The Penalty Box
Spied this while walking around the paddock at Road Atlanta. How they get an 1,800 lb. race car into that thing I couldn’t tell you.
Trevor Noble: A flight too short
Saturday, February 10th 2007 was an awesome day…
Julie, (friend and fellow photographer) was going up to Nashville to take some aerial Real Estate photos in a helicopter. Read the rest of this entry »
A rare sighting in the wild
No, not the antique Rolls Royce… Silly! It’s a glimpse of PeeWee from Skate Truck. (in background with sunglasses) A secretive and elusive creature in his natural habitat. We had tracked him to the 2007 British Car Club show in Franklin. Patience and stealth eventually paid off and we were able to capture this remarkable image.
The Cracker Barrel Doppelgänger
I’m at a Cracker Barrel somewhere in Georgia today on my way back from the Petit Le Mans. (More on the race later) Over the years I’ve seen many restaurant hosts and hostesses have an uncomfortable moment when the time comes to call my name. So as I often do I give the hostess my initials instead while making up some nonsense about my name being tricky. I walk around the store for a few minutes and before long I hear “G.R. Table for one!” on the intercom. I walk up and open my mouth to speak when suddenly another voice says “Yeah, table for G.R.?” That’s when I speak up and say “Hey, I’m GR!” I look over at the guy that has just walked up, claiming to be “G.R.” We stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he apologetically says that everybody calls him G.R. and that he thought they were calling him. The hostess gives us both a weird, uncomfortable look, and we all sort of smile awkwardly and mumble at each other for a second. To my relief, she decides that I’m more than likely the G.R .she had in mind and motions for me to follow her. In hindsight, I should have asked the gentleman if he had actually given that name when he walked in or if he just assumed she was calling for him… I’m not sure what the truth was, but I’m pretty certain I put my name in before the Other G.R. arrived at least.
As I’m sitting at my table a few minutes later the hostess seats the dude about 20 feet away directly in front of me. As I look him over it dawns on me. The similarities go well beyond our initials. White guy, appearing to be in his mid-forties? Check. Eating alone? Check. Wearing a tee shirt, shorts and open toe sandals? Check. Has glasses too? Check. Cue the theme from The Twilight Zone.
I try to appear disinterested, but seeing (ahem) G.R. over there quietly munching his toast makes me uncomfortable. I remind myself that I’m in a hurry anyway, so I eat quickly, plunk a tip on the table and leave. On the way home I have plenty of time to ponder. What does this mean? Has any lasting damage been done to my cherished sense of uniqueness? Is the Other G.R. also having strange feelings about what just occurred? Should I have ordered orange juice instead of coffee?
In the end I decide that it’s no big deal. There’s plenty of guys out there with the initials G.R. Some of them are bound to dress like me and stop at a Cracker Barrel occasionally. Statistically, it was virtually certain to happen sooner or later.
Still, the next time I’m eating out it’s going to be fun to hear the hostess say “Table for… um…. Ga-wain Reifs-nyder?”
Face to Face with a Katydid
I was looking through some pictures I took last year around this time. I found this guy nosing around in Stephanie’s flowerpots on the front porch. He didn’t seem to mind posing or being misted with a little water while I stuck my macro lens in his face.