The Road Without Tracks

Late afternoon light, an empty road, and the mental high of the perfect frame

Music interrupted my visual awareness. I could listen to my cassette tapes once darkness took over the sky, on my way back home, wherever home may be that evening.

Image shot in the mid-1970s in central Florida. Nikkormat camera. Kodak Tri-X film.

Jamming my brakes at the sight of a small unnamed road, the predictable sound of tires on pavement gave way to virtual silence of tires on sand. I would always take the proverbial road less traveled, the single lane road, the road leading to nowhere. There was always a picture to be found.

Trancelike, and visually vigilant, I framed images in my mind long before bringing the car to a stop. Checking the time and the gas gauge, I planned my schedule to be in the optimal location for early morning or late afternoon light.

What I liked about the small roads was the lack of traffic, sounds simple but I could stop in the middle of the road, no parking space needed, frame my subject, and continue down the road. Like street photography, I never knew what would happen - I trusted my instincts.

Most times that picture or two was enough to stoke the internal fires, other times there were images empowered by pure creative serendipity, a collision of light, the right lens, and the perfect subject.

After a few clicks, back in the car, the mental high would lead to imaginary fist-pumping the sky. Mission accomplished and praying that the images would be in focus and properly exposed.