Every year at the beginning of Spring, my town, Cambridge, N.Y., is overrun by men and women in SUV’s and trailers with jazzy bikes attached, and all weekend there are people running around looking like colorful insects with colorful helmets, jackets, thin and pointed shoes and all kinds of expensive paraphernalia. The sport reminds me a bit of photography – it used to be a simple thing to ride a bike, now it is a high-tech eco-system, except that most photographers I know don’t look so trim and fit.
The race is called the “Tour Of The Battenkill” and it draws thousands of bicyclists and takes over this small town and many of the roads leading into it. People who sell hotel rooms and food in town do a booming business, the other merchants grumble a bit that their normal customers can’t get anywhere near them. People like us are warned to stay away. We can’t even go near the Round House Cafe, we have been told it will be jammed from dawn to dusk with hungry athletes and their families. My friend Scott looks like dracula, he hasn’t slept in days. The town is awash in skinny people with big leg muscles and in tents selling all kinds of stuff.
The race is strange for me, as I am alienated from most sports, with the occasional exception of baseball, and then I am a sort of detached Yankee fan, which has nothing to do with the real world. I am always a bit mystified at why these people dress up like this and race around for miles. They look strange to me.
The ones I have met are nice and interesting, they are courteous and considerate, it is just not something natural to me. Just about every single resident of the town volunteers to help in some way – drivers for referees, handing out water, directing traffic, selling food, escorting the bikers with their cars and motorbikes, standing by to change flat tires, shouting encouragement at the bikers. I am outside the tent, as usual, I’ll be home reading tonight or blogging, I suppose I am a much bigger freak than any of them. Maria has no interest in bicycling, she won’t even look at my photos. Ambulances come from everywhere to stand by and there are troopers and deputies and local police everywhere, blocking off streets, redirecting cars, sitting around with flashing lights on their cruisers. Half the streets in town are roped off.
Cambridge is a place of great community, as I am learning, and I love the town for that. If it’s local, people are always there to help and support it. I am liking that, it is a powerful thing.
Today, watching all of the traffic pour into town, I decided to test my photographic skills – and my new camera – by heading out and trying to capture the feel of the race in photos. A creative challenge. Maria had no interest in coming. I called my friend Mandy the popular and highly regarded massage therapist in town, and I asked her where to go to get good photos and she texted me instantly (she is serving in some official function, of course). She said I could go to her house – the races go right by there – and she suggested I go and sit by a covered bridge nearby and catch the racers as they come whizzing through. A good suggestion, I took it.
She texted me several times – no one confuses me for a local – to “be careful and be sure to stay the hell out of their way.” I think she imagined I would step in front of the racers with my big camera and either get run over or cause a massive collision and spin out. No need to worry, Red and I parked in her driveway and I set up my camera on a tripod – Red, angel that he is, lay down next to me and didn’t move as the bikers came by. Red can go anywhere and be calm, as long as sheep are not involved.
This was a photographic challenge for me, trying to capture something I don’t understand and don’t really get. There is something stirring about people who test themselves in this way, who work so hard for something, and when the bikes are moving, I admit they seem beautiful to me, especially the blurring of colors. Sports are emotional and I have a big camera with fast lens. I tried to catch the feeling of the race, not for me to decide if I did nor not. My friend George Forss considers each photo very carefully, I fire away like a madman. Ansel Adams would not be calling me up to rave about my photos. But I was happy with what I got. I’m putting up an album on Facebook. I tried out the automatic burst feature on my camera – 12 shots a second, and I was happy with it, I learned a lot about that kind of shooting.
I did some work in color, some in black and white, I hung out with a 10-year-old photographer named Timmy, he was doing some great work with his Iphone, and he and his Dad went and bought a bike this morning from one of the dealers selling stuff in tents on the town’s common. Dad was in the bike race. Timmy gave me some pointers on where to stand, I’m glad I am not competing with him. I like going out there, I learned some things and tried some things. I can’t imagine riding a bike around like that, I have a lot of admiration for those who do. Check out my Facebook album if you’d like.