Doc Diaries: Experiments in Motion

One of my main photographic goals is to tell the story of the motion that happens in the world. I often use a number of common techniques (such as panning), and those typically get me to a pretty reasonable result.

But sometimes, I want to shoot for unreasonable. Sometimes I want to try something that seems almost impossible, just to see if it could work out. Sometimes I want to see not just what motion does look like, but what motion could look like.

The opening image was the result of one such rumination. "How do you take a picture that focuses on the sense of drawing a bow across the strings?" I love what I came up with, but it turns out that the key wasn't to plan, or do lots of math, or to have any kind of a controlled setup. The key was to notice my friend playing her cello, and to just give it a shot. I tried to get the focus where it needed to be, the camera handled the exposure, and I hit the shutter when I felt like the moment was right.

I think one point here is that some experiments are really simple, if you're the right person to run that particular experiment. It often pays to just give something a shot without overcomplicating things.

Slow, Fast, and Slow Again (Moments In Between, part 6)

The morning before the race is a period of acceleration, but it can feel just the opposite. Many teams start off with some amount of anxiety — a thousand tiny tasks remain before the car is "perfect," and it can still feel tempting to try to knock them all out in the dwindling moments before the green flag waves.

But once the race is underway, the mere fact that the car is out on track, turning laps, and away from convenient access makes a lot of those small issues seem to disappear. You're going faster than you were before, but that sense of being overwhelmed with tasks is replaced by a focus on the more singular task at hand — drive smooth, get good track position, run quick pit stops, don't break anything. You light the rocket, and then you do your best to get out of the way and let that baby burn.

Momentum (Moments In Between, part 5)

In some ways, an endurance race is a lot like a rocket launch. You put a lot of energy into getting up to speed and getting good track position. During those more aggressive parts of the race, you might make mistakes and have to work even harder to make up for them. You have a plan and a strategy, and you do your best to stick to them.

By the time the sun comes up on Sunday morning, you're mostly coasting on momentum. Track position has already been pretty firmly established, and you're doing your best to just keep things on the straight and level. The race isn't over yet, by any stretch of the imagination. But even for teams that are still trying to make moves, their goal will generally still be to hit a pace that they can maintain through the checker.

Survive the Night (Moments In Between, part 4)

A good endurance race is more slow than fast. And in the dead of winter, it's also more darkness than light. One of the unique challenges of the 25 Hours of Thunderhill is the amount time that's spent enduring the darkness.

Pit stops in the dark take longer. The growing fatigue of 6+ hours of racing combines with the reduced visibility to delay the most mundane of tasks, and the challenge is magnified for any extended diagnosis or repair. If a tool rolls out of sight, it's that much harder to find. Coordination between teammates becomes more difficult without the aid of hand signals and eye contact. And any dark corners in a cramped engine bay become that much darker and trickier to work in. So a repair that might be a quick fix during the day becomes a bit more of a slog at night.

The Waiting Game (Moments In Between, part 3)

There are so many ways to wait. And even when you're going hard, sometimes you're also waiting — for an opportunity… for a break… for something to go wrong…

There are so many ways to wait. They're each a little different, and in 25 hours of racing, you're liable to experience more than a few. That's just how endurance races go. Plus, aside from the times when you're in the driver's seat, an endurance race is a lot like a relay race: when you've got the baton, you can make things happen. But when you don't, you still have to wait for it to come back around.

The Calm Before The Storm (Moments In Between, part 2)

There's a gap before almost every competition. After the madness of preparation and last-minute fixes, you pause, take a breath, and get ready to put that work to the test.

At the 25, there's a twist. Once the cars are all gridded up, the spectators are welcomed out onto the track to check out the cars and take pictures of (or with) the teams. It's chaos. But amidst that chaos, there is a calmness to the team's crew and drivers. But beneath that calmness, you can still sense an underlying tension and anxiety: The start is coming. Did we miss anything? Did we forget anything? There are still a few moments left to remedy any oversights.

