Today was one of those fall days too good to ignore. As soon as the first mug of coffee was gone, I was scrounging for a riding mate. But my enthusiasm was no match for busy schedules and broken bikes, and after a couple hours it became clear that today would be a solo ride.
I don’t mind riding alone. I usually leave some detailed instructions on where I’ll be going, download a couple new podcasts and happily pedal away. I miss the company, and the courage that comes with knowing that someone’s around to get you to the hospital if required; but mostly I miss someone to help with the picture taking.
My bike wife is the queen of the self-portrait. I have watched Jenn whip out a camera while sitting on the handlebar of my snow bike as we slide down an icy pathway. I have waited on group rides for Jenn to catch up, only to discover 3 days later through a Flickr update that her delay was due to a series of photos capturing her journey over a particularly scenic ridge. I have sat on the side of a trail as Jenn built a camera stand out of twigs, moss and rocks; all while apologizing for not replacing the tripod she lost 4 years ago in Carcross.
Unfortunately, I do not share Jenn’s talents. After downloading 57 photos from my spectacular Yukon River ride, I have discovered the following:
In 63% of my self-portraits, I am absent:
In 24% of my self-portraits, I am checking to see if I’m in the picture before the picture’s actually been taken:
In 9% of my self-portraits, Starbuck is stealing my thunder:
In 4% of my self-portraits, I am in the frame, but unrecognizable:
In reviewing my particularly bad batch of self-portraits, the Mr. casually mentioned that there is a remote control that came with the camera. Maybe there’s hope yet…