I’ll never forget that night. I was standing there, behind a fence, shivering, because my knit jacket was no match for the cold of the Circuit de la Sarthe. Of course, I had underestimated the chill of France’s mid-summer nights, but at that point, it mattered little to me. I was behind a stretch of chain link fence, looking out at a piece of tarmac that zigged and zagged gloriously. My hands gripped the camera I was holding. There was a stillness in the air, nobody was moving, all heads turned in one direction. Then came a strange,…
… the obligation to find it and never let it go
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