Moments In Between: 25 Hours of Light and Darkness

There's a saying in motorsports: "fast is slow; slow is fast." And while it's questionable advice for the actual technique of driving, it's still relevant for the driver's mindset. Actions that feel fast tend to be reactive — something happened and you were fast enough to catch it and respond. Like if you trip while walking and you catch yourself — it certainly takes a bunch of skill and experience to avoid a spill, but tripping and recovering still slowed you down.

By contrast, a feeling of slowness tends to accompany actions that don't even require a reaction. Maybe you predicted the problem and avoided it entirely — you saw that raised edge in the pavement and you adjusted your stride to walk right past it. When a driver has a feeling of slowness during the race, it often means that they're actually moving fast. They are relaxed and in control of the situation. Their actions are precise and proportionate. Deliberate.

But the specific memories that we retain about an event tend to center around the fast moments, and the slow periods tend to be compressed and forgotten. We anchor on the things that were exciting, and everything else fades away.

A Glimpse Behind the Curtain (Behind the 25, part 8)

Evil lairs are always inaccessible. Impenetrable. And the constant distance creates an aura of mystery about the place. A handful of interactions grow into a half-true caricature of the people who actually reside there.

I had seen the view above many times over the years, and a similar kind of caricature had grown in my mind. In my imagination, the people working in the tower were sticklers for everything. They loved rules, order, and nothing else.

Finally, in 2016, I was able to take a glimpse behind the curtain. And I can say for certain that the notions that I had were not the full story, and they were not a fair depiction either.

Of course, I should have known that. As with any fractal, the traits that I came to appreciate about the pit marshals, the flaggers, and the safety crew also reflect the traits of the race control team itself. And vice-versa. This is definitely a race where the details show you the bigger picture. But the opposite is also true: the big picture can show you hidden details.

Enforce and Protect (Behind the 25, part 6)

Flaggers are the second manifestation of Race Control. Just like the pit marshals on pit lane, the flaggers keep watch, enforce rules, and relay observations from around the track. They communicate with the drivers by way of a set of flags, and they use radio to communicate back and forth with Race Control, and/or with other flag stations.

The flags encode a small set of relatively terse messages, including things like "caution," "faster cars approaching," "dirt or oil on track," and "you did something bad; pit now." The flaggers also use motion to convey urgency — a waving flag is more urgent, a still (or "standing") flag is less urgent. Anything more nuanced will likely come over the radio, once the pit marshals talk to the driver's crew chief.

Like Hawks (Behind the 25, part 5)

In nearly every sporting competition, there exists some group to set and enforce the rules. They make sure that every team is playing fair, so that each team has a chance to excel. At the 25 Hours of Thunderhill, that group is Race Control. But they work via an old-timey kind of magic.

Race Control is the proverbial group behind the curtain. They observe the race, and when needed exert their influence, by way of three other groups: the pit marshals, the flaggers, and the safety crew.

The pit marshals wear bright vests and patrol pit lane. Like hawks. When they spot an issue or a violation, they report it to race control. And when Race Control wants to communicate to a team, the pit marshals act as their mouthpiece, finding the team's pit box and delivering the message directly. But that communication method only works in one direction — if the teams want to talk back, they can call or visit the tower.

2016 Year in Review: January through June

This review is a tour through the year 2016, as illustrated by one image from each of the 17 posts I published that year.

2016 was a year of continued growth, both for myself and for Doppler Photo. It was a year of unprecedented stability, as I figured out just how much I can photograph, write, and publish without burning myself out. But at the same time, it was a year of expansion and evolution, as I investigated new ways to find and connect with new audiences, as well as novel ways of telling stories to the folks who are already watching (I appreciate y'all).

I set some goals and made some plans that didn't quite pan out, and I also followed some whims that were more important than I could have known. I failed to predict the future very well, but I've put in enough work that things are still moving forward, and the momentum is growing.

