drove closer and stopped the car so I could get out. I realized we were were actually parked on the racing circuit but it was days before the race and activities were minimal. The Dunlop Bridge was such a primal image in the magazines, books and films of my racing education that standing there my heart was pounding and I was struggling for breath like when I entered the pits at Monaco. I was at Le Mans. The dreams were real.
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