Words and Photos: David Marvier
The heat already shimmers above the asphalt at Le Mans. In the paddocks, mechanics work elbow deep in grease, V12s scream, and the smell of oil hangs in the air. More than 238 000 spectators have come to lose themselves in this timeless journey, organized by Peter Auto in collaboration with the Automobile Club de l’Ouest, with Richard Mille as an official partner.
And me? This year I am one of the official photographers of Le Mans Classic.
A privilege, but also a real challenge.
Four days to capture the essence of a myth.
A full immersion in the history of endurance racing.
It means four nights in a van parked at the heart of the circuit, sleeping with earplugs, rocked by the noise of engines. Every day brings a new mission: deliver images, capture atmosphere, freeze the spirit of the event. Not only the cars, but faces, fatigue, and excitement.
Very quickly I realize my rookie mistake. I underestimated the scale of the place. Thirty kilometers of walking each day, blisters burning through my Vans.
Next year I will need a scooter.
Le Mans Classic is not just endurance for the cars. For a photographer, it is a marathon.
I look around: the circuit map, the villages, the paddocks, the pre-grid. Dizzying.
Cars roar past. Mechanics swarm under open hoods. Quads drag trains of trailers stacked with giant slicks. In the paddocks, machines are stripped, tuned, greased.
As the saying goes, to choose is to renounce.
And I refuse to stay trackside. My mission is broader, because Le Mans Classic is also its sprawling village: exhibitions, portraits waiting to be taken, and hundreds of car clubs, including rare Honda NSX models on display.
A retro campsite, a tribute to paid holidays, hums with life. My friends Julien Dupont and Christophe Bruand are there too, defying gravity on vintage trials bikes, cheered by torrents of applause.
Schedule in hand, I march on with my fellow photographers.
Like a squad of soldiers, we are on assignment.
And so begins a journey through time.
Each race, grouped by plateau, tells the story of a vanished era. In the 1920s and 30s, pioneers hurled themselves onto the tarmac: Delage, Alfa Romeo, Bugatti. Daring machines for daring men. Their leather, their patina, the smell of oil. It feels like an open-air museum, except the exhibits still blast by at 160 kilometers per hour.
In the 1950s and 60s, Jaguar and Ferrari ruled until Ford struck back with the GT40 and Cobra Daytona. One dawn, in the rain, I watch them slide and roar. My fight to keep my gear dry feels trivial beside the storm just meters away. Tires spray a thick mist, burying the back of the pack in a blizzard.
The golden age peaks between 1966 and 1971. Ford’s GT40 dominates, then Porsche’s 917 explodes onto the scene with 500 horsepower, smashing records. The 1967 edition is still remembered as the 24 Hours of the Century. Watching Shelby silhouettes plunge into the Dunlop Curve at nightfall is unforgettable.
I pinch myself. Am I dreaming? No. Time races past my lens, and I shoot without respite.
The 1970s and 80s bring innovation. Matra’s V12, Porsche’s turbo, Renault Alpine and Ferrari chasing performance.
Then comes Group C, from 1982 to 1993, futuristic monsters brushing 400 kilometers per hour down the Hunaudières. That was before the chicanes.
The grandstands fall silent, chills ripple through the crowd.
In the paddocks, their cockpits resemble lunar modules, rugged yet fragile, solid yet complex. At over 300 kilometers per hour, strapped into a harness, the adrenaline must be insane.
Demonic.
Back on track, the mood shifts. Endurance Racing Legend brings out the prototypes of the 1990s and 2000s, McLaren F1 GTR, Viper GTS R, louder, faster, more extreme.
And me? I keep chasing time, fascinated.
Before each race there is the pre-grid. Cars line up, drivers warm engines, exchange a few words, helmets on, ready for battle.
Perfect moments for raw, racing portraits.
Then comes the pit lane, the beating heart of the race. Access is strictly limited. Only drivers, mechanics, and a handful of accredited people may step inside. The atmosphere is electric. This is where the track begins, and danger with it. Lost in my viewfinder, I sometimes stray too close, and the marshals, ever watchful, keep us safe.
In the paddocks, cars crawl forward, groaning like impatient thoroughbreds, weaving between visitors and mechanics rushing everywhere at once. Spoilers scrape asphalt and ankles. I dive in for the shot, nearly cut down myself by a Lola in a hurry.
Then comes a rare privilege. I take to the skies. What an experience. Strapped in, door wide open, feet on the skids, I photograph the legendary Dunlop and Porsche curves from above. The chaos shrinks below: cars become micromachines, crowds turn to ants. Even the rotor seems quieter than the pit lane at rush hour.
And then there is Little Big Mans, the traditional race for children. Mini GT40s and D-Types, driven by kids aged seven to twelve, dressed like their heroes. They line up, tense, on one side of the track.
All in line.
And go.
They sprint across, leap into their replicas, and roar off for a full lap of the Bugatti circuit.
A true Le Mans start, just like before 1971 and Jacky Ickx’s symbolic protest.
The last morning dawns under heavy rain. The campsite is a swamp, everything dripping. All night I have listened to cars roaring and rain hammering the roof of my van.
This is Le Mans Classic. The drivers never stop. They keep alive the legend of the 24 Hours, a story deeply rooted in endurance.
And at Le Mans Classic there is nothing to win, and that is exactly what makes it so special.
Exhausted, I still feel an immense privilege: to have frozen fragments of a myth. Behind my camera I caught a glimpse of what makes Le Mans magic, endurance outside of time, where man and machine merge with memory.
A communion.
A true deus ex machina.
And after such a marathon?
A photographer returns to his screen, diving into thousands of images.
The 2025 edition closes with a historic announcement. From now on, Le Mans Classic will take place every year.
Le Mans Classic Heritage will celebrate 1923 to 1975, immersing fans in the golden age of endurance and its resolutely vintage atmosphere.
The following year, Le Mans Classic Legend will honor 1976 to 2015 and the prototypes of the modern era.
See you next year.
Me? I will be ready.
Camera in hand, new shoes, and maybe this time, a scooter.
