Today was the first comfortable ride of 2014. At least that was what I was telling myself and from a purely physical perspective true -- no chill or bite of frigid air, no fogged visor or numb fingers or toes. Spring nears and the whiteness of winter fades into dirty piles. The roads are gray with grime and grit while meltwater seeks to wipe it clean. Despite the air temperature floating in the 50s I couldn't find much excitement in the ride. At one point on the way home from work I was telling myself I wouldn't care if I ever rode again.
Water from these melting snow piles made the ground softy, muddy, saturated and hazardous for the Vespa. The big snow tires dug into the muddy ground and did their best to slip the rear end out from under me when I wasn't paying close attention.
Gordon Harkins, friend, fellow Vespa rider, photographer, educator, and in this picture thinker.
Thinking, perhaps at the root of my lack of interest in riding today as I was turning over a number of non-riding interests in my head -- a writing project that has rented a section of my brain for a long time has suddenly requested additional space. Add to that a slow darkroom sink refinishing process in preparation for a return to photography based in chemicals and silver. Epoxy vapors may be playing tricks on me.
It's all Gordon's fault.
Yesterday morning Paul Ruby (seen here with his 8x10 Sinar P view camera), Gordon and I drove out of town to make photos rather than sit at Saint's Cafe and talk. These expeditions were common, regular rituals at one point but have become ghosts of another life. Standing in the decidedly more winter-like landscape at Black Moshannon State Park I could feel the embeds of photographic desire glow hot. I heavy sense of regret swept over me as I thought of the view cameras I've abandoned.
Last week Kim shared a website of the work of
Michael Froio, a large format photographer working on a long term project documenting the Pennsylvania Railroad. Memories of being on the road with the big camera only added to a feeling of loss, something the Vespa could not ease or erase.
A stop on the way home as the sun was setting, a few last moments to consider the world and what the hell I'm doing in it. At that moment, and right now as I write, my interests are far from the road. In two days the epoxy in the darkroom will be cured and ready for one last coat of the nasty stuff. A dozen rolls of film await processing and fresh paper and chemistry have arrived from
B&H Photo.
Can't be sure what happens next...
