Double-Take: When NASCAR felt like home again

Imagine exploring an unfamiliar environment. Everything seems new and unexpected, even if you feel twinges of familiarity here and there. But there's this feeling of shock and confusion that happens when you round one more unfamiliar corner, only to realize that you suddenly recognize your surroundings. That all this time, you've actually been closer to home than seemed possible, just moments prior.

That was NASCAR, for me.

Now don't get me wrong; I've watched plenty of NASCAR over the years, and there've definitely been times when the whole thing had felt like it made sense.

But stereotypes have a way of pulling you away from the things you used to enjoy. In part because they're just pernicious like that, but also because they often have a kernel of truth, and sometimes it makes you worry…

But when the Toyota / Save Mart 350 rolled around in June of 2014, I finally had a chance to look back and recapture some of those feelings I thought I had left behind.

Doc Diaries: Tunnel Vision (part 2)

I mentioned before that I love the experience of just sitting on an airplane, and watching the world through a window. Regardless of which plane I'm on, or where I sit, my view out of the window always has the same basic framework: there's a wing that's always there. And everything else changes.

I also mentioned that one purpose of photography, for me, is to find ways to express my curiosity about the world, and to share some of the details that delight me when I look around.

Out of an airplane window, I'm often surprised at how quickly the view can change, even as the framework stays the same. But just as often, what's surprising is how the details of the view can be so consistent, even as we move through the environment at hundreds of miles per hour.

Doc Diaries: Tunnel Vision (part 1)

I love to travel. But not like most people do.

One of my favorite things about traveling, and especially by airplane, is the actual experience of being on the plane. Watching the world through a window. Trying to notice how even familiar places and things look somewhat distant and alien through an airplane window. I try to look out the window and take pictures that will somehow explain the thoughts and feelings and curiosities and perspectives that are hiding within myself.

The sequence of images from a flight is as much a record of the changing environment around the plane, as it is a memorial to the way that my attention sometimes flutters from one subject to another, noticing commonalities and differences this time around that I had somehow missed before.

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.

Break. Fix. Repeat. (Rhythm of Racing, Part 4)

(Note: this post follows "Stop and Go, Mostly Go" in the Rhythm of Racing series.)

First, it breaks…

The last post discussed the idea of a clean race, where everything goes perfectly, nothing breaks, the car never goes off track, and so on. That mostly doesn't happen. What's more likely is that you'll be racing along, and then suddenly you see a cloud of steam as the temperature gauge shoots for the moon. Time to pull off-track and wait for a tow.

Maybe you're in the groove heading toward turn 8, when BANG! Suddenly you have a see-through engine. The giant puff of smoke makes it seem like a magic trick, sometimes, but the punchline is always sad. And if you don't have a spare, then that's how the story ends. First with a bang, and then a whimper.

Sometimes your wheel comes off. Maybe a bump or jostle earlier in the race had a delayed effect. Maybe the driver went off-track, the wheel got sucked into a mud puddle, and the rest of the car kept going. Maybe the part was poorly-designed, or had a manufacturing defect. Whatever the reason, it's not fun, but it's generally fixable.

First it breaks, then ya fix it…

I love endurance races in part because the teams have time to encounter problems, fix them, and get back on their way. Things can go wrong and then go right in the same race, and there's always some light at the end of the tunnel.

In this case, the Prototype Development Group #4 car (the same one that was rebuilt after bursting into flames during the prior year's race) ran into a situation where an errant bolt caused the unexpected disassembly of their clutch plate. In the photo, the team examines the deconstructed clutch, as well as a damaged spare, which showed evidence of the same kind of problem.

In the spirit of endurance racing, the team threw the spare in, crossed their fingers, and hoped for the best.

The Twini — a twin-engine Mini Cooper — had a recurring issue where oil would get past some gaskets and end up in the spark plug wells of the front engine. In the photo, a team-member uses a hammer and an upside-down socket to re-install one of the spark plug wells after another a teammate had coated the bottom end in silicone gasket-maker. This wasn't the last time the team would pore over one of their engines, and they would end the race many laps down on their competitors, but still managed to roll across the finish.

The #17 Davidson Racing Eagle, sister car of the winning #16, had no such luck. After multiple paddock stops for recurring electrical issues, and hours of discussions and diagnostics, the team retired the car and focused their efforts on the #16.

…Then ya get back out there

Every team has a routine for getting back on track, and they're also interesting to watch. The switch from the exploratory "diagnostics and repair" mode to the "get back on track" process is somewhat similar to a musician transitioning from an improvised solo back to the sheet music.

At first, the teams are improvising left and right as they try to fix whatever needs fixing. Then you start to see inklings of pre-planned order, even before the resolution is complete. The driver gets back in the car (if they ever got out); the engine starts; the car is dropped back on the ground. Strewn tools are moved to make a path. A crew member stands next to any removed bodywork, waiting for a signal.