The year started off with an amazing concert that made me grateful for the friendships I've already forged, and hopeful for the ones I strive to invest in every day. It reminded me that my perspective arises, in part, from past experiences that I no longer remember, but that nonetheless influence the moments I notice and the compositions that speak to me. It reminded me to search more actively for the people who have shared those experiences, and to see if my perspective speaks to them as well. That reminder is one that I'll be carrying forth into 2017.

(From "Ms. Lauryn Hill Breaks It Down in Brooklyn", published in January)

Speed or Precision (Behind the 25, part 4)

Dawn... I've got to be there by dawn.

So I pack, I check, I re-check, and I finally hit the road. Inevitably, I'm late — as I drive North on I-5, I glance right and see the first embers of the dawn already reflected in farmland that, for once, is more marshland than dustbowl. The thought crosses my mind that maybe… maybe being late isn't so bad… Maybe I could stop to take a quick photo; to enjoy a last moment of procrastination before the real work begins…

But no, the work doesn't wait, and I'm already running late. I arrive to a paddock that seems still mostly asleep. I park, don my gear, and start looking around for pictures.

This was frame number 9. The AIM Tire crew was already motoring in high gear, because the work doesn't wait, and tires make the race go 'round.

Behind the 25: A Journey to the Center of the Race

Sunrise. The warm, orange glow of a brand new day starts to soften the chill of another Thunderhill night. It's not really day yet, but things are moving in that direction. That's how it always goes. Park. Pop the hatch. Get your stuff. You know the drill.

Five years, huh? That was quick…

The amazing thing about this race is that there's so much depth. Everyone who returns brings a little more experience. The same tenacity as last year is a little more effective now than it was then. Somehow, the relentless march of 25 Hours is a little more fluid; the surprises are a little less surprising. You spend less time figuring out how to handle each situation, and more time figuring out how to handle it better.

Make no mistake, there'll still be curve-balls. If you don't keep your eyes open, things'll go pear-shaped in a hurry. But every December, you come back a little bit better, and those same curve balls don't seem to curve quite as much as they once did.

Eager (Stories from the 25, part 6)

There's a saying (commonly misattributed to Winston Churchill) that a pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity, and an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty. I was reminded of that saying when I spoke with A.J. Singh (far right, in picture) about eagerness in motorsports, 8 hours after his team's car was retired due to a major fire in the engine compartment. Here's what he had to say:

"The eagerness occurs every time we get ready for a race. That typically is about a month before we start getting ready; there's an excitement that you can see just start to infuse itself amongst our team members."

I asked what they're eager for — a win? The experience? Just to be out on track?

"Our first perspective is to finish, and to improve. Our thought process is to always be better than the last race. If we can do that, we've come away a success. Perfect case in point, we've got a car that just got burned up and we're going home, but we felt, quite honestly, that we performed better than we did last year…"

The 25 Hours of Thunderhill is a race that is nothing if not difficult. But Singh's response reminded me that it's the combination of eagerness and opportunity that brings teams to the race in the first place. The teams that only see the difficulty don't show up, and the teams that focus on the opportunity come back year after year, even when things don't go as planned.

The V/M Racing Lotus Exige is one of the most easily-recognizable vehicles in the race. The mirror finish glistens at the start of every race that I've seen it contest. It's easy to imagine that the team's eagerness to improve also motivates a certain level of pride in their vehicle.

Unfortunately, the team's race came to an untimely end at Thunderhill's corner 1, after an engine failure spilled hot oil onto an even hotter exhaust manifold, causing an immediate, intense fire. The driver (pictured) drove straight off the track and jumped out; it was the only time I've heard the Thunderhill safety crew use an audible siren while responding to a situation. Back at the team's paddock space, other teammates noticed that the back of the driver's Nomex racing suit had been singed from the heat.

This was the first year for the Ryno Racing team's Ginetta LMP3, and it was set to be a good one, with the car starting on the front row. Once the flag dropped, the car demonstrated the speed to stay near the head of the field.

