Thursday, March 22, 2007
Oh Baby...
I would probably make this choice, too, were the roles reversed. I'm not ashamed to admit it. :)
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The Weekend
I feel weird writing about my superficial experiences after going to Robert's funeral.
Sigh. I know, nothing brings him back. Life goes on. It's a cruel reality that any of us could kick the bucket tomorrow and only an infinitesimal slice of humanity would even notice.
That's why you have to milk life for all it's worth... this is all we get!
At least riding a bike gives you some meditative time.
I rode alone on Saturday, cruising the dirt roads north of the Reservoir. My back was feeling good and the weather was fabulous. Then I saw these two girls off the side of the road with a flat tire, and as I approached, they both looked at me expectantly. So I knew they needed help, and I pulled over.
They were seriously an odd couple. The girl with the flat had a nice Trek road bike and some basic cycling clothing, and the other girl, in a tank top and ancient helmet, had a totally strange bike that I think was just an old ten-speed from the 1980s. She was also sporting enormous, 70s-era sunglasses with the gradient lenses. I almost got the feeling that were a real couple, if you know what I mean. Not that there's anything wrong with that. ;)
They couldn't get their mini-pump to work, so I took out my CO2 canister and inflated their tire. They both freaked out at how awesome that was, which was totally funny. Gotta love technology.
I finally stood up and at looked the sunglasses girl in the face, and mentally recoiled in shock. This girl, who looked no older than 20, maybe, had a BEARD. I am dead serious. She had many, many VERY dark hairs growing out of her face, that actually curled under the edge of her chin. I sure hope I didn't l let my feelings show, but I was a little taken aback. She was a pretty girl, and it just shocked me because it must have been a conscious decision on her part to leave the hair like that. I mean, she could pluck, shave, bleach, wax, depilate, or use any number of other methods to make those hairs disappear.
Yes, I wondered if she was actually a he, but she was well-endowed enough in both chest and hips to make that seem unlikely. Plus the hair was pretty sporadic, and at the same time, she had strangely pretty skin.
Weird.
She must have people staring at them CONSTANTLY, you know? It's like the "mole" in the last Austin Powers movie. "Guaca- MO-LE!!!"
Maybe she's a student and it's a social experiment. She just goes out into the world and watches people freak out. That would be hilarious.
Then on Sunday I rode with my friend Catherine, who luckily chose not to break me, and we rode near the Rez again.
It was a really pleasant morning, and I actually got two hours in without any pain. You can see from the strange lump on my ass that I'm still having to wear my SI belt while riding. I bet when I rode away from the bearded girl , she said, "What the hell is wrong with that chick's butt?"
On another note, Akira and I have got a solid billiards addiction going. We've been playing every Monday night at the Foundry, which has free pool. The game reminds me of golf in that some days you're magically in The Zone, sinking balls left and right, and then other days you can't make the most dumb, obvious shot. It keeps you coming back, trying to redeem yourself.
My game has improved a great deal under Akira's coaching. He in turn was coached by a former professional pool player, who is now a mountain biking friend of ours. She instructed him to hold the cue loosely in your hand, "not like you're gripping your dick." Unfortunately, that instruction only made me want to hold the cue more tightly, ha ha.
Sigh. I know, nothing brings him back. Life goes on. It's a cruel reality that any of us could kick the bucket tomorrow and only an infinitesimal slice of humanity would even notice.
That's why you have to milk life for all it's worth... this is all we get!
At least riding a bike gives you some meditative time.
I rode alone on Saturday, cruising the dirt roads north of the Reservoir. My back was feeling good and the weather was fabulous. Then I saw these two girls off the side of the road with a flat tire, and as I approached, they both looked at me expectantly. So I knew they needed help, and I pulled over.
They were seriously an odd couple. The girl with the flat had a nice Trek road bike and some basic cycling clothing, and the other girl, in a tank top and ancient helmet, had a totally strange bike that I think was just an old ten-speed from the 1980s. She was also sporting enormous, 70s-era sunglasses with the gradient lenses. I almost got the feeling that were a real couple, if you know what I mean. Not that there's anything wrong with that. ;)
They couldn't get their mini-pump to work, so I took out my CO2 canister and inflated their tire. They both freaked out at how awesome that was, which was totally funny. Gotta love technology.
I finally stood up and at looked the sunglasses girl in the face, and mentally recoiled in shock. This girl, who looked no older than 20, maybe, had a BEARD. I am dead serious. She had many, many VERY dark hairs growing out of her face, that actually curled under the edge of her chin. I sure hope I didn't l let my feelings show, but I was a little taken aback. She was a pretty girl, and it just shocked me because it must have been a conscious decision on her part to leave the hair like that. I mean, she could pluck, shave, bleach, wax, depilate, or use any number of other methods to make those hairs disappear.
Yes, I wondered if she was actually a he, but she was well-endowed enough in both chest and hips to make that seem unlikely. Plus the hair was pretty sporadic, and at the same time, she had strangely pretty skin.
Weird.
She must have people staring at them CONSTANTLY, you know? It's like the "mole" in the last Austin Powers movie. "Guaca- MO-LE!!!"
Maybe she's a student and it's a social experiment. She just goes out into the world and watches people freak out. That would be hilarious.
Then on Sunday I rode with my friend Catherine, who luckily chose not to break me, and we rode near the Rez again.
It was a really pleasant morning, and I actually got two hours in without any pain. You can see from the strange lump on my ass that I'm still having to wear my SI belt while riding. I bet when I rode away from the bearded girl , she said, "What the hell is wrong with that chick's butt?"
On another note, Akira and I have got a solid billiards addiction going. We've been playing every Monday night at the Foundry, which has free pool. The game reminds me of golf in that some days you're magically in The Zone, sinking balls left and right, and then other days you can't make the most dumb, obvious shot. It keeps you coming back, trying to redeem yourself.
My game has improved a great deal under Akira's coaching. He in turn was coached by a former professional pool player, who is now a mountain biking friend of ours. She instructed him to hold the cue loosely in your hand, "not like you're gripping your dick." Unfortunately, that instruction only made me want to hold the cue more tightly, ha ha.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
A Tribute, However Small
Robert Hicken
1968 -2007
I first saw Robert in the cardio area of the gym, on a snowy day back in 1998 or so when I joined the club. He was riding an old-school stationary bike harder than I’d ever seen anyone ride, period. He was pedaling like the devil was at his heels, bent low over the handlebars, sweating heavily and oblivious to anything around him. He was the only person in the room until I walked in and got on the other stationary bike. His eyes were squeezed closed, his jaw clenched, and the whirr of his bike’s flywheel was the only sound.
