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Back home in Austin, Texas there was a rare, intense winter storm going on that locals were calling a “Snowpocalypse” and everyone seemed to be freaking out. By sheer luck, I’d just happened to have decided at the last minute to catch a flight to the Yucatan area of Mexico where the temperatures were nothing short of delightful. The Great Spirit was definitely smiling on me with that fortunate maneuver.

I’d been to the Yucatan several times in the past, but had always flown into Cancun, caught a few waves on nearby Isla Mujeres for a night or two before setting off through the interior. I’d zig-zag my way up visiting new towns and villages all the way up North until I arrived back home in Texas.

Because I always had a lot of distance to cover, I was always in a bit of a hurry and rarely gave the region the time it deserved. This time, I decided to just stay in the Yucatan for a whole month and pick a couple of my favorite cities to serve as a base while I went out to explore nearby towns for the day or the night.

One of my favorite cities in Mexico is Merida. It’s got pretty much everything you need or want, and the Mexican culture there is vibrant. It’s one of the cities that hasn’t been overrun with Walmart, McDonalds, Home Depot, AutoZone, and Starbucks. The markets there are still real Mexican markets and haven’t changed much in the 20 years or so that I’ve passed through. The architecture is rustic but chock full of texture and color.

The people there are some of the most friendly in all of Mexico. Just love that place. If it wasn’t for the incredible humidity in the Summers, it’d be just about perfect.

And, Merida served as an excellent base to go off and explore towns, cenotes, and Mayan ruins throughout the surrounding region. There are these collectivo taxi vans leaving all the time for just a few pesos that’ll take you pretty much anywhere you want to go, and plenty to get you back to Merida. The beach isn’t that far away either.

So, I’d just arrived by bus and was excited to go track down the old hacienda that’d been converted into a hotel. It’s a little rough around the edges, but some of the old Yucatan charm still permeates the property. And, they have hammock hooks embedded right into the concrete walls in case you’re like me and would rather sleep suspended instead of in a bed.

The trouble was, I took a bus to a bus station on the complete opposite side of the city and was totally lost when I arrived. The area seemed somewhat familiar to I headed off for what turned out to be an 18 block hike that also took me right through the middle of a giant market. Normally, that would be cool, but not so much if you’re lugging all your luggage on your back in the balmy, tropical temps and trying to navigate through narrow passages between the raw chickens and papayas on display.

Eventually, I stopped and got my bearings back and knew exactly where I was. Looked across the street before heading for the hacienda and noticed this red plastic chair positioned perfectly against a minimalistic wall in vibrant primary colors. I thought, “Oh, that’s pretty incredible. I better dig my camera out and get a shot.” But, I was so exhausted from the hike and decided to let it go.



I walked a half a block and couldn’t get that image out of my head, “You have to go back and get that shot” “Yeah, I know it was nice, but there isn’t much about it that says Mexico to me. Just the red plastic chair.””That doesn’t matter! It’s an awesome combination that you can’t simply walk away from. Stop being so lazy and go back to get that shot!”

Looked back and saw that there were large groups of local pedestrians coming toward the red chair from both sides and a line of buses as well. In seconds getting that shot would be impossible. It mattered not that my back was about to break from the load, and it my feet already felt like they where broken, I turned back and ran with my pack all the way back to the corner and barely had time to fire off just one shot before the crowds consumed the splendid little primary-colored scene.

This one goes way back. I honestly don’t recall for sure, but I’m thinking close to 20 years ago in Mexico City.

It reminds me of likely one of the first times I was traveling in a country I wasn’t familiar with… where I didn’t speak the language or know much about the culture… sweating like crazy from the heat and fear adrenaline.

I’d been told there were many areas in Mexico City that I really shouldn’t be wondering around as a foreigner, but I couldn’t find out for sure where those areas were. Just went with my gut and started wondering around the areas that had those invisible voices from somewhere other then the hear and now… ghosts perhaps.

There were a couple of burly Mexican dudes who tried to figure out what I was doing in their hood and also trying to get me to go inside one of these dilapidated buildings for a “tour”.

The whole scene was looking grim for me, but at some point something switched in my brain. It was as if I realized I really didn’t have control of this situation at all, nor any situation for that matter… that everything was completely out of my hands for the most part. I could either be afraid and hide out in the safer areas for the rest of my life, or I could accept the fact I have no control over any of the story that plays out before me.

