Caffeine and Octane Atlanta, January 2016

Gloves were a good idea. I had even brought gloves, but I left them in the car, certain they would interfere too much with the small buttons on my camera. Eric assured me his weren't making a difference anyways, to which I answered: "Imagine if we lived someplace where it actually got cold."

It was around 8:00 when we arrived at Perimeter Mall, a now familiar meeting place of Atlanta's automotive-inclined (and often their somewhat reluctant spouses and other family members). I had expected turnout to be down from last month. December set a new attendance record for Caffeine and Octane, but temperatures were in the friendly 50s. This morning ran about twenty degrees cooler.

Quickly though, I realized a smaller turnout wasn't the case. It was the earliest I had arrived to the show in a long time, and probably the most energetic crowd I had ever seen at a car show that dies down by 10:30a.m.

Eric and I first walked past a scene that looked like it could have been plucked straight from the streets of Long Beach. Four lowriders--Chevys and Lincolns of different vintages--assumed the awkward but familiar stances afforded by their intricate suspension setups. Later I even caught a bit of that action. But for now, the crowds were just starting to roll in.

Rare cars are what have drawn me the most as of late, and it seems like more and more pop up every month here. A Toyota Celica GT-4 (roadgoing version of the early 90s rally car) was on display, as was a 12-horsepower micro car built in Ohio, and even a replica of a Ford Festiva SHOgun. (Jay Leno owns one of these subcompacts, a Ford bastard child given a mid-mounted, 24-valve V6 and comical rear fender flares for laughs)

The conversation always bounces back to car culture. What makes so many people come out early on a Sunday morning? And more importantly, where are all of these people hiding? People with fully-built Mopars and meticulously-restored 230SLs are hard to imagine when you're spending time in a sea of grey, white, and the occasional blue Ford Escape on Georgia 400.

The crowd is so varied too. There are the Stancenation holdouts, there are the micro-British roadster guys, there are enough people with Dodge Challengers to fill the United States Senate Chamber. (and God help us if they do) You have to marvel at the fact, every time you come here, that so many different niches are catered to.

Then we find it. Eric mentioned seeing the Roadkill El Camino on the way in. I'm not as familiar with the Hot Rod Magazine YouTube series, so I immediately wrote it off. There's no way, the guy lives in California, I said. What would he be doing here?

We're the only people looking at the truck when we walk over, but Eric still swears it belongs to Finnegan. I still disagree, and we agree to disagree.

A corner of the parking lot, shaded by trees, houses the most unique assortment of vehicles--and it's the most pleasing to me. A pristine 1995 Mercedes CL500 parks next to a Humvee. Across from it, a late 70s Lincoln Towncar, a similarly titanic Cadillac Fleetwood, and a 60 series Toyota Land Cruiser occupy another row. Against the island is a turquoise 1959 Cadillac parked behind a Dodge Coronet. You'd be hard pressed to find a cooler collection of cars anywhere else in the country at that given time.

After walking through the show area, our attention turned to the main road through the parking lot. We watched as high schoolers in a Trailblazer with no muffler competed with a flat black Mazda minivan and a Mclaren for attention. Then, a landmark moment.

A bright yellow doorstop, a Lamborghini Gallardo, the first modern Lamborghini after Audi took over the finances in the mid 2000s, decides adequate attention hasn't been directed its way. Prods at the V10 turn a few heads, but snap judgement of the kind of person who would buy a bright yellow Italian supercar doesn't turn out too well for that individual. True, Lamborghini's carry huge, shouty engines and are as sleek as the Concorde, but they've never been about performance. They're designed to grab attention in hopes some of that attention will reach the driver.

That glimpse of attention towards the Gallardo driver was short lived, though. Behind, a Chevrolet Corvair sporting some sort of ungodly V8 powerplant roared onto the scene like the Mad Max war rig. The grin on the Corvair driver's face as his creation ripped through the relative quiet of the crisp air was triumph defined. His car, probably built from scratch, from the ground up, probably with his own two hands during countless sleepless nights in the garage, beat out the man who could sign a bigger check.