I looked closer and saw his motivation – headphones. I still wonder what song was driving him.
I settled onto my bike and began trying to warm up gradually, but the presence of Robert, riding like the Tour de France title was at stake, was in turn making me ride harder. I surreptitiously watched him. Wearing a ratty sleeveless t-shirt over his bike shorts, he was surprisingly muscular in the arms and chest for a cyclist, but the fluid circles of his pedal stroke revealed that he was no gym rat. His upper body was nearly motionless while his legs kept an astonishing cadence.
This was also in the days before indoor cycling classes became popular, if I recall. These two stationary bikes were the only two in the club that resembled actual bicycles…the rest were the upright-style exercise machines burdened with huge, squashy seats and computer screens. No one rode the stripped-down stationary bikes except people who rode bikes in the outside world as well. It was clear that Robert was no stranger to this kind of workout.
As I watched, he ramped up his effort even more, and within 20 seconds or so his interval reached its maximum intensity. Now I could hear him gasping hard, his hands clenching the bars, and he appeared to find a kind of endorphin high for a brief moment as a radiant smile crossed his face. Then his legs slowed drastically, and as he recovered, eyes still closed, he looked as though he were miles away, hearing a cheering crowd as he crossed the finish line. I’m still not sure to this day if he even knew I was in the room until he sat up and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. But by then I had averted my gaze to my own feet, and busied myself with my Walkman.
I don’t remember when I finally met him, officially. He was a personal trainer at the club, and hung around there a great deal, training clients, teaching classes, and doing his own workouts. He was very generous with his attention. He treated his clients with warmth and professionalism, and reached out to everyone at the gym.
Eventually we somehow got to know each other a bit and chatted in the weight room. I asked him for some advice, and he happily gave it, along with tons of diet information and cycling training plans.
As indoor cycling classes became the vogue, Robert taught them, as well as headed up the cycling program at the gym. In the winters I took these classes with frequency, and learned Robert’s nickname: King of Pain.
He had gotten the moniker from his ski conditioning classes that left people staggering out of the group fitness room, sweaty, noodle-y versions of their former selves. But boy, were they motivated to come back and get as strong as he was. He could do plyometric jumps onto a box as high as his chest from a dead standstill.
And he never let people think badly of themselves. His relentless encouragement during those classes got people excited to work out, to watch their bodies get firmer and fitter. And he made them laugh with his easy humor; he got their hearts pumping with his music collection, which his friends say he maintained fanatically, making new mixes for cycling classes every week. He didn’t want his students to get bored.
I curse my terrible memory, for most of our interactions have long been lost. But two events stand out to me now: one time we rode together outdoors – in December, of all strange times. I had gotten a crazy idea to ride “Super Hall” – from Boulder along U.S. 36 to Hall Ranch in Lyons, ride the trail, and then return on the road – on a mountain bike, in the snow. I was in good enough shape to do it, although I wasn’t fast, and I knew one person who would take on that kind of weird adventure: The King of Pain.
He and I saddled up on our hardtails and headed out. He was very solicitous, not seeming bothered by the slow pace or the fact that we were getting frequently passed by roadies, some of whom knew who he was. We talked about music, cycling, living in Colorado, and any number of things I can’t recall now.
We got to the trailhead and that’s where things got snowy. I was a relatively new mountain biker then, but the packed-down surface blunted a lot of the technical aspects of the trail. Perhaps this memory is wishful thinking, but I recall walking very little, and feeling happy with my accomplishment. Robert was encouraging and complimentary, as he knew how to be. He mostly rode behind me, a gentlemanly thing to do for a guy who was probably dying to haul the mail.
We stopped at the park bench at the top of the rock garden to survey our snowy domain. We didn’t plan to ride the top loop, since our ride was so long already and the day was getting on. We took a few photos there; I still have the snapshot he took of me standing on the bench, flexing my arms in Swartzenegger-style toughness. I wish I could find the photo of him, but in my endless moves around Boulder, it seems to be gone. Or I hope I gave it to him at some point.
I looked closer and saw his motivation – headphones. I still wonder what song was driving him.
I settled onto my bike and began trying to warm up gradually, but the presence of Robert, riding like the Tour de France title was at stake, was in turn making me ride harder. I surreptitiously watched him. Wearing a ratty sleeveless t-shirt over his bike shorts, he was surprisingly muscular in the arms and chest for a cyclist, but the fluid circles of his pedal stroke revealed that he was no gym rat. His upper body was nearly motionless while his legs kept an astonishing cadence.
This was also in the days before indoor cycling classes became popular, if I recall. These two stationary bikes were the only two in the club that resembled actual bicycles…the rest were the upright-style exercise machines burdened with huge, squashy seats and computer screens. No one rode the stripped-down stationary bikes except people who rode bikes in the outside world as well. It was clear that Robert was no stranger to this kind of workout.
As I watched, he ramped up his effort even more, and within 20 seconds or so his interval reached its maximum intensity. Now I could hear him gasping hard, his hands clenching the bars, and he appeared to find a kind of endorphin high for a brief moment as a radiant smile crossed his face. Then his legs slowed drastically, and as he recovered, eyes still closed, he looked as though he were miles away, hearing a cheering crowd as he crossed the finish line. I’m still not sure to this day if he even knew I was in the room until he sat up and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. But by then I had averted my gaze to my own feet, and busied myself with my Walkman.
I don’t remember when I finally met him, officially. He was a personal trainer at the club, and hung around there a great deal, training clients, teaching classes, and doing his own workouts. He was very generous with his attention. He treated his clients with warmth and professionalism, and reached out to everyone at the gym.
Eventually we somehow got to know each other a bit and chatted in the weight room. I asked him for some advice, and he happily gave it, along with tons of diet information and cycling training plans.
As indoor cycling classes became the vogue, Robert taught them, as well as headed up the cycling program at the gym. In the winters I took these classes with frequency, and learned Robert’s nickname: King of Pain.
He had gotten the moniker from his ski conditioning classes that left people staggering out of the group fitness room, sweaty, noodle-y versions of their former selves. But boy, were they motivated to come back and get as strong as he was. He could do plyometric jumps onto a box as high as his chest from a dead standstill.