I decided to let my intuition be my guide and that it was too damn hot to be sweating any more from the fear. It was about that moment that the angst likely disappeared from my face and the burly gang leaders could tell. This crazy gringo is no longer afraid.

A couple other street thugs approached me as well, but I didn’t flinch. I looked them all in the eyes with the faith of blind trust. The burly dudes stepped up, and signaled to the newcomers, “Leave this one alone. He’s ok.” And then they all stepped back and let me pass. I believe it was shortly a half block or so from there that I saw this amazing Mexican jalopy, and I no longer had fear.

Made this one around 2009 while on a motorcycle journey through the Southwest and ended up stopping at the Pacific before looping back toward Texas. Had seen the Chiricahua Mountains Park on the map and basically decided to camp there because the name sounded cool and I needed a place to rest.
Worked out to be an especially beautiful and peaceful area to camp in and was the last stronghold of the famous Apache indian chief Cochise.

In a meadow below the camping areas, are the original settlers homesteads that are preserved and decorated with much of the original furniture, etc. I don't usually go for the guided tour sort of thing, but I wanted to go inside the homestead to see what it looked like and to stimulate my imagination while I explored the area.

The ranger giving the tour went on and on about how difficult it was to finally clean up the area from all the lingering Apache squatters. He spoke about them as if they were some vile pestilence that needed to be exterminated to make room for the white settlers.

I honestly tried to keep my trap shut, after about a half hour of this I couldn't contain myself any longer and held up my hand to ask a question, "Why do you keep referring to the original occupants of this land as if they were no better than rodents?" The ranger explained that these were violent people who wouldn't leave peacefully and hung around under the leadership of that thug Cochise, terrorizing the settlers."

The ranger looked a bit angry with my question, as did many of the others on the tour, but he did a fine job of containing himself. Until, I replied, "Well, would you go peacefully if some foreigners invaded your homeland that you'd lived, loved, and died on for many generations? Wouldn't be at least a little put off by being forced to uproot your people and move to undesirable land on reservations?"

He became visibly angry with this and said "The Apaches lost. We won. They should have gone peacefully. And now let's move on with the rest of the tour. If you have any more questions sir, you can ask me privately later." Judging from the looks on the faces of the others on the tour, it looked like I should zip it before the mob decided to stone me to death.

The landscapes and mountain ranges of the Chiricahua Mountains area are spectacular and some mighty fine curvy roads to cruise on a motorcycle as well.

I had been in such a peaceful place until the dust-up with the ranger giving the tour, that I needed to clear my head with some magnificent vistas. Rode slow taking in all the majesty and trying to feel the spirit of the Apache who once lived and hunted this land. When I got to the top of one mountain overlook, there was a view of Cochise Head mountain.

Made a few landscape images of the mountainous horizon and then sat down on a bench to rest awhile and just be in the that space for awhile, alone and still. As I studied Cochise Head mountain, I wondered why they called it that. It was pretty and all, but wasn't sure why is was special enough to take the name of Cochise. I laid sideways on the bench to rest my tired bones and eyes for a spell.

After a few quiet moments alone, I opened my eyes to the mountain range viewed from my side. And, there he appeared just as plain as a portrait. The profile of the great Apache chief was carved by the wind right into the mountaintop.

There’s a gem of a little town just outside of Medellin, Colombia called Guatape. I knew nothing of this place at all, but had heard that the area was a favorite leisure area for the famed cocaine drug-kingpin, Pablo Escobar. Not that I’m into famous Colombian drug kingpins or anything, but I figured if this cat had been responsible for over 80% of the cocaine that entered the U.S. at the time, then he’d likely be able to be “leisurely” wherever he darn well pleased.

I figured for Pablo Escobar either Guatape was an amazingly wonderful place to enjoy the spoils of his power, or it was great place to hide. Either way, it sounded like a good place to visit.

Turns out, it’s both. A beautifully surreal landscape with this giant, mountain-sized boulder dropped into the middle of these lagoons that are all interconnected with a small town that looks like it was painted by some tripped-out ex-Disney employee. And, it was also an excellent place to hide.

Never figured out what inspired the locals to paint their town with the most dripping saturated colors available in our known visible spectrum, but this town was a color freak like myself’s polychromic wet dream.

If you’re ever in Medellin, Colombia I highly recommend making the trek. Only about two hours one-way by bus, but it’s slow over the mountains and it stops a lot. If you’ve got your own wheels, it’s likely closer to an hour or so.

