Bikes

A couple of Sundays ago, I took myself out to the deep forests of Buckland to photograph Enduro motorcycle racing. This wasn't my first time photographing bikes, yet the exhilaration of watching riders hurtling through areas where masses of trees created a path no wider than a metre, was pure and precarious enjoyment. There are risks, and as a photographer, I too had to sign an indemnity form against my injury, but what's the point of living if you aren't doing what you love, risks and all. 

My introduction to motorcycles occurred during my youth in the small rural town of Bagdad, and although I feared for my life when faced with a 50cc bike no higher than, well, a beanbag, the feeling was incredible. Soon after I'd started riding at a friend's property on the other side of town, my parents informed my twin and I that they had a motorcycle of their own, which they'd stored away. This bike was the source of hours of adventures around the farm we lived on. I loved nothing more than riding it up ridiculously steep dam walls, often stalling halfway up and sliding back down the wall, which was more often than not laden with thistles. 

Anyway, riding through the streets of sleepy Hobart, navigating traffic and remaining constantly vigilant gives clarity like nothing else. Driving in a car, my mind tends to relax, and whilst I'm not suggesting that I'm a bad driver, the challenge of riding and the satisfaction of a good gear change or corner feels great. There's a whole lot of feelings in this post, but hey, do stuff that makes you feel, be it exhilarated or challenged, it's all good.