But as day turned to dusk, a slight misjudgment on the corner leading into the front straight sent the car spinning straight into the hot pit wall, causing damage on all four sides. During the team's wrap-up meeting, the summary was pretty matter-of-fact: it was a racing incident; these things happen. We'll be back next year.

Fresh off their 2014 victory, the Davidson Racing team was gunning for another great result. Around the team's paddock area, you could sense a bit of tension as they started their engines and warmed up their two cars. Once on the track, though, both cars were turning incredibly fast laps — fastest overall for the #17 car (pictured), and within the top 5 for the #16.

That good form didn't last, though. The cars experienced electrical and mechanical issues, which ended the team's hopes for another podium. The #16 (on the lift, in the photo) was retired first, and the #17 (under the canopy) would follow.

The #00 Porsche GT3 Cup car, fielded by Award Motorsports / Ehret Family Winery, was also looking for a repeat. I saw the car take the outright at my first 25 Hours of Thunderhill, back in 2012. It had always been a car that combined speed with reliability.

Sometimes speed and reliability aren't enough, though. The team was forced to retire, by race rules, after three incidences of significant vehicle-to-vehicle contact.

In the end, though, racing is like a roller-coaster ride. No matter how many ups and downs you've seen, there's always a chance that a new upward turn is right around the corner. And maybe that's something to be eager about as well…

The full Stories from the 25 series:

• Humans of Thunderhill: Stories from the 25
• Part 2: Confident
• Part 3: Proud
• Part 4: Devastated
• Part 5: Concerned
• Part 6: Eager

Devastated (Stores from the 25, part 4)

A car race is an environment where pragmatism and optimism can go hand-in-hand. I interviewed my friend Andrew during the race, and when I asked him about a time in motorsports when he felt devastated, his answer was simple:

"I think that is yet to come. Motorsports is pretty much the most fun thing I've ever done, and I haven't lost a car or anything irreplaceable yet, so it's always been worthwhile."

In the photo, he sits in the driver seat as the team gets everything ready for his first night-racing experience. I've mentioned in previous years that optimism alone typically doesn't get you through the night safely. It might be one piece of the puzzle, but it's still only one piece.

Vehicle lighting is essential at night. Both so that the driver of a vehicle can see the track, the vehicles, and any unexpected obstacles; and also so that other drivers can see that vehicle. A stopped vehicle that has no lights (or, that has lights that aren't visible to approaching traffic) is a sitting duck, and a recipe for disaster.

Lights make it possible to for the driver to see what they are approaching, and flaggers make it possible for drivers to know about situations that they can't actually see yet.

For the 25-hour race, two rotations of flaggers switch off during four ~6-hour flag shifts during the race. And just like the pit lane workers, they have to bundle up and be prepared for whatever climate conditions may occur during the race. The flaggers are so important that the race pauses (full course yellow, cars circulate but no passing is allowed) during the shift changes.

Spotters offer more of a competitive benefit than a safety benefit, but that competitive advantage might mean that a driver can be more conservative during stretches of the race that are more treacherous. For instance, if you can maintain position without having to dive-bomb slower cars into the corners in the rain, you're a lot more likely to avoid contact when mistakes inevitably happen. Generally, the spotters find a spot with a clear view of the track, and relay any relevant details back to the team over radio.

Here, a spotter stands on a hilltop bench above the back half of the track (near turn 9), and looks on as cars pass over turn 5 in the distance.

For drivers and crew, it also pays to stay warm and to avoid hunger and dehydration. The inevitable fatigue of spending dozens of hours on alert, and of dealing with a deluge of rain for half of the race, will add up on their own. Other sources of physical discomfort just make things worse.

Fundamentally, endurance races are about extending that comfort as long as possible — the more comfortable you are, the better you can focus, and the less likely you are to make mistakes. The fewer mistakes you make (as driver or crew), the more time you spend turning fast laps, and the less time you spend waiting for the tow truck, or fixing things that broke.

