Shots From The Cat Box

Popp's in Wallkill sponsored a poker run, but the party at the end, in New Paltz, New York, was a lot of fun. This was 1985. I brought my Nikon and a roll of film. I drank a lot of beer, and went home to develop my film. My darkroom was set up next to the oil burner; I had to have total darkness to develop my film. I blocked all the light sources. If I turned on the light, I would ruin the pictures. And maybe I was a little drunk, and I wound up dropping the roll of unprocessed negatives into the cat box, in total darkness, I was searching on my knees, I felt around in the cat litter. Something cylindrical, whoops…no, not that. But I eventually found the film and developed the pictures. And here's a couple of shots from the cat box.

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Whoda thunk: Lake Michigan

Motorcycles and Photography

Motorcycles and Photography: Always liked both, so when I started going to rides and events it clicked. The photo above is of Skinner and Kitty on route to Marcus Dairy. I made my darkroom in the space near the oil burner. It had a sink, a red light bulb, beer and rock and roll. The oil burner would come on loud for heat or hot water and I would have to turn up the music and drink more beer. It was kinda like my own little private party developing pictures but I think the music might have woken my sleeping family upstairs, so I'd turn off the oil burner to be more quiet, then forget to turn it back on and we'd all wake up in the middle of the night freezing. I spent a lot of time under that red bulb developing, making prints and breathing fixer fumes but it kept me out of trouble, somewhat. Most of my riding shots were taken with a 28mm wide angle lens, at f8 or f11 set for hyperfocal distance. EASYRIDERS, IN THE WIND, BIKER, and more. Here's a complete list of my published...

Clutch Repair That'll Put You Back In The Saddle

We were off to the races. We shuffled off to Buffalo. Well not quite Buffalo, but near there: Olean, NY, for the Rally In The Valley, and then to Dansville, for the Poags Hole Hill climbs. It was late Saturday afternoon; the Rally was winding down. My three friends and I fired up and nodded to each other that we were ready to pull away from the curb. I pulled in the clutch, dropped it into first, and lurched awkwardly, narrowly missing a small group of pedestrians, before I stalled her out, and rolled sheepishly back to the curb. My clutch cable stuck straight up in the air, looking amazingly like some kind of strange whip antenna. Hmmm. An aftermarket cable, she came apart at the ferrule. It was late on a Saturday and the closest Harley dealer was an hour away. We plied the dwindling crowds at the Rally looking for a clutch cable. We got a few leads and the best one boiled down to this: there was a guy in a bar outside of town who "might" have one that "might...

Motorcycles Bartenders F-Bombs

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