When travelling with camera equipment, The Lizard always liked to check in at the Airport early. Assuming (and this is a very dangerous thing to do), that everything checks in OK, this allows plenty of time for pre-flight refreshment. But it is generally never that simple travelling with photographic equipment in these security conscious days and today was to prove no exception. It was a miserable grey English morning and the thought of jumping on a direct flight to Stuttgart actually seemed quite appealing. The Lizard and I did our duty at the bar and then dutifully joined our fellow Stuttgart travellers for an hour of uneventful flying, punctuated by the occasional Vodka. We prepared ourselves for landing. Seats upright, seatbelts fastened, glance out of the window to see the rain streaming across the window and zero visibility. Three aborted landing attempts later and we were on our way to Munich. Oh joy! The Captain cheerfully informed his weary cargo that public transport would be waiting for us at Munich Airport to return us to Stuttgart. No thanks, not with all those cases! Clutching our hastily reworded carnet, we headed for the car rental desks. Sweeping across the rain drenched car park to the relative safety of our Mercedes Estate, I felt we had gained control of our destiny and would soon be back in Stuttgart. With Johnny and the gear ensconced in the back, Tasos, our assistant and all round best-boy, driving and me attempting to map read, we headed for the Autobahn. The wipers whizzed to and fro at full speed and Johnny and I were soon snuggled in the arms of Morpheus. “FUCK LOOK AT THIS IDIOT!” Opening a bleary eye towards Tasos I noticed we were travelling at well over 160 kph and yet a very large Mercedes Saloon was coming past us sideways, having completely lost control. Johnny from the back coolly uttered “HIT THE GAS!” We never saw the outcome of the incident, but the Munich bound carriageway was unusually quiet from then on. Relieved to be installed in our Stuttgart hotel room, Tas and I prepared Johnny’s battery of lenses and filters for the next morning’s shoot. We had travelled to here to meet up with the creative team from one of America’s leading advertising agencies. Their premier client, Porsche, had commissioned The Lizard to perform his photographic magic on the latest offering from the Stuttgart plant. This was the completely remodelled 911. There were only three drivable examples of this magnificent machine in existence! The American art director had been a Formula 3 test driver in a past life and had been elected to put this fine steed through its paces. A suitable section of treacherous Bavarian mountain road had been closed off, allowing the car to be propelled at high speed safely through its many twists and turns. The Lizard was at his chosen vantage point in time to catch the first rays of light reflecting off the ever so slightly damp tarmac. On his command the 911 was piloted through the course. Tas and I shared the constant stream of beautiful Polaroids with our euphoric clients. It was felt the trusty steed should be taken to the nearest garage to be fed and watered. The Lizard accompanied our American pedal jockey back to the local town. We had been chatting with the remaining clients for about 20 minutes when the distinctive ‘growl’ of the 911 making its way up the mountain pass interrupted us. As the gleaming German masterpiece flew past, it was clear to see the Lizard driving. Looking towards Tas I was tempted to utter the words “Pushing the envelope” but “Oh shit!” seemed more appropriate if not so eloquent. Our female clients enquired as to our concerns. There was however no time to retort as the roar of pounding pistons pierced the morning stillness and the howling turbo propelled the 911 at awesome speeds towards the bends. At this point we lost sight of it. Only the sound of rubber being forcibly removed from hideously expensive tyres and growling engine indicated the position of a very expensive, beautiful and uninsurable piece of German artistry. As Moose (the agency’s car preparation guru) and I ran as fast as our unfit physiques would permit, I wondered what sight would greet us we rounded a bend. The sound of bodywork in contact with rock face had been terrifying! There was nothing! No car. No debris. No bodies. Nothing. Only a small ‘plume’ of smoke drifting above the treetops on the ravine side of the pass. Glancing over the craggy edge of the rocks we could just make out the underside of the Porsche hanging precariously in the trees. Sliding cautiously on our arses down the crumbling hillside I feared the worst. As we neared the wreckage the unmistakably dulcet tones of the Lizard’s unwilling American co-driver could be heard beckoning to us from the half open sunroof of the unrecognisable vehicle. ‘FUCKING HELL! I NEARLY DIED MAN. FUCKING HELL! FUCKING HELL!’ Undoubtedly he was right, he should have been heading upwards with wings not downwards into the waiting arms of the huge frame of Moose. Once returned to his feet he proceeded to scrabble back up the ravine and run up and down the pass screaming obscenities, we surmised he must be in shock!
To be continued...