Continuing the quest to find the nation’s finest Dagwood Dog, I returned to the pits of Sydney’s Valvolene Raceway on the night of the annual Smash-up Derby. It turns out these legends yearn all racing season to hook up a Port-a-Loo to a caravan, then to the back of a clapped-out Commodore, a Ford or whatever moves when you stick petrol in it.
Sometimes you’ve just gotta get out of the humdrum and head to a place where the earth rumbles under a charging herd of high octane 950 horse-power engines, creating a nuclear-like dust storm that makes Mad Max feel like The Sound of Music.
Welcome to Slab City – the last free place in America (so some say). It’s a squatter’s camp of about 150 locals who reside off the grid in all kinds of makeshift houses, caravans, old buses and tents.
A lot can happen to a bloke out in the desert. And after a while, with enough sunshine, moonshine and time to think a man begins to see things and maybe even talk to himself a little bit.
I reckon everyone’s got some kind of super power. Some folks can do epic cards tricks that make you believe in sorcery, while others can fold fresh bed linen like a ninja… me, I’m a human homing beacon for the ragged characters and weirdos that roam around the places I love to photograph.