Eric had to leave soon after, and I went for another lap around the show area. It was nearing 10:00, and already many of the drivers had dipped out, leaving wide open expanses of parking lot with the occasional Camaro or Porsche dotting the horizon. But a big crowd had formed around the El Camino, and I knew instantly that Eric was right.

The bright orange jacket immediately identified Rutledge Wood, a Georgia native who's appeared on the American version of Top Gear. He's standing in the wake of the truck's open hood, watching someone laying on the ground underneath. Sure enough, the guy who gets up sports a beard, a flannel, and a beanie. It's definitely Finnegan.

I decided to hang back as he was met by one person after another, taking selfies, answering questions, and talking to Rutledge about their lunch plans. Even though I haven't watched too many episodes of Roadkill, or even of American Top Gear, I couldn't help but feel a bit special for having seen these two guys, who've both managed to crack the ultimate code: living their car guy dreams out and getting paid to do so.

And so the morning ends a bit differently than it started. Some of the clouds burn away, the people have moved further out into the parking lot, and the traffic is a mix of Sunday errand-runners and American muscle cars. And everyone ends up going their separate ways, the automotive treasures of our town distributed more evenly, fading again into the background.

Enjoy some more photos of this month's show below.

A Gulf-Livery Porsche.. Hybrid? Caffeine and Octane, December 2015

This past Sunday morning was reminiscent of a calm spring day in north Georgia. The only indication we were close to winter were the plush antlers peeking above the roof of a Ferrari 458. Mild temperatures and bright sunshine brought record numbers of crowds, and that seems to be a trend nowadays for Caffeine and Octane.

Since C&O moved to Perimeter Mall a couple years ago, I've noticed a surge in crowds that's only slightly masked by the increase in parking lot space. The new location, geographically, has a lot to do with that. Nightmarish traffic notwithstanding, Perimeter Mall is an ideal place to host a show that' just continuing to grow, not only by word of mouth, but now thanks to its own organization that offers merchandise and web content. The reality is, this location can be reached by anywhere in metro Atlanta in under an hour on Sunday morning, and that's important.

I started out, as always, on the outer fringes of the parking lot. It's a mixed bag here, mostly spectators' cars that range from stock Nissan Maximas to Land Rover Defenders and turbo Saabs.

It's interesting for me to see what kind of cars people are drawn to at shows. Not too long ago, I would have ogled at a stanced Miata, but nowadays I pay more attention to rarer stuff like this Alfa Romeo Giulia Super sedan. A car that I only imagine was extremely common in Italy, the Alfa represents an interesting phenomena. Many of them don't survive today given its commonality, and even fewer survive here in the states, since they weren't imported here when they were built.

Further down, a Ferrari 328 GTS looks sinister in black. A few rows down from that, a modern take on a classic Volkswagen. In the late 1970s, Volkswagen sold the Caddy (branded as the Rabbit Pickup in North America), essentially a Volkswagen Rabbit with a pickup bed. It wasn't hugely popular here, but it's enjoyed a comeback in recent years, and seems to have inspired this Jetta owner to turn his sedan into a small pickup.

Other unique showings included a pair of Alpina-tuned BMWs. I can only assume these 80s examples are fairly rare, as I've never seen any before.

Across the way, I noticed a giant crowd had gathered around a roped-off display. Powder blue and orange peeked through, and I finally saw what it was, a Porsche 918 in classic Gulf racing dress. A front-on photo was going to be impossible, so I employed some of what I learned in photojournalism and moved to where the people weren't. Or at least where there weren't as many.

And those kids I ragged on earlier for liking stanced Miatas? As I said, I can't blame them much, and furthermore, I shouldn't be so judgmental. They're carving out a future generation, just like I am at 22, of car lovers that will carry the torch of the hotrodders and club racers. For all the big money that shows up here, the Ferraris, the Bentleys, and the special Porsches, the real group that matters are the grassroots enthusiasts. These kids recognize that in the stanced Miata; it's just a car built by someone who truly loves cars and what they can stand for.

All throughout the "show field" you can see this juxstaposition. The businessmen who come out to impress, opening up their 458's engine compartment and giving it some revs; the Paulding county guys with homemade subwoofer boxes and broken bumpers; the guys who've been on the scene for 40, 50, even 60 years, graduating from Chevy Vegas to Corvettes to Malibus, then back to Chevelles again; everybody here has at least a baseline level of respect for everyone else, and that's what will keep this show growing far into the future.

