Since picking up a camera I’ve annoyed more people in the space of a few months than I think I have in my whole life (or maybe I’ve just been oblivious–always a possibility). Photography has transformed me from a moderately aggressive driver into a pokey tourist, my head on a swivel, my foot always on the brake, looking for anything that might make an interesting picture.
So I do my best to ignore the grimaces and fists in my rear-view mirror, and drive around compiling lists of spots to come back to when the light is right. Or when a cop isn’t eyeing me suspiciously.
This motel on Oregon 99 is one of those places. I’ve been waiting a couple months for its west-facing, hobbitish gabled roofs to catch the sunset, and last night was as close as it’s gotten yet. The dark sky in the east was a plus, so using my newfound skill at being a pain-in-the-ass driver, I abruptly swung into the pothole-riddled gravel lot next door and fired off as many shots as I dared. When I finished, I looked up and saw the lot I was in belonged to a security services company–one that’s apparently open on Saturday nights. A burly fellow exited the building and gave me stinkeye as he unlocked his pickup. I didn’t bother to put the lens cap back on, but tore out before I had to answer any questions.