Every July in Ohio, the largest gathering of vintage motorcycle racers, collectors and enthusiasts come together to celebrate their shared passion. This four day weekend brings out the wild rugged types from all over the country to share in the celebration!
Documented on 120 film shot with a Hasselblad 500c.
Two years spent documenting the artists and clients of Philadelphia’s True Hand Society tattoo shop. Run out of a 150 year old church, the owner, Mike Ski, has put together a shop of talented artists that produce unique and powerful tattoo pieces.
The 72-year-old tunnel connecting visitors to the infield of Pennsylvania’s Williams Grove Speedway has damp, warped walls and reeks of cigars and race fuel. There’s an energy here — a pocket of hurried preparation hidden in quiet farmland — and I can think of no better way to spend a muggy Friday night than drinking cold beers and watching sprint cars slide sideways at 120 mph on the half-mile oval.
The track’s old PA system crackles to life: “Driv ... eeting! Five minute ... Drivers' meeting! Five minutes!” Drivers read their qualifying order from a hastily written dry-erase board, then head back to the pits to hand-shave and customize tire treads to balance optimal grip on the dark clay; too little traction causes wheel spin, but the car can’t slide if it has too much traction.
These are hard-working weekend warriors, prepping after long workdays throughout the week in order to optimize their cars for Friday under the lights. A lot of these drivers are racing the same track their fathers raced generations before them, and it’s not uncommon to see racing legends wrenching in the pits on their friend’s or kid’s car. Local tow trucks and tattoo shops sponsor hometown racers, plastering their sprint cars with logos from hood to wing.
When the green flag drops, everyone has an eye out for the checkers. This genuine, grassroots sport is at the heart of American auto racing, and these local sprint car teams epitomize the search for pure speed and efficiency. As a kid, collecting dirty tear-offs from the edges of the track, I saw these drivers with a mythical stature. Now, as an adult, I’m even more struck by the extraordinary effort I see exerted by these everyday people.
In a small patch of woods on the outskirts of Philadelphia a group of bike riders have built an innovative and hard working community. Using shovels and rakes to build and upkeep the monolithic clay pillars, an unseen labyrinth of drainage, watering ditches and rolled tarps battle the natural cycles of the old forest.
During their twenty-something year existence the trails have been passed down from crew to crew. Constantly on the edge of demolition by city land developers the trails have nurtured a crew of diggers and riders that are forced to monitor city hall and fight for the protection of this wild land.
For the trail rider, sitting at work on a Monday with the campfire smoke still lingering in their nose, orange clay still sticking to their shoes, the trails will always feel like they’re calling.
Some time around 1907 Charles E. Duryea, co-founder of Duryea Power Company in Reading, PA was motoring his two cylinder, air cooled “Buggyaut” automobile up the steep, narrow winding road that would become known as Duryea Drive. Using this hill as a quality test, any vehicle that could not make the climb would be sent back to the shop for further refinement. Fast forward five decades and the SCCA would include the Duryea Hillclimb amongst many other tracks and hill climbs around the country in its Championship circuit. In 1958, Roger Penske would enter Duryea, jump starting his racing career driving a fuel injected ‘57 Corvette Roadster.
On a weekend this past August, fencing and corner markers were getting set up. The chatter of racing buddies and the hum of engines returned to the bottom of Duryea Drive. The hillclimb was ready to go! This volunteer run event put on by the Blue Mountain Region SCCA and Pennsylvania Hillclimb Association brings every level driver and all kinds of vehicles to the starting line. Sitting at turn 4 in the humid Pennsylvania summer air, the sound of tires peeling out at the bottom of the hill could be the product of anything from an 800cc two stroke Arctic Cat powered Cheetah SR1, a 178 hp EV Sports Racer or even a regal 1961 Jaguar MK2.
