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Photo by photo contest 2014
Some travel memories are sharp and clear. They stick with you. Ten years later you can recall an event or place or personal exchange as if it happened yesterday.
Others blur and fade and mix with other memories of events, places, trips, and people encountered along the way.
In southeast Oregon there is a fabulous day ride (Diamond Loop Tour). Although this loop is promoted as a driving tour, Kat and I encountered only a dozen vehicles as we pedaled through the high desert on mostly unpaved roads.
We encountered an historic round barn, amazing volcanic formations, and plenty of bird life. Landscape that appeared stark and barren at first glance, became a kaleidoscope of colors, as the sun played hide and seek with thunderclouds.
Late in the afternoon, Kat noticed something on the edge of the opposite side of the road and crossed over to investigate. What she found was tragic and beautiful at the same time.
I came upon two boys in South Africa. The sun was getting low in the sky and I was concerned about finding a place to camp. But I had to stop and check out their vehicle. The older boy was pushing his friend along the road. They were both laughing.
I love hearing stories well told. Spinning a yarn is a gift, and this man has it. Kat and I were cycling in the Deep South and camped in the yard of two delightful hosts. Late in the evening, sitting around their kitchen table, I asked the gentleman to tell me a story off the top of his head. It ended up being about an experience he had while hunting wild hog.
"Give the world outside a point of entry. It'll give back to you."
That lyric stuck in my soul the first time I heard it in Larry Murante's title song of his album Point of Entry.
Music is an incredible force, and each listener interprets what they hear in their own way. Words can be heard and quickly forgotten, but put them to music, and they will most likely be with you forever.
A good pair of binoculars can be a weighty item to add to full panniers. But the few times I've elected to leave them behind, I've regretted doing so. They are for the birds. Literally.
What is the perfect gift? Ask a hundred people, and you'll get a hundred different answers. But when you give one, or receive one -- you know it.
I received one of those gifts thirty years ago. I still carry it with me today.
The summer of 1981 was magical for me. I'd pedaled across the U.S. with my best buddy Thomas. The sense of accomplishment was amazing. My connection to the world around me had never been so raw and wonderful.
It's the time of year when holiday tunes are playing everywhere. But sometimes when you are traveling far away from home in another culture, hearing a Christmas carol or familiar song can be a wonderful reminder of home ... or not.
If bread is the Staff of Life, it is also, at the very least, the Kickstand of Cycling. It holds you up and keeps you from falling over. I love this carbolicious treat.
I enjoy taking extra time to compose my photos while I'm on the road. The slower nature of bicycle travel suits both me and my photography. But once in the city, I enjoy taking what I call "hip shots."
The cold November rains have come and my mind drifts off to warmer places on the planet. While we are slamming into winter here in the U.S., New Zealand is sliding into summer.
If you have the pleasure of taking a bike trip in New Zealand, don't miss the cathedral. While I know there are beautiful churches in Christchurch and Auckland, I'm referring to one made by Mother Nature.
The smiles of the men in this picture, enjoying a beer after a long bike ride, help make up my mental collage of Colombia. They flew by us in a tightly packed pace line as we pedaled our heavily loaded, lumbering touring bikes out of Bogotá. Waves and smiles and they were gone.
One of the many things I love about travel is that it constantly tweaks our own language. Each one of my bicycle journeys has redefined certain words: beautiful, ugly, loud, serene, rich, poor, fair, unfair, tragedy, happiness.
Their smiles challenge me. Okay Mr. Traveler, can you have as much fun as we do?
They are gifts of the road. Nature's snacks ripened just for you. Their aromas fill the hot summer's breezes and the late fall's chill. Roadside trees, far from any home or farm, display these treats more beautifully than any row of sweets in a candy shop. They must have been planted for the benefit of touring cyclists. Why else would their heavily laden branches lean over the road?
If you like climbing, vistas to die for, glacial gorges, day hikes to mountain lakes, and don't mind pedaling off the pavement ... put this trip on your front burner.
After a long, hard, wonderful slog pedaling the back roads of Colombia south from Bogotá, we took a break in the beautiful city of Cartagena.
I woke up early and grabbed my camera and wandered the streets of this World Heritage city. The colors were incredible. The architecture sublime.
If you are an avid touring cyclist and want an unending supply of beautiful roads with little to no traffic ... negotiate the month of September as your vacation time for the rest of your working days. Then, when you retire, simply continue this travel pattern until your legs no longer spin.
As we crested the hill, it appeared as if it were snowing. In southeastern Oregon? In September? It was 75 degrees!
Last week I confessed my obsession of photographing house numbers during our bike journey in Portugal.
I realize the short "video" might have had a certain entertainment value, but probably fell far short of convincing the viewer that they should hop on a bike and tour there.
While we were pedaling in Portugal, I started noticing house numbers. In the small villages, most weren't generic, but often obviously fashioned by the home owner. I began taking photos of them. Then I got obsessed.
In Thailand, we didn't meet many foreign cyclists on the road (at least on the routes we pedaled), so we got wonderful reactions from motorists. But never honks. The people of Thailand are some of the most polite drivers on the planet.
So when we heard someone honk as they passed it startled us. Then the next car honked as well. And the next. And the next. Were our bikes too close to the road? But each car only honked once or twice. And the occupants were smiling. We smiled and waved back. For the next thirty minutes it was like being on a parade route. We waved at every car and every car celebrated our journey in Thailand with polite honking.
Why can't I pass one without stopping and snapping a few shots? Maybe it's the realization that after all the dreaming and scheming and planning, we are finally there. In some magical foreign place, filled with new sights and sounds and smells.
I always smile when I look at this photo. It was taken many years ago, but it feels like I snapped it yesterday.
It was early morning in India in the state of Himachal Pradesh. Lots of climbing, steep grades, and snow on the ground. I pedaled up to this tiny roadside store to buy a cup of hot chai to warm my hands and get my daily sugar rush.