And he never let people think badly of themselves. His relentless encouragement during those classes got people excited to work out, to watch their bodies get firmer and fitter. And he made them laugh with his easy humor; he got their hearts pumping with his music collection, which his friends say he maintained fanatically, making new mixes for cycling classes every week. He didn’t want his students to get bored.
I curse my terrible memory, for most of our interactions have long been lost. But two events stand out to me now: one time we rode together outdoors – in December, of all strange times. I had gotten a crazy idea to ride “Super Hall” – from Boulder along U.S. 36 to Hall Ranch in Lyons, ride the trail, and then return on the road – on a mountain bike, in the snow. I was in good enough shape to do it, although I wasn’t fast, and I knew one person who would take on that kind of weird adventure: The King of Pain.
He and I saddled up on our hardtails and headed out. He was very solicitous, not seeming bothered by the slow pace or the fact that we were getting frequently passed by roadies, some of whom knew who he was. We talked about music, cycling, living in Colorado, and any number of things I can’t recall now.
We got to the trailhead and that’s where things got snowy. I was a relatively new mountain biker then, but the packed-down surface blunted a lot of the technical aspects of the trail. Perhaps this memory is wishful thinking, but I recall walking very little, and feeling happy with my accomplishment. Robert was encouraging and complimentary, as he knew how to be. He mostly rode behind me, a gentlemanly thing to do for a guy who was probably dying to haul the mail.
We stopped at the park bench at the top of the rock garden to survey our snowy domain. We didn’t plan to ride the top loop, since our ride was so long already and the day was getting on. We took a few photos there; I still have the snapshot he took of me standing on the bench, flexing my arms in Swartzenegger-style toughness. I wish I could find the photo of him, but in my endless moves around Boulder, it seems to be gone. Or I hope I gave it to him at some point.
The other thing I remember is running into him in the Daily Camera parking lot a few years ago, as I was headed to my car.
“Marty, you gotta hear this!” he called, waving a CD. “This is awesome.”
We got into my car and fired up the stereo. He couldn’t get the grin off his face as he slid the disc into the player and turned up the volume. Within seconds, the thumping groove of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” filled the car, and we both started cracking up.
“No way,” I said. “Are you using this in a spin class?”
“You know it!” he replied, and started rapping along to the song until I had tears in my eyes from laughing so hard. That song, which I never fully appreciated back in the day, became a favorite after that, and yes, I can rap the whole thing, too.
In 2002 Robert moved to Hawaii and we lost touch.
He passed back through Boulder at times, worked a stint at University Bicycles, and then went back to Hawaii, then back to Boulder. But our paths had rarely crossed recently, and I was never sure if he was still around.
Then two weeks ago I saw him at my new gym, where he was once again teaching indoor cycling classes. We chatted quickly, and he seemed his usual self, looking me right in the eyes in that way that always made me feel like he really saw me. I peeked into his class a few minutes later, and saw that on the studio’s television, he was playing a video he’d shot at Walker Ranch. Through his microphone, he called out, “Come on in, Marty!”
So I took a seat on the floor and stretched, watching the video and listening to the boundless energy of Robert’s teaching style. It was good to see him again, and I noticed, as always, the relentless powerful spin of his legs. After a few minutes I took my leave and gave him a quick wave goodbye, not wanting to disrupt the class. I had no way of knowing that I would never see him again.
I wonder if he knew that.
I hate hindsight. It only exists because some circumstance forces you to look back – usually with regret.
I wish I’d hugged him. I wish I’d invited him out for coffee. I wish I’d looked him in the eyes with the same attention he always offered me. I wish…but it changes nothing now.
I attended his funeral in a state of numbness. How is this possible? I just SAW him. How on earth can he be lying in that casket?
I listened to stories from his friends, as well as from his brothers, who I met for the first time. (I learned that he'd raced on the velodrome at the Olympic Training Center as a teenager. I learned that he was more than just brawn: He had a bachelor's degree in biochemistry and a master's degree in kinesiology.)
The regret that I did not reach out to Robert, just five days before, burned itself deeper into my heart.
Not that I had the arrogance to think I could have changed his mind. But at least he would have known someone cared.
Another cyclist and spin instructor got up and went to the microphone in the little church. She looked hollow-eyed. She encouraged all of us to take Robert’s death as an opportunity to make more time for the people in our lives. No matter how busy we think we are, she said, does any of that stuff matter more than our friends?
I sat with my teeth clenched, blinded by tears. I knew by now that I wasn’t alone in my feelings, but it didn’t matter.
I just couldn't stop thinking about what was going on in Robert's mind. How much pain do you have feel to want to put a gun in your mouth?
There’s a tendency, after people have passed away, to glorify them a little. Thank god. I’d much rather remember the good things about people, and I sure hope it’s the same for me when I’m gone. I admired Robert for his passionate approach to life and to the things he cared about. He was not one of those people who just plodded through each day, and I loved that about him. I think life let him down a lot, because he expected other people to give as much energy and attention as he did. He gave so freely of himself.
I put the one photograph I have of him – at the Stazio Criterium, in an old-school, East Coast bike shop jersey that he’d brought to Colorado when he was 17 – on my refrigerator, to remind me. Not only of him, but of my commitment to the friends I still have.
Goodbye, Robert. Thank you for the inspiration.
“Marty, you gotta hear this!” he called, waving a CD. “This is awesome.”
We got into my car and fired up the stereo. He couldn’t get the grin off his face as he slid the disc into the player and turned up the volume. Within seconds, the thumping groove of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” filled the car, and we both started cracking up.
“No way,” I said. “Are you using this in a spin class?”
“You know it!” he replied, and started rapping along to the song until I had tears in my eyes from laughing so hard. That song, which I never fully appreciated back in the day, became a favorite after that, and yes, I can rap the whole thing, too.
In 2002 Robert moved to Hawaii and we lost touch.
He passed back through Boulder at times, worked a stint at University Bicycles, and then went back to Hawaii, then back to Boulder. But our paths had rarely crossed recently, and I was never sure if he was still around.
Then two weeks ago I saw him at my new gym, where he was once again teaching indoor cycling classes. We chatted quickly, and he seemed his usual self, looking me right in the eyes in that way that always made me feel like he really saw me. I peeked into his class a few minutes later, and saw that on the studio’s television, he was playing a video he’d shot at Walker Ranch. Through his microphone, he called out, “Come on in, Marty!”