When you put enough puzzle pieces together, this is what it looks like. The #45 Flying Lizard Motorsports Audi R8-LMS dominated the race from sundown onward — they outlasted the faster cars (none of which made it to sunrise), and once the rain started falling, they passed other cars everywhere imaginable. Corner, straight, it didn't seem to matter. By the end, they placed first overall with a 35-lap margin over second place, and a 59-lap margin over third.

The full Stories from the 25 series:

• Humans of Thunderhill: Stories from the 25
• Part 2: Confident
• Part 3: Proud
• Part 4: Devastated
• Part 5: Concerned
• Part 6: Eager

Humans of Thunderhill: Stories from the 25 (Introduction)

Every year that I cover the 25 Hours of Thunderhill, I strive to find a different angle. A new perspective that shows me something novel about a race that is becoming increasingly familiar. Moreover, as a photojournalist at heart, I often come back from the race frustrated that I didn't spend more time talking to the people I photographed. Frustrated that I can always tell a story about what's happening, but often not about how those stories affect the people experiencing them.

So I bought a voice recorder.

At this year's race, I took a leap of faith. And while a bunch of things didn't go to plan, I took some baby steps in a direction that is already incredibly promising.

Who?

What kinds of people find themselves at car races? Certainly drivers, crew, fans, and friends. But who else? Track and safety crew. Support staff. Others? The people who perform in the opening ceremonies are… well… people. Maybe a sanitary worker rolls through the paddock, clearing out porta-potties. Or a standby helicopter pilot hangs out, biding time.

All of those people have stories, and those stories all help to convey the various ways that the 25 Hours of Thunderhill influences and is influenced by the surrounding community. The goal of this project was to collect and share some of those stories.

What?

Fundamentally, for me, stories are about emotion. They're about identifying with some aspects of another person's life, and experiencing some feeling as a result. So I decided to cut straight to the chase. For each interview, I asked a single question:
"Tell me about a time in motorsports when you felt furious." Or "nervous." Or "Embarassed." Or some other emotion.

I wanted to give each person some control over the interview, without making it easy for a person to jump straight to the easy (but shallow) emotions. I wanted people to describe their experiences of emotions that would be deep and personal, but also consequently interesting and unique.

So I wrote out a numbered list of 20 emotions, and had each person roll a 20-sided die to pick a topic. If they got one that wasn't relevant, or that they didn't want to answer, they could re-roll once, and then I'd just move on.

When?

I was planning to carry out interviews throughout the race, alongside all of my standard coverage. Unfortunately, that's not really how things worked out. I did my first interview Sunday morning, around 10:30 AM (with only 1.5 hours left in the race).

Fundamentally, the challenge for me was that I didn't want to interview a person in a large group (which might make them feel self-conscious, or to otherwise react to the group). But I also didn't feel comfortable trying to pull a person away from a group for an interview.

I have some ideas on how to navigate this the next time around, but those ideas didn't emerge until I had done some post-race reflection. Baby steps…

Where?

In the 32-hour period that I spend walking around Thunderhill, I find myself in a bunch of different places, and around a bunch of different people. I'm generally pretty comfortable talking to most of them, and so the plan was to run short interviews of interesting folks as I bumped into them throughout the time that I was there. As mentioned above, this didn't quite happen, but it's still the plan for next time.

Why?

When you tell someone you love about why you enjoy something, it's always about the emotions, right?

What you tell them isn't "I enjoy turning a wrench" so much as it's "I love feeling this sense of accomplishment and relief when I finish putting this thing together, and there aren't any parts left over, and it actually works! It's like: I did that! I made that!"

You don't say "driving is fun," but rather, "I love when I get angry, and then I manage to ride that balance of rage and self-control to push even harder than normal, but still avoid making mistakes."

Or maybe, "I remember back when my dad used to take me to watch the races. At some point, I started taking him. Near the end, he'd be pretty foggy most of the time, but whenever I took him back to the race track, he would always come back to reality, if only for those few hours. I miss him so much…"

Those stories are all hypothetical, but they're based on snippets of actual stories that I've heard here and there. I'm sure that people around the 25 Hours of Thunderhill have stories that are equally deep and meaningful. I want to find those stories and share them, because I feel like that's an aspect of motorsports that touches so many of us.