They also train Olympic caliber Equestrian Dressage horses there. I think that’s what it’s called. It’s almost like the horse is dancing and you can hear an almost musical cadence from their hooves on the cobblestones. Fairytale like stuff.

Anyway, back to the color freak-out polychromic wet dream town.

You couldn’t make an image here without getting your retina’s abused by color. It was everywhere! The biggest problem was trying to figure out what to aim my camera at first.

I focussed mostly on the details of at the architecture and had found one corner that really spoke to me. Particularly due to the dreamy quality the colors had, and that there was even a perfect little lamb painted in the corner. Dynamite! That’s my shot.



Until, this little boy comes sauntering up, looks at me trying to frame up my shot, and just stops right in the middle of my frame. Seriously? “Come on amigo!, Can’t you just take a rest a little further down the sidewalk? Give a brother a break will ya?”

So, I waited and waited. And he waited and waited right along with me. It became a battle of the wills. He’d pretend to lay his head back and take a nap standing there, but open his eyes every now and then to see if he was still successfully annoying me.

Being a little competitive myself, I decided I was all in and would wait as long as he could.

Until, it finally dawned on me what was written on the pesky little guy’s t-shirt. He was right by the sleepy little lamb with his head leaned back as if asleep in a dreamy colorful backdrop, and his freakin’ t-shirt read, “Dreams of Kids”.

Boom! That was my shot! I just had been too stubborn to see it.

When I made this one, I was on a motorcycle trip in Louisiana. I told a friend that I wanted to explore a little of Northeast, Texas, then wander around Mississippi, and into Louisiana.

I told him that my “vision quest” was firmly focussed on locating the real-deal, dirty, authentic backwoods Cajun food.

What I hadn’t counted on was that the fact this fellow was completely averse to eating anything involving pork, shellfish, and a bunch of other tasty stuff prohibited in the Old Testament. Honestly thought there’d be more options for him regardless of where we went.

We discovered that if you’re trying to follow the culinary advice within the Bible, Louisiana backwoods, Cajun cafes, deli’s, and roadside haunts are not your best bet.

The Cajun food arguments quickly devolved into rather nasty religious disputes and criticisms. Before you knew it, we were verbally at each other’s throats. Funny how all that spicy Cajun goodness can bring out the devil in you.

One morning, camped alongside some Madisonville, Louisiana
bayou across lake Pontchartrain, I couldn’t sleep and got up early to go for a pre-dawn walk to clear my head.

My friend felt that because I wasn’t following Old Testament to the letter of the law, I wouldn’t be favored in the creator’s eyes.

Thought about this as the sun began to come up and stream across the steamy bayou and through the Spanish moss. I figured, if our given collective skills or gifts are in fact “God given”, and I was using those gifts to show other’s the beauty of creation, then of course was doing exactly what I was born to do.

Made this image as I stood there with this thought as I watched the hanging Spanish moss of Saint Bernhard park trees come alive in the first light of a new day, and watched what looked like steamy mystic spirits dancing atop the water’s calm surface.

Made this image a couple of years ago in Colombia. This spot is actually on a fairly long hike outside of Selento in the rich coffee growing region. You ride in the back of a small truck with others like a rustic taxi. They let you off in this other little village area that's got loads of military in cammo with machine guns, but who are all really friendly. One even posed for an instagram photo for me with big smile and a very impressive machine gun.



Then, you're off into the moist but muddy valley's to explore. The trip getting there is surreal enough, but when you get to some of these vistas... all by yourself... and just stand there wondering if you already died and luckily went to heaven. Such a beautiful region. If you ever go there, I can highly recommend a nice long hike. :)

Ok, this one is definitely one of my personal, all-time favorite memories. And to be honest, the image has more to do with dumb luck than anything else.



I was in Porto, Portugal at the time. As some know, I enjoy a little vino sometimes, and at this time I was all about that Port wine. I'd taken the train out of Porto, Portugal early in the morning into the wine country. Got back by mid-afternoon and decided to walk along the port river there, tasting some of the finest port wine available for no more than 5-7 euros a glass I think. And there, they don't serve the port in those BS tiny little port glasses like they do in the U.S. They use a proper wine glass. And brother/sister, that's some fine liquid I'm here to tell you. So divine.

