Photos by Zach MacKay -Danny Kent and Tommy Bridewell on the podium at the 2025 BSB finale.
By the time I arrive at a British Superbike round, the weekend has already started.
Most people think race photography begins when the bikes roll out of the pit lane. For me, it starts much earlier, and it has very little to do with pressing the shutter. My name’s Zach, a UK-based freelance photographer working in the British Superbike paddock, spending my weekends moving between riders, teams, and classes across our insanely wide grid. A race weekend, for me, is logistics first, awareness second, and photography somewhere after that.
By the time I get to a BSB round, I already know which riders I’m covering, what classes they’re in, what their goals are, and where I need to be at different points of the weekend. If you just turn up and see what happens, you miss half the story before it even starts.
You stop feeling like someone with a pass very quickly and start feeling like part of the paddock.
Packing With Movement In Mind
Thursday night is usually spent packing and repacking the car. Batteries charged. Cards formatted. Long lenses wrapped so they don’t get knocked around. Wet weather gear kept within reach, because British circuits have a habit of ignoring whatever forecast you checked. Everything is packed with movement in mind.
I know I’ll be walking miles each day, often in the rain, so the kit has to work with me rather than slow me down.
Personal favorite – Josh Corner from the Chasin’ the Racin’ podcast | Photos by Zach MacKay
Becoming Part of the Paddock
When I arrive at the circuit, the first thing I do is not pick up a camera. I make a point of going to say hello first. Riders I’m working with. Mechanics already elbows-deep in a bike. Team managers juggling a dozen things at once. Other media I’ll end up sharing corners and grid space with all weekend.
You stop feeling like someone with a pass very quickly and start feeling like part of the paddock. When people are comfortable with you being there, they stop performing for the camera, and that’s when the honest moments start to appear.
Ryan Frost, Moto4 3rd overall, signing a hat for a young fan during his FiberTech Honda days. | Photos by Zach MacKay
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Friday: Reading the Garage
On one Friday afternoon, a rider rolled back into the garage after a fairly scrappy lap, visor still down, shoulders slumped. Nobody said anything, a rare moment of quiet. A mechanic leaned on the bench, looking a little gloomy, nodded once, and went on with his work. You didn’t need lap times to know how that session had gone. Observations and images, in this sense, tell stories.
By Saturday, I know where I need to be and when. Qualifying is the first time pressure really shows. Mechanics move quicker. Riders go quieter. Body language changes. Being inside the team garages matters here because you’re not guessing what the weekend feels like, you’re seeing it at arm’s length.
I spend a lot of time shooting off the bike at this point. Gloves going on. Helmets being pulled down. A mechanic leaning into the fairing for one last adjustment. These moments often say more than another panning shot at speed.
Storm Stacey, a fan favorite, spitting flames down Cooper Straight into Surtees | Photo by Zach MacKay
Finding the Right Places Trackside
When I do move trackside, I’m not chasing the obvious angles. Everyone shoots the first corner and the last chicane. I look for the places people ignore. The braking zones where the rear wheel starts to skip. The crests where the front goes light. The spots where you can see effort in the rider, not just the bike.
I’m not there to take photos of bikes going fast. I’m there to document what it feels like to be inside that world for three days.
Ryan Frost on the podium after the final Moto4 race of 2025. | Photos by Zach MacKay
Sunday: Race Day Chaos
Race day has a different feel again. Sunday is less about planning and more about reacting. Things go wrong. Weather changes. Bikes break. Riders crash. You have to move quickly without getting in anyone’s way, spending as much time in and around the garages as you do trackside, watching final adjustments, quiet conversations, and last-minute decisions unfold.
Some of my favourite images come after the chequered flag rather than during the race itself. Relief. Frustration. Exhaustion. A rider sitting quietly on a tyre stack. A mechanic smiling to himself when nobody is watching. These are the moments that show what the weekend actually meant.
At Druids, Turn 2 of the Brands Hatch circuit.| Photo by Zach MacKay
The Work Doesn’t Stop at the Chequered Flag
Throughout all of this, I’m also thinking about delivery. Teams want images quickly. Riders want something they can post that evening. Media want storytelling shots, not just action. I’m constantly balancing shooting with backing up cards, culling wherever I can in the paddock, sometimes on a laptop, sometimes on a tablet or even a phone, and sending selects out before the next session starts. It becomes a loop of shoot, move, edit, deliver, and repeat.
Then the work starts again. A lot of media has already gone out the same day from the paddock, but the proper edit comes later. Sorting, refining, building larger selections for riders and teams, and putting together the more considered edits that end up on my Instagram, my website, and in shared galleries. Preparing for the next round, because a race weekend is not a single event. It’s part of a season-long story.
Kyle Ryde on the Brands Hatch straight in the season finale – champion | Photos by Zach MacKay
Inside the Weekend, Not Just Watching It
I’m not there to take photos of bikes going fast. I’m there to document what it feels like to be inside that world for three days. The pressure, the personalities, and the small details most people never see from the spectator bank.
If I’ve done my job properly, someone looking at the images should feel like they were in the garage, on the pit wall, and stood trackside with me. Not watching the racing, but inside it.
At the end of it all, it’s Really.Not.Photos. It’s art.
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