What's next?

Even though things didn't go to plan, I did actually run 5 interviews, each of which produced some awesome perspectives. So the next five Thunderhill posts will each center on one of those stories, and will convey how the theme of each story shows up repeatedly throughout the race.

The full Stories from the 25 series:

• Humans of Thunderhill: Stories from the 25
• Part 2: Confident
• Part 3: Proud
• Part 4: Devastated
• Part 5: Concerned
• Part 6: Eager

Portraits In Situ (part 1)

"Within every man and woman a secret is hidden, and as a photographer it is my task to reveal it if I can. The revelation, if it comes at all, will come in a small fraction of a second with an unconscious gesture, a gleam of the eye, a brief lifting of the mask that all humans wear to conceal their innermost selves from the world. In that fleeting interval of opportunity the photographer must act or lose his prize." —Yousuf Karsh

As I flit through life with camera in hand, I inevitably notice certain moments that seem to exemplify aspects of my friends' personalities. With luck, I recognize those moments in time to take a photo.

Here are some of those photos, and a word on what I see in them.

Tradition

Exploration

Relation

Connection

Transformation

Preparation

Illumination

Connotation

Imagination

Conviction

Determination

Iteration

Reflection

Reunion (Rhythm of Racing, Part 6)

(Note: this post follows "Disaster" in the Rhythm of Racing series.)

I mentioned in "On-Track Prep" that the pre-race grid walk is a going-away party of sorts. That for cast and crew, it's a mental transition period from focusing on anything else to focusing exclusively on the race.

The opposite transition begins in the moments before the finish — undivided focus transforms into some combination of relaxation, exhaustion, and a variety of other emotions…

Mental and emotional distance give way to reunion.

And as the race ticks ever closer to the checkered flag, the result crystallizes. "We're doing it" gradually becomes "we did it!", and "we can do better" becomes "we did our best."

That sense of closure, even before the checker actually flies, tends to manifest as small, impromptu celebrations; particularly among teams that are doing well. Here, driver Dale Sievwright (left) and a member of the pit crew share a high-five after the team's final pit stop. Their car, the #31 Hankook Tires / El Diablo Motorsports M3, would finish first in class E0 and seventh overall in the final standings.

And then, the moment itself. Here, team members and race staff cheer as owner Bob Davidson drives the race-winning #17 Davidson Racing Norma M20F (center, obscured) toward the checkered flag, at the head of a formation of other race cars.

The teams welcome the #34 Team RDR Mazda RX-8 and the #70 Mazdaspeed Factory Guys Mazda 6 Diesel back to base. The #34 placed first in the E2 class, and despite finishing over 100 laps down from the E1 class leader, the #70 was the only one of three sister cars to go the distance — the #55 crashed into a stopped vehicle after sunset (see "Disaster"), and the #56 went off-track and rolled later during the night.

Members of Team Quick Racing Products take a group selfie behind their #03 Superlite SLC after a third-in-class (fourth overall) finish. A far sight better than their DNF in 2013.

The closing driver for the #07 New York Rock Exchange / 1st Community Acura Integra celebrates after getting out of the car. The team finished second in the E3 class, only 40 seconds back from first.

Before they depart company, a member of the NASA safety crew expresses his gratitude to people who helped during the race.

Annual car races have a certain kind of rhythm to them. A fundamental identity that defines them, even as they evolve over time. From year to year, things always change — different conditions, different competitors, different tactics, and often, a new winner. But every December that I make the trek to Thunderhill Raceway, I find a race that's familiar, even though it's always a little bit unique.

The full Rhythm of Racing sequence:

• Part 1: Morning
• Part 2: On-Track Prep
• Part 3: Stop and Go, Mostly Go
• Part 4: Break. Fix. Repeat.
• Part 5: Disaster
• Part 6: Reunion