The Selfie

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:

At least the rafters made it into the frame.

A perfect selfie, if there was a self.

In 24% of my self-portraits, I am checking to see if I’m in the picture before the picture’s actually been taken:

I think I got it this time…oh f@#%$

In 9% of my self-portraits, Starbuck is stealing my thunder:

As if there aren’t enough photos of him…

In 4% of my self-portraits, I am in the frame, but unrecognizable:

Thwarted by the sun

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…