Five Mistakes I Made as a Photographer on a Motorcycle
But failure to secure a place for the night is number six.
I love motorcycle road trips. Long ones.
Well, not like going from the top of Alaska to the tip of South America long. But a couple two to three weeks at a time long.
I do want to ride to Peru from Arizona but would prefer to do it with a couple of cohorts. Or maybe fly to Peru and rent a bike… WTF… now I am going on about Peru, and this article is not about my Peru motorcycling fetish.
I ride a big beast of a bike. I like big beast bikes because they own the road, and aren’t blown all over hell by the occasional big rig or out-of-control Winnebagos slamming down highway 50 with a scared shitless retiree from Ohio at the wheel.
“Runaway truck ramp 4 miles.”
Comforting.
I sometimes spend too many hours on the bike, and my legs begin to cramp up a bit and my ass starts talkin’ to me. Never a pleasant conversation, but we address its dumbass concerns with a stop along the side of the road.
IF there is even a stop to be had on the side of the road.
There are so many places where the road runs over to the dirt and there is no wide spot for even a tire change. Or a quick picture.
This leads me to mistake number one: putting the cameras out of easy reach.
Look, I ride a lot of lonesome highways where traffic is not an issue. (Looking at you, Nevada 21.) So I can stop in the road and snap a few without worrying about traffic having to go around me. On some roads, I could also do an oil change, and replace the fuel injection system and not worry about traffic.
But if the cameras are packed too deep, then the friction created by needing to make a photograph is increased by a factor of 11.463% (by European Commission on Excess Friction and the Causation of Stupid Biker Syndrome) and I will simply grab the iPhone. It’s easier.
Sue me.
I now have a good, very good in fact, tiny camera that goes into a pouch that is under my jacket. Grabbing it and making a shot is so much easier.
Now if I can find a quick solution to getting the helmet, gloves, scarf, and sunglasses off quicker. Maybe there is an AI for that?
Of course, the mistake of having the camera too inaccessible was exacerbated (did you notice… inaccessible and exacerbated together — sounds like a PHD thesis from a biker needing a degree in going really fast) by having too much gear, which is mistake number two.
First trip:
Nikon digital body.
Nikon analog body.
Four lenses.
Hasselblad body.
Two lenses.
Pocket P&S.
Now trips:
Nikon with 24–120 zoom.
Pocket P&S.
Momma didn’t raise any fool and I am not as dumb as I look. (OK, the jury is still out on that but my lawyer says I gotta purty good chance.)
There is practically nothing I enjoy more than riding a bike. And because of that, I made mistake number three… going too damn far between nights and not taking enough time to make photos.
I get out on them twisties and just ride and ride and ride.
Once was chatting with a group of crusty old bikers getting gas in Mexican Hat, Utah. They had just come down the Moki, and I was heading up. They had really nice rented Harleys but were snubbing their noses a bit at my Kawa.
The one I own. Heh.
“How many miles a day are you guys doing?”
They kinda looked like they were thinking hard and then one of them said, “about a hundred and fifty, two hundred a day. We’re kinda pushin’ hard.”
Cool, I said. It was 2 PM and I was already at 225 with a hundred left between me and those scratchy sheets at the budget hotel I had booked up in Hanksville.
My average of 350–450 miles per day is a problem I have been correcting. But old habits die hard, usually screaming curse words and spitting at ya.
Of course, spending so much time on the road leads me — sorta — to mistake number four; taking my damned laptop with me.
So I get to the motels when it’s just about to get dark. Stopping for that late-day sun more times than I probably should have but then that is great light and I am out here to make photographs and why do I have to explain to myself that it is important to me and damn, the restaurant is already closed and I have to get a gas station burrito so just shut up about stopping every couple of miles…
Sorry.
The gas station burrito is microwaved, I am exhausted, but out comes the laptop, the images get imported into Lightroom, and off to the races I go. Three stars on this one, forget that one… or that one. Maybe this one…
I never watch TV. If you have ever watched TV then you already know why I don’t watch TV.
And instead of allowing myself to just relax, maybe go for a walk in the little town I am in. Always in little towns — don’t like big towns — well, Caspar is OK. But then it is in Wyoming and pretty much everything is OK with me and Wyoming. Wyoming is paradise. Wyoming is ME!
Maybe it is time to move to Wyoming — even if just half the year.
This night owl shit brings me to mistake number five: getting up too late and missing the morning light.
I set the alarm. I do. Don’t argue with me… dammit. I set it. Straight up.
But then I have only had 4 hours of sleep, and I just want to… rest… my…
… eyes…
Holy crap! It’s 9:17 and I haven’t even showered yet. (No day starts without a shower. That is — for the most part — not negotiable.) Mistake number five is appearing like a freight train in a morning pre-coffee fog right before us.
Missed the rising sun. Missed the morning light. Missed the breakfast menu at the local diner. The one with big yellow arches that… look, breakfast is breakfast.
I prefer mom-and-pop restaurants, but occasionally I must dine within the confines of laminated tables and a broken soda fountain. Don’t get me started on the ice cream machine… what the hell is up with that?
There are other mistakes I have made. I was counting them but then my kid asked me a question and I lost count and I don’t want to start that again.
Friction.
Ride hard, ride long, ride safe.
And make a few snaps along the way.
(And if you are hankering to hang around with a grumpy old fuck and ride down to Peru… let me know. I’ll bring my camera. And that bottle of 20-year-old single malt to keep my ass from whining and complaining all night.)