The molten orange sun hangs low in the winter sky, casting long shadows that will soon stretch into darkness. Photographers call this time between daytime and dusk the Golden Hour, but snapper Dan Pullen already has today’s shoot in the bag. For me, that means no more standing around shivering while I hold the wireless flash, and no more back-and-forth panning shots punctuated by five-point turns. All I need to think about now is the car and the road.
Accelerating hard in second gear, the naturally aspirated flat six gulps down lungfuls of dense January air, its tone hardening to a fierce metallic snarl. I snick-snick the lever across into third as we crest a hill, then plunge downwards into a tunnel of trees. Shards of sunlight cut through the branches to my left, fast and intense, creating a flickering effect like a vintage Super 8 film. It’s both dazzling and a little bit disorientating.
My brain might be crackling with static, but the 911 communicates with fibre-optic clarity. It feels alive to every input: hard-wired into my fingertips, the balls of my feet and the seat of my pants. In a world of charmless crossovers and anaesthetised EVs, this basic