Tracing Georgia's Road Racing Roots

The mercury swelled to a balmy 77-degrees-Fahrenheit on Thanksgiving Day, 1908 in Savannah, Georgia. Louis Wagner, a 26-year-old from the northeastern suburbs of Paris, sat alongside 19 other drivers awaiting the start of the third Grand Prix race in history, and the first to be held in the United States. Later that day, Wagner would go home with the gold after 16 laps, averaging 65mph in his Fiat through the moss-lined oaks of Savannah's now-historic district.

Automobile racing, like the automobile itself, was still in its infancy at this time. It cost more to buy an automobile than a single-family home. A logical conclusion, then, that the first organized automobile racing was headed off by rich, playboy characters of the era.

William Kissam Vanderbilt, son of the well-established Vanderbilt family railroad empire, spent most of his spare time breeding champion racehorses, but also took an interest in motor racing. Frustrated with American road racing's lack of visibility, Vanderbilt founded his own road racing series, the Vanderbilt Cup, in 1907. His first venue of choice was Long Island, New York, close to his family estate. Practices were held there for the inaugural event in 1907, but immediately ran into trouble in the form of handfuls of spectator injuries, and several spectator deaths. This would prove to be a dark, lingering cloud over early motor sport.

Officials cancelled the 1907 event, but this was far from the end of the infant racing series' quarrels. Rivaling automotive clubs fought over guidelines, but one thing was certain: the venue would have to be moved.

Indianapolis Motor Speedway and the Milwaukee Mile were among the only race tracks that existed in the United States around the turn of the century. Most early automobile racing instead took place on street circuits, usually appearing in big cities and drawing enormous crowds, the pedestrians being the earliest iteration of crash barriers.

The scene was no different in 1908, when the Vanderbilt Cup, now renamed the Grand Prize Race of the Automobile Club of America, started in it's new location on the streets of Savannah, Georgia. Curiously, this makes Savannah one of the earliest cradles of motor sport in the United States. Think about that next time you're stuck behind a horsedrawn carriage on Victory Drive, the former road course's main straightaway.

With the help of the Savannah Automobile Club, and a convict labor force authorized by Georgia's governor at the time, a 25-mile road course quickly took shape. To help ensure Long Island's tragedies didn't occur again, the governor also sent state militia troops to assist local police in crowd control.

A ticket for a 6-seat box at the Savannah race. This equals out to around $1,200 in today's money.

This, Vanderbilt's second attempt, proved a success-- only in the sense that a race actually took place this time. International attention focused on Savannah, but it would prove to be a double-edged sword. By 1910, when the sparse Grand Prix calendar landed back in Savannah, word had long spread across the country and overseas, and crowds outnumbered the ones at Long Island in 1907. Deaths of two mechanics at an earlier event that year threatened another cancellation, but the Savannah Automobile Club managed to save the event by proposing a shorter 17-mile course. Many of the European teams were not able to make it, but the race went on without incident.

Felice Navarro driving a Fiat in the 1910 Vanderbuilt Cup at Savannah.

1911, however, brought more tragedy. The increasing popularity of the automobile meant that not all public roads could be closed during race days. Two accidents occurred during practice, one resulting in the death of a driver. Making matters worse, Savannah residents weren't happy about the continued use of convict labor and militia forces used by the organizers of the event. Those residents quickly changed the tides, and Savannah backed out for 1912. However, safety, or lack thereof, continued to be a huge issue. The 1912 race, held on another street course in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, saw yet another tragic death during practice. And this trend would continue throughout the early years of motor racing.

Wagner's non-fatal accident during practice at the 1911 Vanderbilt Cup.

Savannah's road course would be the last purpose-made automotive venue in the state for some time. The story remained the same for most of the country. Throughout the 1920s and 30s, the only tracks to be found in the southeast were dirt ovals or rudimentary drag strips. With the exception of a handful of paved ovals which sprang up across the country, the 1940s were devoid of any sort of racing development. Georgia, and the rest of the country, would have to wait until the 1950s, when the road racing of early days finally made a comeback.

