Chasing Speed on a Giant White Stage: Photographing the Bonneville Salt Flats

I’d driven past Bonneville years ago on the way back from a shoot in Nevada. Nothing was happening that day, no races, no noise, just this huge white emptiness sitting under the sky. I remember thinking, one day I’ll come back properly. I didn’t know when or why, but something about the place got under my skin.

Fast forward, and I found myself heading to Utah again with a bit of time to spare. I reached out to the race organisers, asked if I could tag along, and then pitched the idea to Smithsonian. They liked it, which opened the door for conversations, little interviews and a chance to really understand the human stories behind the machines. That’s always the part that interests me most.

I arrived before dawn. The first thing that hit me was the light. A blue white glow that felt more like a giant open air studio than a natural landscape. The salt acts like a reflector the size of a small country, softening everything. It’s surreal, almost disorienting at first, but beautiful. You look around and see machinery, faces, engines, crews, all floating in this pale space like a stage set waiting for a performance.

Once things started moving, I worked the way I always prefer to, fast and fluid, bouncing between portraits and wider scenes. People were open, friendly, and easy to approach, especially because the event wasn’t as crowded as the main Speed Week. A quick chat here, a shared laugh there, and before long I had access, energy, and genuine moments. Some shots were pure reportage, some I shaped a little, moving things into the right pocket of light or adjusting a stance, but the spirit stayed natural.

There were moments where I knew I had something. Usually it was a face, a look, the hint of nerves or joy before a run. One racer, Kristin, spoke openly about using speed as a kind of therapy, a way to shed the things in life that no longer served her. She talked about leaving fear behind. I’d never thought of motivation like that before, but it made complete sense in this environment. Everyone here was chasing something internal, not just numbers on a timing sheet.

And then there were the moments of pure adrenaline, like riding with Nick, one of the media managers, racing flat out along the parallel track to keep pace with the first part of the race. Even at full throttle the cars still blasted past us with ease. I remember stepping behind a streamliner just as the engine fired up, and instantly regretting not packing earplugs. The veterans all had custom ones, which tells you everything.

Bonneville resonated with me in a way I didn’t fully expect. Maybe it’s the history, maybe it’s the theatre of speed, or maybe it’s tied to my childhood obsession with aviation. Speed, flight, motion, big skies, machines pushed to their limits, it all speaks the same visual language. Photographing it felt natural.

People sometimes assume personal work is relaxing compared to commissioned shoots, but honestly the pressure feels similar. You want the images to work. You want to do the place justice. You want to come home with photographs that say something true