Formula D Finals - The Drifters

Every time I enter a big sweeping turn on the highway I imagine myself sliding the car sideways like I was one of those drift drivers we occasionally profile. I'd accelerate into the turn at breakneck speeds, stomping on the throttle like it was on fire, counter-steering the rear end of the car until it's a hair away from scraping the guardrail, all while a gorgeous plume of white smoke trails behind me like the tail of a comet. A cop would see this and spill his coffee in his lap while he fumbles to turn on his siren and lights to hopefully catch me while I'm literally leaving him in the dust. Then, like a scene out of a Jerry Bruckheimer action flick, a small army of Highway Patrol officers would be chasing me until my uncanny driving abilities got me around a sharp highway exit, onto the streets and into an alley that the cops just missed. My dream, however, spins out of control like a one-armed wheelchair racer when I remind myself that I'm driving a lowly ES2 Civic. At least I get good gas mileage. Be that as it may, I've found that I could vicariously live out my fantasy of drifting while covering the 2008 season of the Formula Drift series, which just wrapped with the finale at the Irwindale Raceway.

Walking through the expansive parking lot up to the cinderblock entrance, I couldn't help but think what it's like to drift for a living. Sure, it's not exactly Formula One racing, with all the hot European models or multimillion-dollar paychecks, but it can't be too bad, right? On my way to the media meeting situated under a tent behind the Formula Drift big-rig, I noticed the massive crowd of journalists made up of photographers, videographers and writers. There had to have been at least 200 people waiting in line to pickup their teal-blue photo vests, the ones that Sean "The Man From Bethlehem" Klingelhoefer loves to sport as a fashion statement. The same vests that Charles likes to wear as an accessory to his assortment of Mexican wrestling masks. I looked over at Mr. "JDM" Wong, both of us card-carrying members of the Formula D elite club of journalists who turned in their media requests at the beginning of the season, and we gave each other a look that said, "Nah, we don't really need `em."

After the gaggle of journalists were finished chewin' the fat, I decided to make my way towards the starting grid. It was the kind of day that required me to squint, even through my sunglasses. It was about 10:30 in the morning and the heat was starting to build on the blacktop of the track. I decided to bust out my camera's flash to add a little zing to my photos; shadows were harsh and I didn't want to deal with trying to fix them. I made my way through the lineup of cars giving a few familiar faces the "what up!" head nod while scanning for something interesting to shoot. Ron Bergenholtz greets me and his hair is looking like he showers holding a toaster oven. Ron's the kind of guy that's always good to catch up with, he's always down to give me the straight-talk lowdown and doesn't bullshit too much. If something isn't going his team's way, he'll say so. But today, he's pretty optimistic about their chances. Ron says the car is running well and the team's driver, Ryuji Miki, is good to go. I tell him that's great and take a few photos of him in the process. I see Jonny up ahead popping off photos of the cars and the drivers waiting around. I know he likes to shoot low and close, so I decide to take a more straightforward framing angle and find a few random crewmembers, like Manubu "Max" Orido's tire-pressure guy to shoot. He's got a very Japanese look, his hair is dyed orange; he's kind of pale and stands like a sack of bones held up by strings.