With an engine problem, the bodywork is always last. For the JFC Racing #52 car in the photograph, the bodywork pieces attach with small spring-clips, which are fastened into place with a screwdriver, and the reattachment itself is a frequently-rehearsed procedure. The more automatic each step in the transition becomes, the easier it is to move that step around in the resolution process.

For a street-style car with a hinged hood, like this Grip Racing #95 BMW 330i, the hood closes and then is fastened using hood pins (red) with a flip-up actuator lever (black, attached to the hood).

As the final bodywork is still being installed, a team member runs out to block traffic. Having the driver back into something or someone would be a disaster, and the faster they can get out of the paddock space, the faster they can get back on track.

And finally, away! The resolution is complete.

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

Five Day B&W Challenge: Day 3

For day three, I decided to dig into my mostly-neglected set of images from the NASCAR Toyota/Save Mart 350, held at Sonoma Raceway back in June of this year. As far as conversions go, this time was all about controlling the viewer's visual attention — getting them to notice certain things, and to pay less or no attention to other things. Many of the the NASCAR teams feature incredibly bright, saturated colors which are designed to attract attention, and the grayscale conversion allowed me to work against that dynamic.

My treatment of this first image was mainly to diffuse the viewer's attention. In the original, the bright colors draw your attention to the crew member's uniform, and from there, to his face, to his hands, to the air hose on his gun, and to the fire extinguisher inside. As your eyes take in the image, it ends up being difficult for them to focus on other aspects of the scene — the tires and other pit-stop paraphernalia surrounding the main subject; the details of the mock hub mounted to the trailer; even the actual expression of concentration on his face that reinforces the dynamic pose of his body.

By contrast, the treatment of the second image was to make the distribution of viewer attention more focused. The bright colors everywhere cause the viewer's eye to bounce around the scene. Whereas in the monochrome version, all of the colors are relatively similar shades of gray, and the strong contrast of the brake components draws the viewer's eye into the wheel well.

This one didn't really work out; but not all experiments turn out how you hope they will. I wanted to focus attention on the different crew-member acts — hands poised to give the car a push start out of the pits; gas can chugging away; new windshield tearoff whipping in the wind; and something with the front-left wheel.

But it's all pretty muddled. The windshield tearoff pretty much disappears when I try to set the curves/contrast for the rest of the scene, and if I set things for the tearoff, the rest of the scene ends up with way too much contrast. The comromise that I'm publishing is really just the worst of both worlds. Oh well. Still more to learn :o)

I'm irresistible, you fool

It's amazing how an interesting spectacle can bring people together. I went to an American Autocross event recently, and had the great pleasure of seeing a Lola T-70 Mk1 for the first (and, quite possibly, only) time. The car was built in 1965, and is owned and driven by David Pozzi who has a page on the car here.

The race cars of that era had a particularly distinctive styling, which makes them easy to remember. As I took the car in, a combined sense of recollection and discovery wafted across my mind. The car is a gorgeous relic of a somewhat bygone era, and even though faster, safer, more efficient cars have followed, there's still a sense of something lost.

I imagine that those feelings of wonderment and wistfulness are something all of the onlookers shared as we admired the #26 — seeing this example undoubtedly stoked the memories of anyone who had seen one in person, on television, in posters, or elsewhere.

In my own case, I grew up watching the "Speed Racer" cartoon, which featured the somewhat similarly-styled Mach 5. Of course, at the time, the world of the Mach 5 was a pure historical fantasy for me. It's funny how things change.

So in the short time that I had a physical manifestation in front of me, I reveled in the details that a cartoon glosses over. Giant tires, mid-mounted engine, rear transaxle and radiator. Plus what I assume is a hinge to flip up (or remove) the rear clam.

Having spent an inordinate amount of time working on Truckula, my '85 Nissan 720 pickup, the Weber carburetors immediately caught my eye. The 720 comes stock with a diabolically complicated Hitachi-manufactured carburetor, but Weber swaps are incredibly common for people looking for easier maintenance and more simplicity.

Sometimes, it's easy to miss how connected our lives become with the unrecalled events and experiences of the past.

Of course, if you're having a once-in-a-lifetime experience, why not make it even more special? According to other folks at the event, the Mk III Cobra in the foreground is the sole remaining Shelby Cobra that is still owned by the original owner.

I didn't get a chance to chat with the driver, Ken McCullough, but what I heard is that he worked for Ford at the time, bought it new, and has owned it since. That's pretty amazing if accurate. McCullough was pretty quick in the car regardless, placing 10th by time, and 21st by index, out of 142 drivers.

Correction [3 Nov 2014]: The original Cobra was actually the other one, the #18 owned and driven by Bruce Cambern. It appears that that car hit the tarmac only after I had departed. You can find more about it here: Bruce Cambern's 427 one owner Cobra.

Mary Pozzi, David's wife, answers questions about the car before the autocross session gets underway. Mary would go on to place first in her own class (and 46th overall, 35th by index) driving a Chevy Camaro.

No regrets.

