Atlanta and it's engines

Jet lagged in Georgia

Laying awake at irregular jet lag hours in my room by the road, The junction of

Park and Monroe never sleeps. It's 3am then it's 4.45am the rumble of  collosoll V8's as they accelerate away from the lights, or speed up as they turn green on approach makes the new insulation in the walls seems redundant.  Someone's always going somewhere on this road.

My thoughts wander back to my youth when I loved cars. My father too. He had old Rovers the V8 types with sunroofs and a 45rpm record player in one. I enjoyed missing the bus, even though the punishment could be severe the ride and arrival to school in this majestic car was worth it. I used to know cars by the sound of their engines, and even the closing of their doors. I used to test myself by closing my eyes and sitting by the side of the road and listening. I couldn't tell the sound of a cruising car, it would have to accelerate for me know and recognise the orchestra of valves, pistons and combustion and the music it made. I was right 9 times out of ten.

It's a pity they never made it a school test. It would have been the one test that I passed.

Now forty years later as I walk around Atlanta these giants of the road still have me turning my head. I have no idea now what kind of cars they are now. My head is full of other more or less important stuff but I still stop and look.

If it's a car from the 60's or 70's I will stop and talk to myself and the car, get out my camera and photograph every inch of it. Sometimes owners will arrive with that concerned look on their face, and I have to go into my explanation of how wonderful I think their car is. This inevitably brings on stories of how they found the car, where it's been, it's name and sex, their own life stories and so on.

And I really do enjoy it.  The last car was a 69 Chevelle a faded cream straight lined, to many a forgettable type of car, to Mike her owner (a mechanic in Hapeville) she is special. He knows every scratch and creek on this old lady. He was in the military, and when he heard my accent he told me about his Irish military chaplain who helped get him through the scary and crazy days of Vietnam.

He has to go back to work, I thank him for his stories and his wonderful car and continue to take photos. After about 30 minutes he comes back out of his workshop and asks "what the f..k you still doin takin photos". It calls for a deeper explanation to allay his fears. Yes I still love cars and their stories, and I will always stop and photograph them no matter how infantile I can feel. I remind myself of my mantra, "I'm a photographer this is what I do do".