PRELUDE
PRELUDE
" I’ve never seen a car as just some cold machine built to get someone from Point A to Point B. The moment an engine fires up, you can feel the designer’s soul and personality embedded deep in the metal. Tuning into that character is an essential prelude before I ever hit the shutter. "
" I’ve never seen a car as just some cold machine built to get someone from Point A to Point B. The moment an engine fires up, you can feel the designer’s soul and personality embedded deep in the metal. Tuning into that character is an essential prelude before I ever hit the shutter. "
There’s no such thing as a car that pleases everybody. But there’s always that one machine—even with all its flaws—that makes you never want to let go of the wheel. Over the past decade, having those daily conversations with hundreds of cars has given me a much more complete, grounded way of seeing the world.
There’s no such thing as a car that pleases everybody. But there’s always that one machine—even with all its flaws—that makes you never want to let go of the wheel. Over the past decade, having those daily conversations with hundreds of cars has given me a much more complete, grounded way of seeing the world.
In 2016, fed up with the condescending, preachy tone of traditional auto media, Moore, Nico, and I founded Fastlane / Slowlane.
In 2016, fed up with the condescending, preachy tone of traditional auto media, Moore, Nico, and I founded Fastlane / Slowlane.
Along this journey, a car is never just a cold set of specs—it’s a living piece of culture. It belongs on the open highway, in everyday life, in subcultures, and on the outer limits of the track. It carries genuine, unspoken human connection, often with that intoxicating edge of danger.
Along this journey, a car is never just a cold set of specs—it’s a living piece of culture. It belongs on the open highway, in everyday life, in subcultures, and on the outer limits of the track. It carries genuine, unspoken human connection, often with that intoxicating edge of danger.
And as long as rubber meets the road—whether in the fast lane chasing sheer speed, or in the slow lane soaking in the scenery and the years—we are in true dialogue with the machines and the world, capturing every raw emotion and fleeting beam of light.
And as long as rubber meets the road—whether in the fast lane chasing sheer speed, or in the slow lane soaking in the scenery and the years—we are in true dialogue with the machines and the world, capturing every raw emotion and fleeting beam of light.
YES ! BUT...... The frozen frames in front of you have long ceased to be just about cars. They are a chapter of our youth locked in time—impossible to relive, impossible to replicate, and impossible to reboot.
YES ! BUT...... The frozen frames in front of you have long ceased to be just about cars. They are a chapter of our youth locked in time—impossible to relive, impossible to replicate, and impossible to reboot.
Moore once told me, 'Everything has a spirit. If you treat a machine with genuine heart, it will give you everything it’s got in return.'
Moore once told me, 'Everything has a spirit. If you treat a machine with genuine heart, it will give you everything it’s got in return.'
When you see him unable to stand a single speck of dirt on the paint, getting red-faced arguing with a car washer over rough handling, or genuinely losing his temper at colleagues who abuse a car simply because 'it doesn’t belong to them'—you get it. That’s not being nitpicky. That’s an unfiltered, fiercely protective love for a machine.
When you see him unable to stand a single speck of dirt on the paint, getting red-faced arguing with a car washer over rough handling, or genuinely losing his temper at colleagues who abuse a car simply because 'it doesn’t belong to them'—you get it. That’s not being nitpicky. That’s an unfiltered, fiercely protective love for a machine.
Nico was a lizard prowling the edge of the circuit. To film cars clawing against the asphalt and churning up mud, he lived at the track day and night, endlessly pushing past the limit and dreaming up wild concept after wild concept. You’d always find him hunkered down in the hairiest corners, and even when covered in cuts and bruises, backing off never crossed his mind.
Nico was a lizard prowling the edge of the circuit. To film cars clawing against the asphalt and churning up mud, he lived at the track day and night, endlessly pushing past the limit and dreaming up wild concept after wild concept. You’d always find him hunkered down in the hairiest corners, and even when covered in cuts and bruises, backing off never crossed his mind.
And I was the one who would risk everything just to catch that one beam of light.
And I was the one who would risk everything just to catch that one beam of light.
All for a single shot—boulders whistling inches past our heads on rally stages; bracing against brutal G-forces crammed in rattling trunks; sudden mudslides and collapsing slopes; close calls where flash floods nearly swept us into riverbeds; drones and GoPros smashed to pieces on the rocks...
All for a single shot—boulders whistling inches past our heads on rally stages; bracing against brutal G-forces crammed in rattling trunks; sudden mudslides and collapsing slopes; close calls where flash floods nearly swept us into riverbeds; drones and GoPros smashed to pieces on the rocks...
What ordinary eyes see as reckless danger and misery is, in truth, the rawest shape of our passion. Every gamble we take comes down to an unfiltered obsession with the machine. For a single irreplaceable click of the shutter, I can wait in silence for hours, completely oblivious to hunger and exhaustion—because the second that light breaks through, everything finds its answer.
What ordinary eyes see as reckless danger and misery is, in truth, the rawest shape of our passion. Every gamble we take comes down to an unfiltered obsession with the machine. For a single irreplaceable click of the shutter, I can wait in silence for hours, completely oblivious to hunger and exhaustion—because the second that light breaks through, everything finds its answer.
Yet most of the waiting ends in nothing. Through relentless cycles of heartbreak and second-guessing, we learned humility, and we learned to revere nature. Standing between humanity and the untamed wild, it was the machine—bearing our hubris and obsession, shielding fragile flesh and bone—that carried us into the unknown, and brought us home in one piece, time and time again.
Yet most of the waiting ends in nothing. Through relentless cycles of heartbreak and second-guessing, we learned humility, and we learned to revere nature. Standing between humanity and the untamed wild, it was the machine—bearing our hubris and obsession, shielding fragile flesh and bone—that carried us into the unknown, and brought us home in one piece, time and time again.
The three of us ran wild on the open road like that for years. Until the era quietly shifted—until the roar of internal combustion gave way to uniform, sterile screens, and that parting line from Jeremy Clarkson suddenly stung sharper than ever.
The three of us ran wild on the open road like that for years. Until the era quietly shifted—until the roar of internal combustion gave way to uniform, sterile screens, and that parting line from Jeremy Clarkson suddenly stung sharper than ever.
"I’ve driven cars for 35 years, and I’ve absolutely loved it. But today, most cars are just white goods. It’s like reviewing a microwave oven. Who does that? What’s the point?"
"I’ve driven cars for 35 years, and I’ve absolutely loved it. But today, most cars are just white goods. It’s like reviewing a microwave oven. Who does that? What’s the point?"
Maybe that’s why we never let go of the wheel, and why we kept pressing the shutter. If that golden age of mechanical soul and raw character is bound to fade into dusk, then at least within these frames, we preserved its fierce, beating heart—for ourselves, for the world, and for every engine that ever roared at full throttle.
Maybe that’s why we never let go of the wheel, and why we kept pressing the shutter. If that golden age of mechanical soul and raw character is bound to fade into dusk, then at least within these frames, we preserved its fierce, beating heart—for ourselves, for the world, and for every engine that ever roared at full throttle.
Even though life has now scattered us across different corners of the globe, I decided to gather those fragments of light and shadow from over the years, and bring them back into the light.
Even though life has now scattered us across different corners of the globe, I decided to gather those fragments of light and shadow from over the years, and bring them back into the light.
Dedicated to an era that can never be rebooted, and to everyone who still knows how to listen to the heartbeat of an engine.
Dedicated to an era that can never be rebooted, and to everyone who still knows how to listen to the heartbeat of an engine.
And our lane.
And our lane.
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