British Pride

     


     If you've ever stood next to a Rolls Royce Phantom you understand what I mean when I say this is a BIG car.  But that's just it, isn't it.  A Rolls Royce is a big car.  However this one's sheer volume is quite deceptive.  A bit over nineteen feet long and standing taller than five feet, this thing is as light as a feather.  Weighing in at a scant 5622 pounds (unladen weight) and employing the muscle of a 6.7 liter 48 valve V-12 (producing 453 brake horsepower) along with a seamless 6 speed automatic transmission, this contemporary masterpiece reminds me of the ultimate sleeper.  All muscle underneath a sheep's exterior (granted, the best looking sheep in the herd), and fully capable of blowing your mind.  What image you may have had of Rolls Royce in the past will be all but erased after you dig into this one.


     Let's talk stats for a moment.  0-60 mph in 5.7 seconds.  A governed top speed of 150 mph.  A drag coefficient of 0.37 assisting it to get a highway average of 25 miles per gallon of fuel consumed.  531 lb/ft of torque at 3500 rpm!  And to top off what's under the skin, all of the amenities that you would expect of a Rolls Royce are present in the uber-luxurious cabin.  It takes ELEVEN cow hides to make enough flawless leather to cover the required surfaces such as seats, armrests, door panels, etc..  This leather is so flawless, in fact, that Rolls Royce touts that it won't even squeak when you sit on it!  HA!  The veneer inside the cabin is all from a single tree.  And unconfirmed reports say that this car will even julienne carrots without breaking stride.

     I picked this black beauty up from a friend of mine one afternoon because I just had to take it home to show my wife.  I had done a photo shoot with it a couple of weeks earlier and I couldn't stop talking about it.  I simply had to bring it home.


     When I got behind the wheel of this land yacht the first thing I noticed was just how enormous the steering wheel was.  How appropriate for a car as large as this.  As my "seat" settled into its seat I couldn't help but feel as if I had just nestled into the most expensive easy chair on four wheels.  This thing was comfortable! Just then, the most odd sensation came over me that I might be a bit underdressed...


     A push of a button and the engine came to life... or did it.  The only way to tell was the reading on the "power reserve meter".  Instead of a tachometer, this car has a gauge telling you what's waiting in the stockpile of horsepower for you to unleash.  Try as I might though, I could not hear it!  It might as well have been running on batteries, it was so quiet.  I shifted into drive through the use of the funkiest gear mechanism in automobile history and I was off.

     All of a sudden this imperial sized car felt agile, controlled even.  Not what I had expected.  Earlier in conversation with its owner the discussion had been the price tag.  "Now remember," he had said, "this is a four hundred thousand dollar car.  The insurance deduction alone, if you decide to bump into something, is thirty-five thousand.  Just be careful."  Oh thanks, as if I wasn't nervous enough.  I would spend the rest of eternity paying that off.  But as I ran the car through the gear box, my anxiety began to wane.


     On the surface streets it felt smooth and precise.  The eery thing about it was how it accelerated.  It was as if some unseen, unheard force was willing it forward.  The engine was so nearly inaudible that I found myself aiming an ear toward the dashboard to see if I could pick up something, anything of an engine noise.


     The freeway onramp afforded the first opportunity to detect engine growl.  And I was not disappointed.  I floored the pedal and was thrust gently into my pillow topped seat as the engine gave off a deep throated umph.

     Merging with traffic was somewhat of a spectacle.  Not because of the car's size, but its looks.  It's not everyday that one sees a blacked-out Rolls Royce Phantom on I-15 in Salt Lake county.  My fellow freeway drivers seemed somewhat startled as they whipped out small cameras and cell phones to snap a picture of this unidentified-driving-object.  My wannabe celebrity ego began to swell.  Wait a minute though.  Wouldn't the celebrity be in the back seat and not driving?  In due course I found my way home, soaking in this sublime creation and my new found status the whole way.


