Mondays aren't as good as Sundays (and some stories from the past).

Monday was pretty much a worthless day. Aside from getting some new Profiles onto my bike, the rest of it was shit.

I managed to crash badly enough on my bike that I went to the hospital. I'm full of scrapes and bruises. My wrist is pretty much useless. I lost a small pump that I purchased that day. I also am pretty sure I concussed myself, and I tore a hole in the T-1 hoodie that I bought the day before.

Now I am bored. So, in light of my uselessness, here are some pictures from some time ago, and some explanations/stories for each...

 I, for whatever reason, love power plants. Really, I'm fascinated by most types of industrial settings, but power plants seem to hold a special place in my heart.

On the night that I shot this one, I had ridden my commuter mountain bike about twenty or so miles north of the town that I used to live in. It was summer, and I had my panniers stuffed with my camera equipment, pants, food, some tools, and a knife. On the ride up, I stopped at parks here and there, hiked a bit, then finally went up to shoot this plant.

Before I took the photos, I rode around for a bit because it had been years since I had been in that area. I went along the waterfront and weaved back and forth through the blocks. Now--slight interjection--I am supposed to wear prescription glasses. I can see things up close, but once people are signs are twenty or so feet away, if I didn't know who/what I was seeing, all I would know is that they were people or signs. In the dark it's even worse.

Anyway, as I'm riding along, wandering, I must have rolled up on an amorous couple on some benches. I didn't even know they were there, but, to them at least, I appeared to be staring. Their understanding of me "staring" prompted the the male variable of this unit to yell at me something along the lines of "what the fuck are you looking at? You want to get your ass beat?"

Now, why anyone would really think it was a good idea to yell at some bearded guy with a bunch of tattoos and a bike loaded with bags is beyond me. I don't do shit like that. It's stupid. If I saw me, I'd probably think I was a crazy homeless guy with nothing much to lose. Add to this stupidity the fact that I'm not the type to take shit from people, and this would normally become a very complicated situation very quickly. Since I was on my mountain bike with my packs, however, it did not.

When I go on long road or trail rides, I always carry a knife where I can easily reach it. I knew this--they did not.

I calmly replied to the man, "I'm listening to music, and I can't see well in the dark. But, if you really want to start some shit, I'll gut the both of you with the knife that I'm carrying." That pretty well ended his abrasive challenge. Then I kept on my way.

I took four shots. Each time I tried extending the exposure time. If I hadn't taken the four shots, it would have been a complete waste of a trip. The last, and longest one, turned out to be the keeper, and everything was fine.

 I have less to say about this picture, other than that it was a good day. We had a good crew of people, it was a warm summer/spring day, and, other than the fact that I was still recovering from a broken foot, I wish I had more days that were like it.

(Left to right: Rudy, Pat, Corey, Tony [?], Zach, and some guy that was carrying around a baby everywhere we went. [Zach & Pat])

 This was a late night session with friends at the loading dock of the now defunct Lifesavers factory. Just as with the previous picture, everything about this night was good.

I managed to get one picture on this roll where I was able to time it perfectly in order to capture the flash from Justin's camera (the person in this shot) while Sneller was taking a picture of Justin 180-ing this over waist high rail. It wasn't until later, however, that I really decided and fell in love with this picture that I shot with no flash and a little panning.

The true star of that night, in the end, was Sneller and his snatched-from-a-thug-wannabe hat. X-up luc-e, sprocket stall to fakie, and some other madness that only Sneller can do. Justin has those pictures somewhere, though.

I'll leave you with this. This is my father.

If memory serves correctly, my father was 53 in the photo above. I shot this, and some other pictures of him, on the first day that I blew fire.

I can honestly say that I don't know anyone else that can blow fire like this (and no, your/my drunk friends at a party don't count, and also don't come anywhere near this level of skill). Furthermore, I'm pretty sure that almost none of you can say that your father does this (and yes, he still does).

It was raining lightly, and there weren't too many leaves on the trees. It was a perfect day to finally try this, with my main goal being not to burn the hair off of my face and set the rest of me on fire. I won.

For all of the times that him and I didn't get along while I was growing up--I can truly say that he's become a good man. I'm glad he's my father.