I'm not sure how many glasses I'd had as this point, but it was certainly bordering on the outskirts of a few too many as I recall. The city's architecture is beautiful and I was leaving for Santiago del Compostela, in Spain the next morning... so I simply had to get out and make some images before I lost light.

Trouble was, I could barely still walk, let alone work a camera. But I persevered and gave it the ol' college try even though the buildings were now blocking the last of the light.

At the time, I was still a cigarette smoker (but now 6 years finished!) and because I was bummed I'd let the afternoon pass by without getting any decent images of this lovely city, decided to find a nice spot to have a smoke.

Ambled down some dark alleyway and out to a small patio area. The last bit of sun was streaming between two other buildings and since my eyes has already adjusted to the shade, I was temporarily blinded as I fumbled around in my pockets to find my Zippo lighter.

Got my smoke lit and was trying to adjust my eyes and regain some of the focus lost to the delightful last glass of fine port wine I'd just consumed. I kept hearing this strange sound that was like sand landing on a piece of metal. I looked over to my right and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from.

Below I could see some cats on a tin roof scrambling for something falling from above and a large bird surveying the gang of feral gangster kittens below. I looked up and saw an old woman tossing out food for the gang below, and became fascinated by the little line of multi-colored clothespins just below her.

I took a drag off my smoke and thought, "Dang, I bet that would make a nice image." The sun was quickly slipping away, so I raised the camera up, didn't even look at my settings, and then the woman went back inside. The sun direction changed so that that last light was gone, and the cats moved on. I got one shot only and I was nearly blind when I made it. You can even see some of the food debris she was tossing below caught in mid-air.

At first glance it just looks like a nice architectural image. But if you give it a little time, it reveals so much more.

You should pick this one up if you're so inclined... then when you later realize what's so awesome about it, you can thank me later.

This one "The Birds" was actually displayed in the Smithsonian castle in Washington, D.C. for several months and now part of their archives. :)



They requested I write something about the image, and this is what I sent them:

I was photographing the beautiful architecture around the French Quarter of New Orleans near sunset when I spotted this particular scene. As I composed the shot, a flock of birds ascended in mass and startled me to the point that I hesitated and didn't get the shot. The light was falling fast and there wasn't much time left before it was too late to get any more images of this delightful city, but I decided to wait a bit longer and take my chances. Soon, there was a slight flutter and then another flock took to the sky a second time. I had the shot I was looking for.

This image is important to me because I was at first worried that because of the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina, the city I'd visited many years ago would no longer have the mystique that'd once captivated me many years ago. I wanted to remember her the way she was, but at the same time wanted to spend a few tourist dollars helping her recover. It was so uplifting to learn that my beloved New Orleans could not be so easily crushed and was indeed alive and well, just as rich as I remembered her welcoming, colorful mystique. This image reminds me of the absolute resilience of American spirit to faithfully persevere through any storm.

Made this one in 2001. It was just after the attacks on the U.S. and a very strange time to be traveling. The tickets had already been purchased and I’d dreamed of this India trip for years. I was going an there was no way something as insignificant like global terrorism was going to keep me from it.
India was wild. Not what I expected at all, and it took awhile to adapt. In backpacker circles, they had always said that for real adventure, India was Mecca. Travel there, and you can travel anywhere.



I could go on, and will add more later, but I’ll just focus on this image for the moment. It’s been said that dawn on the Ganges river is the most mystical time and place you can experience on this planet. The Ganges river itself is considered a god itself for Hindus and in this city, Varanasi (also known as Banares) it’s considered the most sacred and revered by it’s deity name “Ganga”. It’s even believed that if you can manage to die here, you can end the life/birth cycle and head straight to Nirvana/Heaven.

Because of the terrorist attacks on the U.S. and the following retaliation from the U.S. on Afghanistan, it was a rough time to be traveling internationally for sure.

One thing I wanted to make sure I accomplished in this oldest living city on the planet, was a rowboat ride on the Ganges at sunrise. It was rough dealing with all the canoe rowers, but finally found one that looked like it might not sink, and the rower’s eyes looked very serene. A deal was made and we were off. He wanted to know where I wanted to go, and I told him I didn’t care. I just wanted to be right in the middle of Ganga as the sun rose.
Before I knew it, we were rowing by the ghats at top speed. Ghats are areas off to the edge of the Ganges where Hindu pilgrims meditate, give massages, do yoga, bath, celebrate life, and burn the dead.