     As I reached the exit ramp leading into my neighborhood I called my wife and told her to be ready to go for a ride.  She was perplexed as I hadn't eluded in any way that I would be bringing anything home that day, but she would be ready nonetheless.


     I pulled silently into the driveway and parked.  Exiting the car, I let the electronically controlled latch do the work of closing the door for me.  I retrieved my wife and oldest son from the house and introduced them to the visitor in the drive.

     My wife was floored to say the least.  My son thought it was pretty cool too.  I invited them into the back seat by way of the rear suicide door.  I loaded into the driver seat again and started the engine.


     We rolled out of the driveway and down our street.  I looked in the rearview mirror to see my wife, still slack-jawed, absorbing the interior details.  As she examined the upholstery, the art deco mirrors on the rear "A" frame caught her attention which made her laugh a little.


     I turned my attention to my son.  "What do you think, bud?"  "This is cool dad... LOOK!!  A GT FORD MUSTANG!!"  He was five at the time and thought the Mustang GT was THE coolest car on the road.  There we were rolling in the most luxurious, expensive car on the road and he was on the look-out for Mustangs.  Oh well.


     We took our time tooling around the neighborhood, taking in our experience in this capsule of extravagance.  It was most likely that we would never bring home a Rolls Royce Phantom again.  We had to enjoy it right now.


     Soon enough I had dropped my family off at home and returned the car to my friend.  Even now I can smell the leather and not hear the engine in that amazing motorcar.  To this day I have never met its opulent equal.

Blue In Las Vegas

     Las Vegas, Nevada.  Hmmmmm...  Someone told me this town is no longer catering to the family crowd, but has transitioned to a twenty-one and older state of mind.  As I look around the groupings of pedestrians shuffling up and down the strip in front of the Palazzo Hotel I recognize the lack of children with bored looks on their faces as their parents drag them to casino after casino, only to dump them in the "entertainment" areas that are nothing more than elaborate day care centers.  I pick out one family across the street that stands out like a sore thumb now that I've internalized the mindset that maybe this isn't the family resort town of the past.

     The air is alive with the reverberation of music piped through loud speakers into the street, conversations in at least four different languages, automobile horns, and the smells of a variety of different cuisine options being prepared and offered to zombie-like gamblers finally staggering away from the monotony of the one-armed bandits that sit in rows like dinging and clanging thieves.  All at once I'm aware of just how absurd the whole thing is.  After all, the odds are in the House's favor.  Each patron is building this city one pull of the handle at a time.  But that's what this place is all about.  A massive desert valley where anything goes, within reason.  People want to be entertained, and this is an entertainment kind of town.  Just look around.

     The funny thing is that I'm here as a side effect of what this town represents.  I got a call from a friend of mine who owns a media outlet to come down and be the "official" photographer on a commercial project his company was producing for an exotic car outfit inside the Palazzo Hotel.  Honored to have that kind of confidence placed on my shoulders, I packed my car and headed for the big neon city.  Las Vegas had a collection of some of the highest of the high end vehicles on the planet because of what Las Vegas represents: money.

     Standing on the sidewalk amid all the hustle and bustle, the air is cracked by the blast of something new and almost frightening.  The banshee-like wail resonating out of the single tailpipe of a cobalt blue Lamborghini Murcielago LP640 Roadster bellows down Las Vegas Boulevard and off the surrounding buildings.  All foot traffic stops. The children on the other side of the street with their family duck behind their parents, and my heart races knowing that our group caused this commotion.

     Earlier we had asked Nick, one of our contacts at the dealership, if he wouldn't drive into the front round-a-bout at the hotel so that we could get some shots of the car outside.  He eagerly complies and is now clearing the throat of this beast on the street, causing all present to tremble and admire.  If the sound of a Ferrari is like a practiced Italian operatic tenor, the LP640 is its leather jacket and denim wearing, bar-fighting brother.  Brutal and angry sounds echo down the canyon of buildings as Nick makes the left turn into the hotel's front drive.

