5 Frames From the Edge of the Road
Sometimes images just jump out at you like a wild-eyed deer on a forest road.
… and wild-eyed deer are what worry me the most about being on a motorcycle.
I ride a big bike and yes, I am very observant of cars and traffic, but much of my riding is on tiny two-lane roads in the middle of nowhere. Cars are far rarer than wildlife, it would seem. And I can deal with a slow truck or insane college kids in a jeep going 60 along the cliff part of Million Dollar Highway south of Ouray, (yes, it happened…).
But deer… dayam.
They have been known to jump right into a car or a motorcycle.
And when it’s deer vs motorcyclist, deer win. A lot.
But this is not an article about my excessive (or not) fear of Bambi’s 25th cousin on her father’s side deciding to take a shot at tackling some crazy old guy on a cruiser, it’s about taking photos from that very same soft baby blue V-Twin beast.
Often, I shoot along the road when I ride.
And occasionally, I don’t remove the gloves and helmet when I do.
Spontaneous moments are often revealed quickly, and I don’t want to fumble around with the riding gear.
(Note to self and all who ride… get the key out BEFORE you put the gloves on. If you know, you know.)
These images are from recent rides when I wasn’t necessarily looking for photographs.
I was just out there riding.
Two-lane road.
Quiet mind.
But that’s when images show up for me — when I’m not chasing them, and simply letting myself be open enough to see.
Just something in the corner of my eye that would make me stop, turn around, and look again.
“Some photographs arrive like invitations. You merely have to accept them.”
I like simple pictures. Things with texture, context, and shape. Nothing that screams.
Just quiet, ordinary scenes that hold something… more.
A leaning sign, a tired fence post, the curve of a shadow on corrugated steel. Things you’d miss if you were in a hurry.
One of the reasons I ride is to get away from being in a hurry.
These images below are not bound through geography, though they were all made in places I go to ride, to think, and to plan.
They’re solitude.
Stillness.
My places force to into honesty.
A kind of visual honesty that shows up when I’m not trying to impress anyone.
Not that I try to impress that many people, but you know what I mean… the constant search for the epic view that garners all those little hearts.
“When you’re not looking for anything, you often find exactly what you need.”
I’ll just pull the beast over, make the frame, and never leave the saddle.
No fuss. No drama.
Just me, a camera, and a brief moment of perfect alignment between my eye and the world.
I don’t need grandeur, spectacular clouds, or rainbows in the mist to make a photograph. (OK, I do love spectacular clouds, I just don’t need them.)
I only need to let myself notice what is right in front of me.
That’s what these images represent.
No spectacle.
Not portfolio pieces.
Just a reminder that the world is always offering me something, if I’m willing to slow down, and just let it be seen.
“There is always a photograph in front of me. I must quiet my mind so it will reveal itself.”
These five frames came from the edge of the road. No hiking. No scouting.
Thunderstorm, Cameron, Arizona.
I was hoping to make it to Flagstaff before the storm drenched Highway 89 with torrents of that oh-so-rare Arizona phenomenon, rain.
Returning home from Wyoming, I spent the night in Kanab, Utah, a small town with considerably more good restaurants than one would expect.
The clouds started to build majestically in the distance as I rode south from Marble Canyon. The summer heat was approaching unbearable, but as the clouds darkened and the winds picked up, a surprising coolness surrounded me on the bike.
I pulled into Cameron about 41 seconds before the skies opened. I made this shot of a welcoming sign and the empty parking lot as I raced to put my rain gear on.
Cody, Wyoming.
Just cruising the backstreets, taking in the delightful little burb that is Cody, when this jewel sparkled down a side street. I made a U-turn and grabbed this shot as the sun was setting behind the tree. (No flash used, this is what it looked like. Lovely light.)
Facade, somewhere in Nevada.
I pulled over to the side of the street as I passed through this tiny town somewhere in the wilds of northern Nevada. The texture and weathered building called to me, but the clincher was the sign with that old ’50s slogan. I could almost hear Dinah Shore in the distance.
Bright Yellow Tree, Santa Ysabel, California
A small shaft of sunlight lit this bright, fall-colored tree in the hills of San Diego County. I stopped the bike on the shoulder of the little road to make a phone call when I noticed it. I knew I had to get a shot of it in all its splendor.
Tanker Truck, Kamiah, Idaho
One of the most beautiful roads in the American West is Highway 12 in eastern Idaho. The road follows a river for miles, then over a high pass and into Lolo, Montana.
It was a cold… no, it was a damned cold, wet, and foggy morning as I left Kamiah heading to Montana over Lolo Pass. Disappointed in the weather, I put on my rain gear and headed out.
This truck was parked on the street next to my hotel, and the mist was delightfully eerie.
Luckily, the fog broke as I entered Highway 12 a few miles to the east, and the day ended up being nearly perfect.
So there you go… five photographs taken from the bike, on the side of the road. Images I very much like, even though they were simply there for the taking…errr… making.
I hope you enjoyed this article. If you would like more like this, let me know.
Hi, I’m Don Giannatti, a photographer and mentor for up-and-coming photographers. You can find me on my website, Don Giannatti, and at my Substack site, In The Frame, where I also publish for creative people.
