From lobster boats to stock cars in less than 12 hours.

Just yesterday I was breathing in the crisp Atlantic air along the quiet shores of Nova Scotia — waves lapping, gulls calling, the world at peace. Fast-forward less than twelve hours and I’m standing in the middle of the Martinsville NASCAR Cup hot pits, ears ringing like an AC/DC concert with lungs full of Sunoco premium unleaded. The smell of salt and pine had been violently replaced by burnt rubber and racing fuel, and the only thing quiet around was the ringing in my ears after the third restart. My camera, which had just been capturing tranquil cottages and lobster boats bathed in golden light, was suddenly aimed at something entirely different — the chaos, precision, and intensity of pit crews fighting for fractions of seconds behind the roar of the drivers. These gents are the unspoken heroes behind the television cameras, the enablers of victory.

It was a whiplash kind of transition — one day photographing crab pots in serene coastal light, the next dodging tire smoke and pit crews moving faster than a Monster caffeine rush. Somewhere between the gentle click of my Leica shutter on a seaside cottage and the thunder of Ford, Chevy, and Toyota stock cars flying past, I realized I had completely skipped the “re-entry” phase back into civilization. There’s something oddly beautiful about both worlds, though — one defined by stillness and solitude, the other by motion and madness. Nova Scotia whispered; Martinsville absolutely roared..

Thankfully, I had a pretty great reason to be in Martinsville behind the scenes: my beautiful little girl Zoie, who’s working with NASCAR for her graduate study research, graciously let me shadow her behind the scenes. Watching her move through the organized chaos like she was born for it made the ear damage and gas fumes worth every second. As I snapped photos of the pit crews — hands blurred, faces focused, radios buzzing — I couldn’t help but think about how much heart and teamwork it takes to make this whole machine go, and that my daughter is knee deep and integral within it. To say I'm a proud daddy-o is an understatement.