     

     The high sheen of the blue paint glimmers in the hazy sunlight.  This near $400K car is something to behold in broad daylight.  Nick finesses the car into the drive and continues on to the hotel's drive-up gazebo.  Emerging from the car with a rock star ambience, he leaves both famous scissor doors ajar in their upright position and ambles to the sidelines.  My camera shutter is flying.

     It's amusing to watch the clamoring as spectators fall over themselves to get a closer look at this marvel of modern technology on wheels.  I keep having to ask them to step out of the way so that I can fulfill the task at hand and not get them in the shot.  By this time even the hotel's security team is asking us to clear out as our spectacle is beginning to cause them distress.

     I ask Nick if he wouldn't mind pulling through the round-a-bout again to pick me up so that we can make our exit.  We need shots of this thing out on the open road anyway.  He fires up the combustion chamber again and eases out.

     We hang a right out of the hotel onto the boulevard and then right again onto Spring Mountain Road heading east.  Nick punches the tall pedal and I'm reminded of just how stiff the seats are.  We blast toward Paradise Road along Sands Avenue now.  A left on Paradise and we meet up with the monorail cars and commence in a type of slow drag race between transportation modes.  The monorail won (blasted traffic) as we now make a left turn onto Desert Inn Road.  Nick is peculiarly quiet, almost as if he knows that no conversation need occur while the engine is yelling at us from behind.  My head snaps back while the seemingly untamed horsepower rockets us westward.  The wind rips at my hairline through the open cockpit and threatens to make me more bald than I already am.

     We turn around at a gas station and race along our course in reverse heading back to the hotel.  Nick is still eerily silent with nothing but a coy smirk adorning his face.  He's enjoying this. So am I.

     As we enter the parking structure under the Palazzo the confined space seems to amplify the sonorous idling noise escaping the engine bay of our voguish all-wheel-drive chariot.  Those 640 horses appear to know it is time to return to the stables for some rest.  But I can't clear out the thought that they still want to run, and hard.


     Nick's ever-present smile is still there as he finally breaks his silence, asking me if I wouldn't mind opening the security door to the lower level of the showroom.  I reluctantly climb out of the coach leather seat, through the peculiar scissor door, and conform to his request.  I watch as he slides the car into its resting position neatly behind a black Ferrari 430, the Lamborghini obviously gloating toward its well-mannered counterpart.  I never do learn why Nick is smiling, but I think I understand as I set about hoping that the edge now opened up on my nerves never goes away.


     If Las Vegas is for twenty-one and older, this car is right at home here. It embodies Las Vegas, typifies it.  No one under the age of twenty-one should be allowed to handle one.  They're not ready.  Instead, let them build up to it through years of damaging themselves in ratted out Japanese cars with bad body kits and poorly tuned exhaust systems that sound like they'll explode at any moment.  Maybe then they'll understand what it means to to have the honor of handling the pleasurable, refined yet raw, capabilities of this car.


     As we leave the Palazzo later that afternoon I recall the image that will ever burn in my mind as I reflect on my introduction to the LP640.  Scissor doors reach skyward inviting fantasies and drivers alike to crawl inside and launch into blissful oblivion with reckless abandon.

Mercedes Attitude

Mercedes Benz had always held a place in my mind as a reserved luxury German auto maker... until I drove this: The 2005 C55 AMG.

My neighbor had this in his arsenal of vehicles and was gracious enough to let me photograph it at the Bonneville Salt Flats, 90 minutes west of Salt Lake City. I knew we would need a place with zero visual distraction to create an ethereal, other-worldly atmosphere. The only natural choice was Bonneville.

The C55 is the 2005 C-class Mercedes on steroids. A normally aspirated 5.5 liter V8 producing a whomping 362 horses and 376 lb ft of torque blasts its smoking jacket wearing driver to 60 mph from a stand-still in 4.7 seconds and tops out at 155 mph. Now, you may balk at this moderate top end, but let's see you keep a smile off your face as you plant the throttle in this baby!