So I took a seat on the floor and stretched, watching the video and listening to the boundless energy of Robert’s teaching style. It was good to see him again, and I noticed, as always, the relentless powerful spin of his legs. After a few minutes I took my leave and gave him a quick wave goodbye, not wanting to disrupt the class. I had no way of knowing that I would never see him again.
I wonder if he knew that.
I hate hindsight. It only exists because some circumstance forces you to look back – usually with regret.
I wish I’d hugged him. I wish I’d invited him out for coffee. I wish I’d looked him in the eyes with the same attention he always offered me. I wish…but it changes nothing now.
I attended his funeral in a state of numbness. How is this possible? I just SAW him. How on earth can he be lying in that casket?
I listened to stories from his friends, as well as from his brothers, who I met for the first time. (I learned that he'd raced on the velodrome at the Olympic Training Center as a teenager. I learned that he was more than just brawn: He had a bachelor's degree in biochemistry and a master's degree in kinesiology.)
The regret that I did not reach out to Robert, just five days before, burned itself deeper into my heart.
Not that I had the arrogance to think I could have changed his mind. But at least he would have known someone cared.
Another cyclist and spin instructor got up and went to the microphone in the little church. She looked hollow-eyed. She encouraged all of us to take Robert’s death as an opportunity to make more time for the people in our lives. No matter how busy we think we are, she said, does any of that stuff matter more than our friends?
I sat with my teeth clenched, blinded by tears. I knew by now that I wasn’t alone in my feelings, but it didn’t matter.
I just couldn't stop thinking about what was going on in Robert's mind. How much pain do you have feel to want to put a gun in your mouth?
There’s a tendency, after people have passed away, to glorify them a little. Thank god. I’d much rather remember the good things about people, and I sure hope it’s the same for me when I’m gone. I admired Robert for his passionate approach to life and to the things he cared about. He was not one of those people who just plodded through each day, and I loved that about him. I think life let him down a lot, because he expected other people to give as much energy and attention as he did. He gave so freely of himself.
I put the one photograph I have of him – at the Stazio Criterium, in an old-school, East Coast bike shop jersey that he’d brought to Colorado when he was 17 – on my refrigerator, to remind me. Not only of him, but of my commitment to the friends I still have.
Goodbye, Robert. Thank you for the inspiration.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
At Last!
I actually got out on a "real" ride yesterday with a teammate and another friend. Sadly, their recovery pace was a good workout for me. But I was just happy that my back didn't hurt - hooray! I didn't even mind that the whole ride was on asphalt, which I usually avoid like the plague. I was cruising along on my mud-encrusted 'cross bike (with road tires), sporting the mountain bike shoes and helmet visor, happy as a clam. I'm really sorry I forgot my camera, because there was some fabulous sunset light happening as we rode back. At any rate, I'm looking forward to a warm weekend so I can get some more base miles in!
Here's some recent work images:
Ray Rovey, a Nederland man who welds iron into gates, chairs, wine racks, and more -- all while being legally blind. He wears the goggles to keep out debris. He calls his little business "Out of Sight Art and Wrought Iron."
The CU radio station shut off their CD players for a day and pulled out all their old vinyl. It's amazing the eclectic taste in really old music, like '40s, '50s and '60s-era stuff, that these kids were into.
And finally, more yummy food. Seared ahi salad with citrus from Sunflower, one of my top three favorite restaurants in Boulder.
Here's some recent work images:
Ray Rovey, a Nederland man who welds iron into gates, chairs, wine racks, and more -- all while being legally blind. He wears the goggles to keep out debris. He calls his little business "Out of Sight Art and Wrought Iron."
The CU radio station shut off their CD players for a day and pulled out all their old vinyl. It's amazing the eclectic taste in really old music, like '40s, '50s and '60s-era stuff, that these kids were into.
And finally, more yummy food. Seared ahi salad with citrus from Sunflower, one of my top three favorite restaurants in Boulder.
Monday, March 12, 2007
A Unique Form of Torture
Is watching yourself on video. UGH!! But I promised (especially to my mom) that I'd post this.
http://homepage.mac.com/brianhawkins/filechute/marty258.mov
If you laugh your ass off at me, please keep that to yourself. ;)
http://homepage.mac.com/brianhawkins/filechute/marty258.mov
If you laugh your ass off at me, please keep that to yourself. ;)
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Good Lord
It's hard to believe that road racing has already started. I mean, I know the Tour of California happened last month already, but hell, that's California. Out here, there's still piles of snow sitting around. But that didn't stop folks from showing up for the Stazio Criteriums on Sunday. I went out to watch the Cat. 1/2/3 race and ran into my teammate Rob:
Even though he's actually been training, we both agreed that this looked like WAY too much work.
I'm hoping to race in late May, even though the fitness will be pretty marginal. I suspect I'll truly peak for cyclocross season -- which isn't a bad thing. I really missed racing 'cross last fall. The scene here in Colorado is getting really good... lots of spectators ringing cowbells, people grilling and drinking beer, racers in the Cat. 4s wearing funny clothes -- it's a great time. I'm looking forward to all of it!
Even though he's actually been training, we both agreed that this looked like WAY too much work.
I'm hoping to race in late May, even though the fitness will be pretty marginal. I suspect I'll truly peak for cyclocross season -- which isn't a bad thing. I really missed racing 'cross last fall. The scene here in Colorado is getting really good... lots of spectators ringing cowbells, people grilling and drinking beer, racers in the Cat. 4s wearing funny clothes -- it's a great time. I'm looking forward to all of it!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Friday, March 02, 2007
Future Magazine Star
Yesterday I spent the morning in Denver at b. hawkins advertising studio, doing my photo and video shoot for the Maverick ads.
I know, I'm such a cheeseball. But it was really fun! I'm not sure what's up with the background color, which they called "Baby Puke," but I think that somehow the color can be changed easily in Photoshop, allowing them to drop in whatever color they want. They said the end result will probably be gray, like the sample ad I showed in my previous post, but they're not 100% sure just yet.
Check out their sweet studio:
They use a Hasselblad medium format camera with a digital back, which is an amazing setup. It seriously made me want to do commercial photography. But I lack the $50,000 needed to buy all the cameras, lights and studio space to get started, so... maybe in my next lifetime.
The photographer and the art director, both named Brian, were really cool guys. They actually work with several other bike companies, like Giant, for instance, so they know the whole mtn bike scene. And I got to see my buddy Rob from Blue Sky Cycles for a few minutes, since he was getting his picture taken before me.
