A nightly three hour drive going west from Salt Lake City leads up to a distant neon glow, one might easily mistake for a quick stop to get some gas or food. Wendover is a hot and dusty desert town. Its location – just across the Nevada border – make it legal gambling grounds. People pausing on their way to Las Vegas and Utahns looking for some profane entertainment fill up the casinos.
Another geographical asset of Wendover is its placement on the banks of the Bonneville salt fats. Every August, the crispy white fats transform in internal combustion’s Mecca, welcoming devoted speed-seekers from all over the world. A burning ambition to become the fastest man on land being the sole purpose of their visit. To an outsider’s eye, the town with its truck stops, military base, environmental compromise, casinos and world record attempts, seems as American as it gets.
Being a lifelong petrol head myself, for 3 consecutive years I have been traveling back and forth to this capital of land speed racing, trying to document the phenomenon. However, the event rained out each year, leaving the salt fats flooded and me stranded in Wendover. It was only then I intuitively started to photograph the daily life of this ambiguous Midwestern town. Its barren landscapes and superficialness possess some kind of beautiful loneliness I tried registering trough aesthetic and graphic compositions.