Motorsport.

Although my family are not considered religious, as a child I can still vividly remember my Dad sitting in front of the TV each Sunday as if it was an altar, his attention drawn to what was simply, at the time, ‘some cars going round in a circle’. I never understood the fixation the sport had on my father; all I could see was the joy and happiness it brought him.

Truth be told, he was, first and foremost, a biker. I grew up surrounded by the sound of him explaining the new parts he was tinkering with, throwing me on the back of his bike, strapping a helmet on me, and showing me the fruits of his labour. My mum would have killed him if she had known. Luckily, I survived, and so did his love for all things that go fast. Even still, I never took any serious interest.

After a few soggy trips to off-beaten forests to witness the madness of a rally stage, the occasional car show where I would ogle at cars I would never own, and, of course, many trips to the home of Scottish motorsport (Knockhill) the roaring excitement of it all began to make sense.

It was finally upon learning to drive myself that I truly understood my Dad’s obsession. My appreciation for the athletes behind the wheel, the extreme risk they were undertaking, the exhilaration of going fast, the mental fortitude and technical skill required, it all clicked.

Now, I’m not setting any lap records in my humble 2006 Golf, but behind that wheel, along those backcountry roads, I think back fondly to those experiences I had. Most importantly, I think of my dad, the crazy petrolhead, and I couldn’t be more grateful for him sharing this passion with me.

This series of photos is a homage to that time spent with my father, aiming to encapsulate the community, excitement, and danger one might experience witnessing ‘some cars going round in a circle’.