The video part was fun, too. Brian the art director shot it and coached me, and I think I did okay. I'll probably think otherwise when I see it! I just hope I don't look fat. It IS the Year of the Pig, you know. ;)
I know, I'm such a cheeseball. But it was really fun! I'm not sure what's up with the background color, which they called "Baby Puke," but I think that somehow the color can be changed easily in Photoshop, allowing them to drop in whatever color they want. They said the end result will probably be gray, like the sample ad I showed in my previous post, but they're not 100% sure just yet.
Check out their sweet studio:
They use a Hasselblad medium format camera with a digital back, which is an amazing setup. It seriously made me want to do commercial photography. But I lack the $50,000 needed to buy all the cameras, lights and studio space to get started, so... maybe in my next lifetime.
The photographer and the art director, both named Brian, were really cool guys. They actually work with several other bike companies, like Giant, for instance, so they know the whole mtn bike scene. And I got to see my buddy Rob from Blue Sky Cycles for a few minutes, since he was getting his picture taken before me.
The video part was fun, too. Brian the art director shot it and coached me, and I think I did okay. I'll probably think otherwise when I see it! I just hope I don't look fat. It IS the Year of the Pig, you know. ;)
Saturday, February 24, 2007
I'm Now a Yeti Betty
The new bike arrived today! It's sick light and covered in bling, courtesy of Sports Garage:
I guess this means I am now a member of "The Tribe," as Yeti owners like to refer to themselves. :) I haven't named this bike yet; I need to ride it a few times and see what its personality is like.
Yeti the company is based in Golden, which is cool. That means that both of my mountain bikes are from Colorado companies (even if the actual frames are made in Taiwan). Here's the Yeti headbadge:
And here's a peek at the lovely new XTR derailleur and wheels:
I would like to publicly thank my sponsor, the Joseph R. Caivano Foundation, for his immense generosity and his patience in listening to me freak out about my financial situation. I dedicate this racing season to him!
Another great thing about today is the weather. The snow that was predicted never showed, so I got to ride outside -- yahoo! I didn't even care that it was windy. I can't even describe how great it feels to be on the bike and outdoors again. Being injured and trapped inside for so long made me feel half dead.
A lot of what I love about riding outside is just noticing things. A lake I passed had ducks out exploring the half-melted surface:
There was also a guy standing by the bike path with an SLR camera and an enormous lens, probably a 600mm, photographing prairie dogs, of all things. I almost stopped and said, "Wow, that's a really big lens," like dumb people always say to me, just to irritate the hell out of him, but decided to spare him at the last minute. It's bad enough he was taking pictures of rodents in really bad light.
More good news: the Maverick folks have decided to use me for their ads! I'm very excited. I go in for a photo and video shoot next week, so I need to get a haircut and run through some possible things to say besides "My Maverick is, like, way cool, dude." Actually, they're wanting me to paint a picture of myself as a maverick, too, and then explain why the Maverick bike and I are a perfect marriage. I need to put some more thought into this and try to make it really compelling. They already liked what I wrote, but I want to show up with several options in my head, ready to say in a compact "sound bite" kind of way. They sent me a sample of the print ad:
Thank god I'm too broke to get into motorcycling, because this would probably tempt me.
I don't get the comment about how the bike would piss some people off. That doesn't make any sense. Unless he's referring to other bike makers, who might get mad they didn't think of such a beautiful way to solve the problems inherent in suspension design.
Update on the Karen Rodarte story: We're in a substantial dilemma about her family's status in this country. They're illegals, as you might have guessed, but they've begged us not to print that, obviously. But the trouble is, if we do that, we're leaving out an important fact, and we ARE journalists, after all. Now, we could just let readers figure that tidbit out for themselves (it's pretty obvious, since the family has no access to medical care), but then so could the INS or anyone else in a position to deport them. They MUST be aware of the risk in talking to us, I would hope...but maybe they're not clear on how public this story will really be. So, I've taken a break from shooting any more photos, because this story could very well get axed altogether if we can't figure out a way to deal with this. Obviously, I would feel tremendous guilt if they got kicked out of this country because of us, when they desperately need to be here for Karen's treatment. I mean, I have my own conflicing feelings about illegal immigration, but this family is already here, and Karen is highly unlikely to get what she needs in Mexico.
In the meantime, I really need to get on the ball with doing an audio slideshow about SOMETHING. Folks in the newsroom have definitely noticed that Mark and Josh are the only shooters tinkering with multimedia so far.
Speaking of work, I won second place in the Colorado Associated Press Editors and Reporters contest for Portrait/Personality with this picture:
I've just started entering contests again this year. I've always found them kind of meaningless, especially in Colorado, where there just aren't a lot of newspapers. There's only about four papers in our circulation category. The next category up is even more lame: The Denver Post, the Rocky Mountain News, and the Colorado Springs Gazette. And I'd be willing to put money on the fact that the Gazette's circulation has fallen below 100,000 Sundays, which would actually put them in our category. And then the Rocky and the Post are owned by the same people anyway, so....what's the point? ;)
But one thing that was cool is that CAPER made a Best in Show category this year, and Todd Heisler from the Rocky won with this amazing photo:
(Sorry it's so small; I nabbed it from their website.) It's from a story about the soldiers whose job it is to deliver the bad news to families. Go here to see the whole package, which is an incredible example of great journalism and use of multimedia. http://denver.rockymountainnews.com/news/finalSalute/
Friday, February 16, 2007
Karen's Story
I'm working on a new project about Karen Rodarte, an 11-year-old who survived a rare, aggressive brain tumor. Research tells me that:
"Brain Tumor: Atypical Teratoid / Rhabdoid Tumor
This rare, high-grade tumor occurs most commonly in children younger than 2. It is generally found in the cerebellum, which is the lower, back part of the brain that controls balance. These tumors tend to be aggressive and frequently spread through the central nervous system.
Even after surgery and chemotherapy treatment, the survival rate for children younger than 3 at diagnosis is less than 10 percent. It appears that older children, when treated with chemotherapy and radiation therapy after surgery, do somewhat better long-term, nearing 70 percent.
Treatment generally involves surgical removal of the tumor followed by chemotherapy. Radiation therapy may be considered depending on the age of the child and whether the tumor has recurred."