It was so surreal that I could barely form any logical thought. I was completely in the moment and fixed on this one Hindu pilgrim meditating. Something inside tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Uh, you think you might want to make at least one photo of this, at least for the ol’ memory banks?” I answered, “Yeah! Hang on, I’m not prepared. Gotta turn this thing on and make sure I’ve got a setting that will work.”

The boat was moving so swiftly that I barely had time to turn on the camera. Before I knew it, we were about to pass out of range and I wasn’t going tot get the shot. I aimed, shot, and put the camera away. Later, I realized the one blind image made actually worked out. And this is it.

When I got back to the U.S., I learned that George Harrison of the Beatles had passed away. The article said that just before his passing, George had made one last trip to Varanasi to tour Hindu temples. Most that view this image either are sure the pilgrim is either female or male. For me, the pilgrim is male and most likely, Mr. Harrison himself.

There's a personal existential crisis this image reminds me of. It was made just this last Summer in Orchard, Nebraska during a particularly intense stretch of day that whipped the land with baseball-size hail and rare gigantic tornados. One that even split itself into a twisted monstrosity of conjoined twins just the day before.

I often get very lucky with the weather I endure on my motorcycle trips. Mostly because I've constantly got one eye on the cloud movement, how the wind is moving the trees, sensing the changes in temperature. I combine my observations on the ground with weather reports in not only the area I'm riding, but all of the towns in the extended region to get a bigger picture to better track and predict a potential storm's severity. When I get into the zone, I can call it with more accuracy than the best meteorologists.

However, this last Summer was different for some reason. There were just too many components changing radically with the whim of the breeze. I found myself frequently riding right into a severe storm or running for my life away from one. This was one of the several days I got it completely wrong and found myself focussed on the colors of the storm clouds to my left, changing into alien turquoise hues. The clouds and wind were maniacally angered as the temperature snapped down cold and hard in the blink of an eye.



I'd also been watching the rural countryside looking for images along the way when I saw this scene of an old farm house and vintage car for sale. Started looking for a place to pull over to make a shot, but then looked back over to my left. The cloud intensity had intensified even more in just the few seconds I'd looked away, and the colors changed in such as way that launched the following dialogue.

"Why are you stopping? Are you blind? Hit that throttle and keep moving compadre!"

"I know, I know... this is crazy and borderline suicidal. You're right, I better keep moving and focus on beating that storm and finding shelter."

Twisted the throttle full and laid on the gas tank to better cut through the intense wind. I figured if there were any cops around, they'd likely understand and let me slide as I bolted a good three or four miles down the highway. Until the dialogue plagued me once again.

"I'm sorry buddy, I'm going to have to turn back around and get that shot. It's what I do."

"That's just crazy hombre! You're going to risk your life for something as insignificant as a snap shot? What's wrong with you? No one will ever even give that image a second thought and nobody cares. Keep moving!"

"But, if I turn back now, I think I can get the shot and still make up the time. If it's so insignificant documenting the most memorable moments of my life, what is it I'm doing anyway? Should I just follow my passion when it's lovely and I shy away from the ones that induce real fear?"

"Are you even listening to me? Nobody freaking cares champ. This image isn't going to mean anything to anyone except for you. Now get these idiotic thoughts out of your head and focus on the highway."

"That does it. I'm turning around."

"What?!"

"I don't know where this obsession comes from, or if there's any benefit at all down the trail, but if this is't why I'm here and if I'm only doing this for the approval of others, then I should drop all of this and just head back home. This has to be something I do for me, and if I give in when it gets too uncomfortable, then I'm not being true to myself."

Pulled on both the front and rear brakes, hit the throttle full heading back to the farmhouse as the coming storm intensified even more.

Didn't even get off the bike. Found an acceptable spot on the highway and fired off a few shots until I was sure there was something acceptable, and then funneled the adrenaline of fear back onto the throttle. The wind was blowing me so hard that I was leaning with all my weight to the left side, but still being pushed almost all the way over to my right. It was all I could do just to keep the bike on the road as the rain and sleet began to punish my foolish arrogance.

"Now you're in it you imbecile. Happy now?"

"Actually, yes. I am happy now. The shot itself doesn't matter as much, but the fact I met fear and didn't cower, stayed true to my purpose, and am now riding an electrifying wave of focussed adrenaline all the way to beat this storm, makes this all worth the while."

It was right after that last thought that the other voice became silent.