Category Archives: photo stuff

Family Trail Work

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The Parks department came through and cut up all the big logs.  We went up a few miles from Hastings to make sure that everything was clear enough for joggers and cyclists.  Half the town is without power, but schools will re-open tomorrow and the delis on the main drag have been using extension cords from their neighbors to keep the coffee flowing and the milk cold.  I figured that we need some of the things that bring normalcy — and peace — to our lives so I invited my wife and daughter to come out with me and help make sure that the trails were clear.  My daughter, Lia, brought her friend, Izzy and we topped off the air in the tires and ventured out.  It was crisp outside, but I could feel anxiety stripped away by the mere act of moving.  Alas, the day was not without incident — Lia ripped her heel on the big ring dismounting.  She soldiered on as crimson soaked into her sock and shoe.  It will be back to classes and homework soon enough.

Fall is upon us

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this is my ride

I love the colors of Fall.  I love the cycling among the light scattering off the yellow and red leaves.  I had a certain image in mind when I went to the trail today — a high contrast grainy black and white wash of glistening roots.  I wanted to capture the trail I rode a few weeks ago.  Instead, I wasn’t the rider I was then — too little sleep and too much stuff made my moves twitchy and robbed me of stamina.  Neither was the light the same; instead I rode through the lush golden light of the late afternoon sun.  It’s funny:  I’ve ridden these trails for twenty years; I know where the path bends and dips. Riding them clumsy makes them seem new again; taking a photo of the trail — like the one at right — shows how little the path stands out against the trees and rocks and leaves and wet.  You can just see the shimmer of a path from the rock on the left, snaking through the trees and down.

Not even the slow shutter speed makes me look fast and thin!

I call these the ‘old man rides.’  I go alone; no trying to push my buddies into riding too fast, no pushing myself to look good to strangers.  I tell myself ahead of time that I don’t have time to crash and I often walk here or there where I might fall down the mountain sideways if my attention drifts.  Instead, I surfed the rocks, forward and back, as time drifted by.  I found some of my balance but I also found a few spots to sit and listen to the birds.

This last picture is perfect.  I kept trying to ride along the spine of the rock and then up the next.  There strength and balance weren’t there today, but loved seeing the sun in one direction and the long shadows back in the other.  A few minutes later I remembered to check the time and quickly raced back out of the park to shower and take my sweetie to dinner.

Bad Mechanic

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After three weeks of living alone, the kids are back.  I had to go shopping and ended up with a car full of groceries.  The house doesn’t feel the same; it’s filled with the noises of bodies moving around.  As I settle back in, I have to pick and choose which parts of the solitude I can keep.  Can I really cook for three (and soon four and six as my wife returns and guests descend) without packing back on the six pounds I’ve let go? Will I still ride in the mornings and then spend the afternoons at the gym?  (Of course not — work and family matter more).

In search of balance, I pulled my simplest ride out of the garage but it didn’t feel right.  Wiggly in a subtle way.  Front brake and wheel:  check.  Rear setup:  no good.  Loose bearings.  The relaxing ride turned into an equally relaxing maintenance session that stretched long.  Clouds rolled in, turning the blazing sun into soothing low-contrast ambient light.  I refilled my coffee mug and came back out to try to finesse the delicate balance between the bearings in which they start out too tight.  As each bearing is tightened against the nut, the space opens up slightly into buttery smoothness.  Cone wrenches in hand, eyes in the middle distance, I enjoyed the feel of feathery touches of mist as the lightest of drizzles washed across my skin.

I’m sure the mechanic in town, Bob Flint, could finish this task in seconds (perfectly), while chatting with me in the shop.  I was on the third try when the skies opened up with a crash and rain poured like a torrent across my little mechanical meditation.  It rain into my eyes and down inside mouth.  It turned the grease in my hands to slime and pulled down my socks.  I staggered away from the table, abandoning the wheel and my coffee.  I saved the cone wrenches, but probably only because my hands forgot to put them down.  Bad mechanic.

This is the photo of my transcendental buttery bearing space post apocalypse.  I took it standing under the sun umbrella on the porch (irony intended).  There’s good news.  The rain stopped.  There’s also bad news.  Buttery smoothness was not achieved.  We all know there’s water mixed in there somewhere and the transcendental state is waiting in another place for another day.  On the other hand, I’m not really a perfectionist and I think I should take bike out for a “test” ride now that the clouds have moved away. . . .