It's wonderful that the survival rate is better in older kids like Karen, but what this doesn't tell you is the impact on their daily life. At 11, Karen's memory is heavily affected, making it difficult for her to remember even simple things like basic addition; it took her a very long time to memorize the alphabet.
Here, her teacher admonishes her to pay attention to her math work, in spite of having onlookers:
Each day she gets the challenge of having to remember her lunch code, a surprisingly long string of numbers she'll have to produce while feeling the pressure of standing in the lunch line. Here, she gets a high-five from her para-educator after she practiced the number correctly:
Karen has grown up speaking Spanish at home, and prefers it, but understands English very well and has no trouble making herself understood. She does struggle with writing in either language, though. Here, she laughs with one of her teachers, after finishing an assignment with the translation help of friend, left:
Her Spanish-speaking parents, however, are having a hard time with the medical system, especially as they continue her treatment without the benefit of health insurance. Perhaps this story will bring some Good Samaritans out of the woodwork.
In the meantime, Karen enjoys recess with her friends:
The tumor has stunted her growth, and part of her treatment includes doses of human growth hormone, an expensive substance also prized by endurance athletes. Who knows... maybe she'll grow up and become an Olympic marathon runner or something...her balance doesn't actually seem that impaired.
I have about six weeks more to devote to this story -- an eternity in newspaper time -- so I plan to record audio and create an audio slide show, which will be my first (and long overdue) foray into the multimedia trend that is rapidly becoming the future of newspapers.
I just hope I can capture Karen's hilarious giggle, which was cracking up everyone in earshot.
"Brain Tumor: Atypical Teratoid / Rhabdoid Tumor
This rare, high-grade tumor occurs most commonly in children younger than 2. It is generally found in the cerebellum, which is the lower, back part of the brain that controls balance. These tumors tend to be aggressive and frequently spread through the central nervous system.
Even after surgery and chemotherapy treatment, the survival rate for children younger than 3 at diagnosis is less than 10 percent. It appears that older children, when treated with chemotherapy and radiation therapy after surgery, do somewhat better long-term, nearing 70 percent.
Treatment generally involves surgical removal of the tumor followed by chemotherapy. Radiation therapy may be considered depending on the age of the child and whether the tumor has recurred."
It's wonderful that the survival rate is better in older kids like Karen, but what this doesn't tell you is the impact on their daily life. At 11, Karen's memory is heavily affected, making it difficult for her to remember even simple things like basic addition; it took her a very long time to memorize the alphabet.
Here, her teacher admonishes her to pay attention to her math work, in spite of having onlookers:
Each day she gets the challenge of having to remember her lunch code, a surprisingly long string of numbers she'll have to produce while feeling the pressure of standing in the lunch line. Here, she gets a high-five from her para-educator after she practiced the number correctly:
Karen has grown up speaking Spanish at home, and prefers it, but understands English very well and has no trouble making herself understood. She does struggle with writing in either language, though. Here, she laughs with one of her teachers, after finishing an assignment with the translation help of friend, left:
Her Spanish-speaking parents, however, are having a hard time with the medical system, especially as they continue her treatment without the benefit of health insurance. Perhaps this story will bring some Good Samaritans out of the woodwork.
In the meantime, Karen enjoys recess with her friends:
The tumor has stunted her growth, and part of her treatment includes doses of human growth hormone, an expensive substance also prized by endurance athletes. Who knows... maybe she'll grow up and become an Olympic marathon runner or something...her balance doesn't actually seem that impaired.
I have about six weeks more to devote to this story -- an eternity in newspaper time -- so I plan to record audio and create an audio slide show, which will be my first (and long overdue) foray into the multimedia trend that is rapidly becoming the future of newspapers.
I just hope I can capture Karen's hilarious giggle, which was cracking up everyone in earshot.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
I've Been "Modeling" More Than I've Been Riding Lately.
Dammit. But hell, when I'm 70 years old I can look back on these and reminisce about being able to stay upright on a bike.
Josh came through for me again, this time for the folks at Maverick American Bicycles, who plan to use real Maverick owners in their advertising, and wanted to see pictures of their potential people.
I don't know if they'll choose me, but it's nice to have the photo either way.
Josh came through for me again, this time for the folks at Maverick American Bicycles, who plan to use real Maverick owners in their advertising, and wanted to see pictures of their potential people.
I don't know if they'll choose me, but it's nice to have the photo either way.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Mmmmm....food.
Sometimes I think I should quit the news biz and become a food photographer. I seem to be decent at it and it's fun.
From a story on Valentine's Day food:
Oysters with champagne "caviar," from Q's Restaurant.
Spinach mousse with Meyer lemon. I got to taste both of these, and they were delicious. The concept was food that you could feed your sweetheart, which is why they're bite-size portions. (I think I would probably throw up if I had to watch another couple feed each other in public, though. I mean, come ON. Gross.)
I just like to analyze the dish and figure out how to light it in a pretty way, and make it look tasty. I usually use just a combination of window light and one flash... I'm always amazed that it looks pretty tolerable. I mean, it's no fancy studio light like the food pros would do, but what the hell. I work for a small-town newspaper.
A few weeks ago we did a story on liquor for winter sipping, and I got this good layout with my photo:
But honestly, I don't think I could do this kind of thing full-time. I'd really miss being outside, for one thing. Plus, I really do like to shoot things that move and talk. :)
From a story on Valentine's Day food:
Oysters with champagne "caviar," from Q's Restaurant.
Spinach mousse with Meyer lemon. I got to taste both of these, and they were delicious. The concept was food that you could feed your sweetheart, which is why they're bite-size portions. (I think I would probably throw up if I had to watch another couple feed each other in public, though. I mean, come ON. Gross.)
I just like to analyze the dish and figure out how to light it in a pretty way, and make it look tasty. I usually use just a combination of window light and one flash... I'm always amazed that it looks pretty tolerable. I mean, it's no fancy studio light like the food pros would do, but what the hell. I work for a small-town newspaper.
A few weeks ago we did a story on liquor for winter sipping, and I got this good layout with my photo:
But honestly, I don't think I could do this kind of thing full-time. I'd really miss being outside, for one thing. Plus, I really do like to shoot things that move and talk. :)
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Nothing But Crickets
I know it's been way too long since I've posted here. I'm probably just talking to myself. Wait, what else is new? :)
But I gotta get this rolling again for summer, when I'll actually have a life.
