I take a lot of pictures of myself, my bike and the Walla Wallan landscape. It is as if I take enough photos of the three-- eventually they will meld into one spectacular vision that will explain it all. Explain the winds, the wheat. Explain scraping salt off your cheek and a Snickers bar that's really far away. If I take enough pictures, will it explain the curiosity, the constant framing of compositions and the rhythm of power lines? I take a picture when my blood is rushing, not from the trap of a steel teleporter. When you're standing out there, bike lain askew, pockets bursting with all your provisions-- when you're standing out there and one itty bitty tiny cloud goes-- AH HA! Neener, neener, neener!
It's funnier. It feels more important. Or I am more aware. Than if I had clicked open a car door.
So when I see photographers out in the wheat fields, only steps from their sense-numbing vehicles-- I feel like they're cheating.
I feel like we're not even looking at the same wheat.
On my bicycle-- everything I visit is a friend. A familiar face. A conversational pal.
And we like to chat often.