In 1944, the Sports Car Club of America was founded as an outlet for automotive enthusiasts. It took four years for the organization to move to sanctioned racing events, the first of which taking place at Watkins Glen, a village in upstate New York. SCCA was a grassroots organization, comprised originally of two brothers who raced the back roads of upstate. This marked a new beginning for automobile racing in the United States. Postwar cars were cheap, and hotrodding culture was in full bloom, not only in southern California, but all across the country from Kansas to Kennewick.

Watkins Glen Grand Prix, SCCA's inaugural racing event, took place on a street course that ran through the village of Watkins Glen, already a historic racing venue by that time. The 1948 event went off without incident, but officials knew that tragedy loomed unless an entirely different approach could be taken to Grand Prix racing. In 1951, SCCA formed the National Sports Car Championship from existing events like Watkins Glen, but turned towards the many air force bases left throughout the country. Air Force General Curtis LeMay, himself an automotive racing enthusiast, loaned Strategic Air Command facilities to the SCCA throughout the mid-1950s.

Cars leave the starting line for the 1952 Watkins Glen Grand Prix.

Tragedy struck again in 1952, when a 7-year-old boy was killed while spectating at Watkins Glen. Several other spectators were also injured, and it was a nightmare for race organizers. Officials knew they'd have to act quickly if they wanted to keep sports car racing alive in the United States.

Road America was one of the first purpose-built asphalt road courses to appear as a result of the 1952 tragedy at Watkins Glen. Located in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, a town that had also hosted its own road circuit, it set the example for courses like it. In 1956, a permanent circuit was built at Watkins Glen. Now-legendary courses--Lime Rock Park in Connecticut, Laguna Seca Raceway in California, and Virginia International Raceway in Virginia--were all built the following year.



In 1959, construction crews broke ground for a new racing circuit in Effingham County, about 20 miles outside of Savannah. Roebling Road Raceway is now named after Washington Roebling II, a competitor in the 1910 Grand Prix race in Savannah. The 2-mile course is unique in that it's owned by the local branch of the SCCA, and has no spectator accommodations. As a result, it's one of the least expensive tracks to run on in the United States. MotorWeek even films its winter track tests there. What more could you ask for?

Soon after Roebling Road was finished, enthusiasts in north Georgia wanted a world class circuit to call their own. Fast forward to 1969, and enter: David Sloyer, a salsa (party dip, not South American dance) entrepreneur; Earl Walker, an engineering graduate of Georgia Tech; and Arthur Montgomery, an Atlanta politician who was largely responsible for bringing professional sports to the city in the mid-60s. These three men eyed a 750-acre plot of land in rural Hall County, Georgia, and hurried to convert the former farmland into a world class race track in time for the 1970 Can-Am race. Six months and an incredible amount of elbow grease later, and the 2.5-mile, 12-corner course was ready for racing.

Stirling Moss acted as race Grand Marshal, and 75 laps later, Englishman Tony Dean brought home the first ever trophy earned on the Braselton, Georgia course. In the years following, hero-names like Dan Gurney, Mario Andretti, Paul Newman, and Mark Donohue left their rubber on the asphalt Grand Prix course. But the opening buzz would be short-lived. In 1978, due to ongoing financial problems, the track was sold. Road Atlanta then changed hands in rapid succession, each new owner seemingly less stable than the one who came before. By 1993, the track had officially declared bankruptcy.

Almost immediately, a group of executives purchased the track from the bank, but the road to recovery would be slow. It wasn't until Don Panoz, founder of the neighboring winery Chateau Elan and inventor of the nicotine patch, purchased the track in 1996 that there was any sort of clear future for Road Atlanta. Dr. Panoz saw huge potential in the track, and with his business holdings in northeast Georgia, the purchase made complete sense. Over the next decade, Panoz successfully improved the grounds, repaved and reconfigured portions of the circuit, and even funded his son Danny's efforts to build the Panoz Esperante, a Mustang V8-powered sports car with a hand-built aluminum body.

Above: The first car to come out of Panoz's Braselton, Georgia HQ: the Panoz Roadster. Below: A refined version of the Roadster, if you can call a beast with a 4.6L Mustang V8 refined: the Panoz Esperante.