It wasn't supposed to end this way… again…

Third race, third DNF. *sigh*. At least this time we've got some idea of how to keep this from happening the next time around. But hey, let's start from the beginning…

Thursday night, we were in high spirits. The car was in good shape, the radios were working for the first time ever, and we were ready to rock and roll. After our usual trip to "tacos," I hopped in the driver's seat to roll the car up on the trailer. That's when we hit our first snag. And by "we," I mean the car, and by "snag," I mean that the car didn't have enough clearance to avoid crushing the side-exit exhaust pipe against the leading edge of the trailer. So what was once a 3" pipe now had less exhaust capacity than the original Beetle. Great.

After lots of post-arrival craziness with three pry bars and a punch set, we got the exhaust pipe somewhat de-mangled. Saturday morning, the car took the green flag and was running pretty well; huzzah! All four of the drivers got some seat time before the car encountered… uhh… phantom transmission syndrome. Basically, an important bolt disappeared, and a different important bolt started backing itself out, at which point the transmission started separating itself from the engine. Oops. Completely fixable, though. We fixed everything up, took it for a test spin, and waited for Sunday's racing to begin.

I woke up shivering at 4am Sunday morning after being misled by an abnormally-sweltering Friday night at the track. As I walked to my car to get my sleeping bag, I noticed some faint light silhouetting the Turn 5 flagger station. Ever the impulsive photographer, I pulled out my D7100 and my handy mini-tripod and took some pictures, finally ending up with an 8-second exposure. I already knew this from the 25 Hour race, but Thunderhill is amazing at night.

In the morning, we discovered that our engine was broken. Whoops. And so our race ended unexpectedly, without any particular incident worthy of finger-pointing. Initial diagnosis was a broken oil pump that stopped working "at some point." Well, that was abrupt.

This Is My Outlet

It so happens that the first outlet I ever wired was on a big truck. It is attached to the first breaker panel I ever wired. It was a GFCI, and I wired it right the first time, but it didn't work. I replaced it temporarily with a standard outlet, which worked fine, and then I put the GFCI back, at which point I discovered that I just didn't push the RESET button hard enough. *phew* The lights on the outlet tester show that the neutral and ground wires are wired correctly, and that the hot and neutral wires aren't flipped (otherwise the red light would illuminate).

This outlet will help make the speakers go boom.

This is all to say that The Spirit of Perry Windsor is nearing her long voyage to Black Rock City. A bittersweet trip, for certain.

Recycling at Scale

After nearly two months of not really having time for photography, I'm finally trying to get back into the swing of things. That said, one photographic project that I've been fortunate enough to keep hammering on has been periodic coverage of a building demolition that's happening right next to my own building at work.

It's been an amazing opportunity for me, since I can see how things are moving along from day to day, and can also get in with my real gear every once in awhile to take some pictures from up close (but not too close :o)

One thing that's struck me every time I've visited has been the juxtaposition of scales. These are giant machines, working on giant pieces of what was once a building's foundation, but at times doing incredibly minute work — their task is to break up the pieces, separate out the rebar from the concrete (for recycling), and pulverize the concrete into gravel and dust. At times, though, the operators will grab individual pieces of rebar during the separation process.

Once things are separated, the rebar gets bundled and shipped off for metal recycling, and the enormous mound of gravel gets trucked away to be mixed into new concrete for other construction projects.

M35 Zeppelin: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Sometimes, when you think you've seen it all, you haven't seen it all. Our truck is like that. A recent work day started out pretty reasonably, and by the end of it, I was even more amazed at how well our truck was running, despite its actual condition.

The Good: The day started out with some paint prep, followed by two coats of paint. Here, a person uses a wire wheel to knock off surface rust, and to generally rough the surface of the old paint to provide better adhesion for the new coat of paint.

After the prep, other folks hit the truck with a first coat of dark brown.

One of the painters finishes the dark brown as another person mixes up a bucket of the desert-camo tan that would become the truck's top coat of paint. Including the paint already on the truck, I believe this brings us to five coats for the areas that were painted that day.

The Bad: Randy and I pulled off the front wheels and removed the front brake drums to inspect the brakes. A combination of missing parts and cracked slave cylinder seals inspired us to just pull everything apart to figure out how much refurbishment might be warranted. Here, Randy pressure-washes the driver-side brake drum as paint prep continues in the background.

As an aside (heh), you can see the original bumper off to the right (currently housing my tools). We removed the bumper in order to weld the frame for the roof-deck directly to the chassis using all-new square tubing (top-left of the image).

The Ugly: We were already aware that the inboard dust seals were in pretty bad shape. Actually, they were in tatters. But sure, how bad could it be?

Turns out: pretty dang ugly. As far as I'm aware, Playa Dust is widely considered to be a pretty poor lubricant. So when we unbolted the front hub to find them mostly full of Playa dust (most of which has already been removed... just think about that...). Anyway, when we found them full of Playa dust, a half-crazed laugh was all I could muster. At least the truck has big enough (CV joint) balls to deal with the situation.

Next step: hub rebuilds, yay!