 We had planned on being out at the salt just as the sun was setting. The perfect time. Not a cloud in the sky, and there wasn't a soul for miles around. Further out on the salt we could hear the sound of rolling thunder as many others were attempting to break records (or their machines) at the fastest speeds they could attain on this hard-pan, pure white, gravelly surface. We, on the other hand, weren't here to see how fast we could go. I set up my camera and started to shoot as the sun was setting along the peaks of the mountains west of Wendover. We only had a short window of light to get the shots I had in mind.

Out came the tripod mounted remote flash units. "Don't set them too powerfully now... just enough to make this thing pop". I had also now set the camera up on a tripod as I was going to need a long exposure to compensate for the great depth of field I wanted in this low light. ISO at 100, aperture at f10, shutter speed at 1/2 second... CLICK!

Sometimes everything just goes right. On the ride home (at a modest 90 mph) I felt a sense of progress as I had broken through a barrier in my abilities as a photographer. Location, timing, lighting, subject, camera, and mental clarity all came together. I now had the confidence to go out and tackle other shoots of equal or greater complexity without hesitation. As you will surely find in later posts, they certainly came along.

Bare-Knuckle Bentley

The car on the left is the Bentley Continental Supersports, new for 2010. Weighing in at a touch over 5,000 lbs and producing a little over 600 bhp from its massive twin turbocharged W-12 power plant, this heap of sculpted artistry will scoot you along in all-wheel-drive bliss from your garage to anywhere you have in mind... before you have even made up your mind on where to go! A top speed clearing the 200 mph mark and a price tag closer to 300K places this car squarely in the category of "slightly out of human reach"!

The general manager of the dealership and I both agreed that we needed to exploit this car differently than the other, mere mortal, Bentleys on the lot. A night shoot was in order.

I used Elinchrom 400 BX strobes on 15' tripods flanking the car with a Nikon SB800 strobe on the ground behind the car for the lighting. The camera was a Nikon D200 set to RAW, 100 ISO, F9, 1/60 shutter speed, and lens at 50mm. Not a lot of post processing was involved other than a bit of sharpening and color correction.

I love to shoot high end cars. There's something gratifying for me having spent most of my childhood dreaming about what it would be like to drive them. Now I get to make part of my career around them.

In The Beginning

Profound wisdom. Eccentric viewpoints. Superfluous streams of thought. Maybe. Sometimes. Could be that you'll see these things here. After all... isn't that what you expect when you look on any blog or website where photography or art is posted? I tend, however, to be more of a realist and only venture into the philosophical when I can't think of anything else to say.

I think of photography as a bit more of a science than some around me do. The beauty of it is that creativity enhances it. Its fundamentals are built upon by vision and inspiration, which in turn bolster the fundamentals. Cyclical isn't it?

You can always tell a seasoned photographer in a crowd of shutter-bugs. They seem to be more focused (pardon the pun), confident, shooting the (fill in the blank) out of their subject to capture it in every possible alternative way. And when it comes to the final product, well, they are the ones sitting in the back of the room watching the faces of others as their work is oogled upon. And when someone approaches them about just how they captured this amazing image when the rest of them produced nothing more than a glorified snapshot of the same subject, the reaction is more of modesty and deflection than vain self-serving attitude.

I will never pretend to know how the "pros" do it. But it has been my experience that all of them impart, at least on some level, a little wisdom and clarity on what to do to produce similar results. The greatest compliment is emulation. I have many mentors in the photo world that I attempt to be in the same league as. Most of them will never know that I take their wisdom and put it to work in my products as often as possible. It's a rare breed that are inspired with something new every time they pick up the camera. I am not one of them. I need to be inspired.

You know a good photograph when you see it. It captures your attention immediately. Your eye wanders around the print taking in all the information through color, shape, composition, mood, etc.. A photograph can shape emotion, challenge perspective, shift perception.

Now that I have built this all up, I will share my sometimes less than remarkable work with anyone who cares to view it. I have the vision in my head of someday becoming a great professional photographer. Hopefully someday I can attain the lofty goal of never having to release the shutter until the image is perfectly composed in the viewfinder. Wouldn't that be sweet?!