In 1999, Dr. Panoz decided it was time to start his own sports car racing series. The American Le Mans series has since become immensely popular stateside and internationally. Road Atlanta's Petit Le Mans race, now a 10-hour endurance event, just celebrated its 17th year. American Le Mans has competed with the Grand-Am Rolex Series, backed by NASCAR, since its founding, but ALMS has long been the fan favorite. NASCAR solved this problem by purchasing the American Le Mans Series, along with Road Atlanta and Chateau Elan in 2014 for a reported $22 million. This effectively merged the American Le Mans and Grand-Am Rolex series,' and shuffled around both drivers and racing classes.

But where has that playboy-racer spirit gone in the state of Georgia? Sure, one could argue that Panoz and Road Atlanta embody that, and they certainly do to an extent. But the American Le Mans Series still retains a great amount of blue collar appeal. Infield camping is the most popular way of spectating the event. The parking lots have their fair share of 911s, but for each of those, there are probably three Chevrolet pickup trucks or Toyota SUVs. Don Panoz, who famously took up smoking again after seeing Mario Andretti crash at one of his races, still prefers to jet around in a Panoz Roadster. And if you've ever attended Formula Drift at the track, you'll understand it's not all expensive chardonnays and Belmont Stakes derby hats.

Spectators pack the hill above turn 5, an area that gives an excellent view of "the esses" at Road Atlanta.

Atlanta Motorsports Park, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, seeks to solve that need. Opened in 2013, AMP is considered a "motor sports country club." Memberships range from the plebeian Karting/Mini-Moto all the way up to Diamond, which allows those willing to pay the $45,000 initiation fee up to 180 days of track time annually. It can also be assured these members will enjoy the track's various ammenities, which include horseback riding, a tennis club, fitness center, pool, and hiking and mountain biking trails. Now we're talking.

The 2-mile road circuit has at least two corners that were heavily inspired by both the Spa-Francochamp's circuit in Belgium and the famously-bumpy Carousel from the Nurburgring in Germany. And the CEO's didn't skimp when it came to a designer, either. Hermann Tilke, a former Formula One driver and one of only four circuit designers recognized by the FIA (International Automobile Federation), is responsible for north Georgia's racing country club. Tilke is also responsible for the Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas, site of the only race on the Formula One calendar in the United States.

Tilke hasn't been without criticism though. Several Formula One stars, most notably Jackie Stewart and Mark Webber, haven't held back, describing Tilke's courses as "carbon copies of one another," (Stewart, in The Daily Telegraph, 2011) and built in such a way that they fail to penalize driver's mistakes. AMP hasn't been without its criticism either. Motorsports enthusiasts are wary of the high costs of membership, which seem to ward of a big segment of the racing community. Hopefully though, initial members will build up the capital needed for track owners to pay down development costs, and hopefully that will translate to the track becoming more accessible. But only time will tell.

Georgia's racing history has been a silent contender. We'll never get the acclaim that comes with California, or upstate New York's Watkins Glen. And to be quite honest, I don't think our facilities warrant the same sort of acclaim. But motor sport still has firm footing in the land of peaches and weird-tasting onions. In 1997, Savannah tried to revive the spirits of the 1910's with the first--and last--Indy Lights calendar race. Officials hastily constructed a 2-mile course on Hutchinson Island, across the Savannah River. Much like the early Vanderbilt Cup races, the series quickly fell apart, and now the Hutchinson Island Road Course is an out-of-place footnote on the Westin Savannah Harbor Resort's web page. Its only use comes from the occasional guest, and the yearly Savannah Speed Classic vintage races.

An early model 911 dives into a corner on the Hutchinson Island Road Course.

Standing on River Street in late October, you might catch the riotous sound of a dozen flat-sixes fighting away out of sight across the water. It's only then that you can imagine what it might have been like on Thanksgiving Day in 1908, the moss-lined streets clogged with spectators, greasy team mechanics, and moustached French racing drivers ready to wind their way around the bluff where Oglethorpe landed some 170 years prior. And you can smile, knowing that the racket is echoing all the way up, nearly to Tennessee, and reminding us what a fine place we live in.