In the meantime, I've had two consecutive back injuries that have kept me off the bike since my ruined trip to Fruita in October. I won't even try to describe how frustrating and depressing this has been , since nobody likes a whiner. But I will say that I've been spending WAY too much time here:
The lovely Boulder Center for Sports Medicine, where I have been contemplating life's meaning while strapped into this medieval device:
Traction is strangely relaxing. You get a harness strapped around your chest (woe to the girls with the big boobs) and another around your hips, and then the machine pulls the two apart. Ahhhhh.
Also slowing down my life (for what -- eight weeks??) was this:
So let's just hope that the rest of the mountain bikers around here have screwed up their training as much as I have. ;)
Since I've been down for the count, I've been trying to write that book on photojournalism. I've spent many hours looking at this:
The writing process has been really enjoyable, actually. It's made me reconnect to some of the deep-seated reasons that I became a photojournalist -- just in time to attend "the sky is falling" meetings about the dire straits of the journalism industry. Yay. You kids in journalism school make a run for the business school while you still can.
So my life has felt like a kind of "Groundhog Day": Get up. Go to work. Try not to fall on ass in Daily Camera parking lot. Go to physical therapy. Form a close and personal relationship with Advil and the floor of my apartment. Abuse caffeine while working on book. Go to bed, get up, start over. Drag friends out whenever possible, but discover that people are seriously hunkered down with NetFlix. Ponder subscribing to NexFlix. Remember the torture of watching "Failure to Launch" (which has a hilarious "mountain biking" scene that made me almost regurgitate my popcorn) and go back to working on book. Space out in endless fantasies of travel, mountain biking, and good-looking men. Realize I'm still here and sigh in disgust. Repeat.
I did take some time for fun, though, most recently by going to the Boulder Mountainbike Alliance black tie fundraiser. Some local celebs showed up: Jeremy Horgan-Kobelski and his wife Heather Irmiger:
Giro d'Italia winner Andy Hampsten and University Bicycles owner Doug Emerson:
And as for me, I pulled out my 1940s-era dress and accessorized with the usual hardware:
It was also an opportunity to wear the necklace my mom gave me and actually buy cute hair gadgets, something this tomboy hasn't done since middle school.
The other freakin' fabulous thing is that the cold weather finally headed out to the East Coast for a change. Today my coworker Josh and I did assignments on foot to bare our bumpy white flesh to the sun:
We wandered around together for a few minutes, since we're usually never able to do that; Josh oogled the co-eds out on their afternoon run while I got jealous watching people ride by on their bikes. Everyone looked ecstatically happy to be out in the warmth.
But I heard it's going to snow again this weekend. Sigh..... and repeat.
But I gotta get this rolling again for summer, when I'll actually have a life.
In the meantime, I've had two consecutive back injuries that have kept me off the bike since my ruined trip to Fruita in October. I won't even try to describe how frustrating and depressing this has been , since nobody likes a whiner. But I will say that I've been spending WAY too much time here:
The lovely Boulder Center for Sports Medicine, where I have been contemplating life's meaning while strapped into this medieval device:
Traction is strangely relaxing. You get a harness strapped around your chest (woe to the girls with the big boobs) and another around your hips, and then the machine pulls the two apart. Ahhhhh.
Also slowing down my life (for what -- eight weeks??) was this:
So let's just hope that the rest of the mountain bikers around here have screwed up their training as much as I have. ;)
Since I've been down for the count, I've been trying to write that book on photojournalism. I've spent many hours looking at this:
The writing process has been really enjoyable, actually. It's made me reconnect to some of the deep-seated reasons that I became a photojournalist -- just in time to attend "the sky is falling" meetings about the dire straits of the journalism industry. Yay. You kids in journalism school make a run for the business school while you still can.
So my life has felt like a kind of "Groundhog Day": Get up. Go to work. Try not to fall on ass in Daily Camera parking lot. Go to physical therapy. Form a close and personal relationship with Advil and the floor of my apartment. Abuse caffeine while working on book. Go to bed, get up, start over. Drag friends out whenever possible, but discover that people are seriously hunkered down with NetFlix. Ponder subscribing to NexFlix. Remember the torture of watching "Failure to Launch" (which has a hilarious "mountain biking" scene that made me almost regurgitate my popcorn) and go back to working on book. Space out in endless fantasies of travel, mountain biking, and good-looking men. Realize I'm still here and sigh in disgust. Repeat.
I did take some time for fun, though, most recently by going to the Boulder Mountainbike Alliance black tie fundraiser. Some local celebs showed up: Jeremy Horgan-Kobelski and his wife Heather Irmiger:
Giro d'Italia winner Andy Hampsten and University Bicycles owner Doug Emerson:
And as for me, I pulled out my 1940s-era dress and accessorized with the usual hardware:
It was also an opportunity to wear the necklace my mom gave me and actually buy cute hair gadgets, something this tomboy hasn't done since middle school.
The other freakin' fabulous thing is that the cold weather finally headed out to the East Coast for a change. Today my coworker Josh and I did assignments on foot to bare our bumpy white flesh to the sun:
We wandered around together for a few minutes, since we're usually never able to do that; Josh oogled the co-eds out on their afternoon run while I got jealous watching people ride by on their bikes. Everyone looked ecstatically happy to be out in the warmth.
But I heard it's going to snow again this weekend. Sigh..... and repeat.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Proof That I Can Laugh at Myself
The Daily Camera marketing department has reached new heights of desperation: they have decided to use US (the humble, badly-dressed, behind-the-scenes journalists) as marketing tools. They seem to think that if readers know who we are, they'll feel more of a connection to the newspaper. (I personally think that if we simply write good stories with the facts straight and everything spelled correctly, and shoot compelling photographs, that's probably good enough, but hell, who am I?)
So we all had to suffer through having "marketing" photos taken of ourselves. I managed to get out of it for a long time, by going on vacation the week the marketing photographer was here to shoot them. I mean, come on, most photographers can't stand being in FRONT of the camera.
But last week the proverbial gun was held to my head, and the result is, as I expected, cheesy. Yes, folks, it's very clear that I'm the "Cycling Columnist!" Now I'M on my way to the gun store, because if this photo ends up on the side of a bus, I'm going to shoot myself.
So we all had to suffer through having "marketing" photos taken of ourselves. I managed to get out of it for a long time, by going on vacation the week the marketing photographer was here to shoot them. I mean, come on, most photographers can't stand being in FRONT of the camera.
But last week the proverbial gun was held to my head, and the result is, as I expected, cheesy. Yes, folks, it's very clear that I'm the "Cycling Columnist!" Now I'M on my way to the gun store, because if this photo ends up on the side of a bus, I'm going to shoot myself.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Marty who?
I know, I've neglected this thing so long that I probably haven't a reader left! But this time of year, with a back injury keeping me from doing much of anything, I had nothing to say; I was too busy taking rides in the Whaaambulance.
Before hurting myself, however, I did some great fall rides. Here's the view from a wonderful solo jaunt in Nederland:
Then the next day I did Kenosha Pass with a group of friends. I had never ridden that trail before, and I gotta say, it rocks!! Fun, challenging riding with incredible views.
The big news is that I changed race teams in a last-minute, nerve-wracking decision. I'm leaving Blue Sky Velo, in spite of the fact that I LOVE the shop and its fantastic owners, because I really, really, want to be on a true mountain bike team. So I will be joining the black-white-and-teal camoflage clan on the Sports Garage Team.
Not pictured are the 15 women on the team -- sweet! It sounds like a great group of people, very close-knit. They all train together, travel to the races together, etc. And every member is required to host a meeting or social event throughout the year. It sounds awesome! Plus it's a Boulder team, so it will be easier to ride with these folks than the Longmont crowd.
I did have a few cool assignments recently, as well...In anticipation of the Dalai Lama's visit, I drove to the Great Stupa, deep in the mountains above Fort Collins, and took pictures of the workers getting ready. The Stupa is a Buddhist shrine, usually a place that contains the ashes of a revered figure in the religion.
Here's the Stupa:
Here's one of the founders of the place, preparing the two-story Buddha for its coating of paint, which is traditionally a vibrant gold:
This was really an enjoyable assignment. It was tremendously peaceful there, and everyone was so friendly and mellow. When I had filled all my digital media, I took a walk in the trees, and accepted an offer for lunch. I like it when I can settle in and really immerse myself in what I'm shooting. Unfortunately, I didn't get to photograph the great man himself (I had the pleasure of photographing him some years ago, though), which bummed me out. Here's Cliff's photo of him arriving to consecrate the Stupa:
I worked on a story about an old part of Louisville that the city council almost designated a blighted area so they could bulldoze everything and bring in a bunch of crappy retail. I had to find people in the neighborhood...
Not only does this guy sport the sexy mullet, he had on - no joke - these skin-tight short-shorts. Yes, WITH the leather jacket. I had to spare the readers that extra detail.
There's also this photo from a parade in Louisville:
So I haven't been a complete slacker...even though I lost a couple weeks of my life in the black hole known as "Shogun." What a great book!! I loved it. It was such a vivid portrayal of medieval Japan that I felt like my real life was a dull dream. I was even hearing Japanese spoken in my head. "Wakarimasu ka?" (Do you understand?)
I was so psyched with it that I bought "Tai-Pan," the writer's next novel, but mentally, I'm not ready to leave those characters just yet. And of course, all this is distracting me from my own writing. But, I've got plenty of dark winter nights at the coffee shop ahead, right?
Before hurting myself, however, I did some great fall rides. Here's the view from a wonderful solo jaunt in Nederland:
Then the next day I did Kenosha Pass with a group of friends. I had never ridden that trail before, and I gotta say, it rocks!! Fun, challenging riding with incredible views.
The big news is that I changed race teams in a last-minute, nerve-wracking decision. I'm leaving Blue Sky Velo, in spite of the fact that I LOVE the shop and its fantastic owners, because I really, really, want to be on a true mountain bike team. So I will be joining the black-white-and-teal camoflage clan on the Sports Garage Team.
Not pictured are the 15 women on the team -- sweet! It sounds like a great group of people, very close-knit. They all train together, travel to the races together, etc. And every member is required to host a meeting or social event throughout the year. It sounds awesome! Plus it's a Boulder team, so it will be easier to ride with these folks than the Longmont crowd.
I did have a few cool assignments recently, as well...In anticipation of the Dalai Lama's visit, I drove to the Great Stupa, deep in the mountains above Fort Collins, and took pictures of the workers getting ready. The Stupa is a Buddhist shrine, usually a place that contains the ashes of a revered figure in the religion.
Here's the Stupa:
Here's one of the founders of the place, preparing the two-story Buddha for its coating of paint, which is traditionally a vibrant gold:
This was really an enjoyable assignment. It was tremendously peaceful there, and everyone was so friendly and mellow. When I had filled all my digital media, I took a walk in the trees, and accepted an offer for lunch. I like it when I can settle in and really immerse myself in what I'm shooting. Unfortunately, I didn't get to photograph the great man himself (I had the pleasure of photographing him some years ago, though), which bummed me out. Here's Cliff's photo of him arriving to consecrate the Stupa:
I worked on a story about an old part of Louisville that the city council almost designated a blighted area so they could bulldoze everything and bring in a bunch of crappy retail. I had to find people in the neighborhood...
Not only does this guy sport the sexy mullet, he had on - no joke - these skin-tight short-shorts. Yes, WITH the leather jacket. I had to spare the readers that extra detail.
There's also this photo from a parade in Louisville:
So I haven't been a complete slacker...even though I lost a couple weeks of my life in the black hole known as "Shogun." What a great book!! I loved it. It was such a vivid portrayal of medieval Japan that I felt like my real life was a dull dream. I was even hearing Japanese spoken in my head. "Wakarimasu ka?" (Do you understand?)
I was so psyched with it that I bought "Tai-Pan," the writer's next novel, but mentally, I'm not ready to leave those characters just yet. And of course, all this is distracting me from my own writing. But, I've got plenty of dark winter nights at the coffee shop ahead, right?
Monday, August 21, 2006
Hubba Hubba
The Maverick climbs so well, I keep looking around to see who is secretly pushing me. I was still pretty tired today from Saturday's race, but still felt like riding the backside of Hall Ranch. And it felt way better than I would have imagined. Love that!
I like these isolated trees you see at Hall Ranch sometimes. The land there is an interesting combination of forest and open grassy meadows. I changed this to black and white because the light was so crappy this morning.
Then I got to enjoy the twisty, rocky descent all the way down without being stopped by a single person. Sweet!!
I like these isolated trees you see at Hall Ranch sometimes. The land there is an interesting combination of forest and open grassy meadows. I changed this to black and white because the light was so crappy this morning.
Then I got to enjoy the twisty, rocky descent all the way down without being stopped by a single person. Sweet!!
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