Seb Rogers: mountain bike photography

The stuff you can't capture

Bunnyhopping over an adder basking in the middle of the trail today (I only saw him at the last second and had to go back and check that he was okay, but he was already sidling off into the undergrowth), it occurred to me that some of the best times I've had on a bike simply can't be recorded on camera. The white tail of a deer bobbing off into the darkness of the forest; two voles tumbling over each other in the middle of the trail; a kestrel swooping in front of me, prey clutched in its talons... it's all in my memory, but not on disk. Nor is it ever likely to be.

Much of my time is spent carefully setting up pictures that are designed to evoke a response in riders and non-riders alike. They're facsimiles of reality, based on actual experience. But they're not, ultimately, real, because for the most part those images wouldn't exist had I not made them happen.

I don't think there's anything wrong with that approach. But it does make me realise that the sometimes it's just best to let the moment unfold and consign it to memory, rather than reach for the camera.

Nikon F5, 80-200mm f/2.8, unrecorded exposure on Fuji Provia 100, probably

Rider's block

I don't write much on here about riding. Perhaps I should. After all, I spend a reasonable proportion of my time doing it, and on many shoots it's not just my subject matter but also my main means of getting about.

So here's something that's bugging me a little at the moment - I've got rider's block. Anyone who has a regular route that includes a tricky little technical section will, I hope, be able to relate to my predicament: a complete inability to negotiate a short (three or four yard) section of rocky trail that I know is eminently rideable. I've been bottling it for months now, trundling up to the point of no return and jumping off to walk my bike through.

Which is odd, because for months before that I was clearing it every ride.

This has happened before, on exactly the same bit of trail: 6 months of clearing it, followed by 6 months of The Fear. And then, one ride, probably when I'm distracted with thinking about something else (like my tax return, or how much longer I can get away with not sanding down and repainting the window sills on the front of the house), I sail right through it without realising. And kickstart another 6 months of non-geekdom.

This is a lovely, swoopy, rideable bit of the same trail... half a mile further on from the Stream Crossing of Doom

My periodic lapses of ability have at least some grounding in reason. The section in question is where the trail doubles back upon itself, making a 90 degree turn down into a rocky stream bed before climbing out the other side and turning another 45 degrees again. The rocks are, except during extended periods of dry weather (ha! We're talking the UK here, folks), wet. And slippery. The turn-in is so tight that it's hard to look at your line before you're on top of it. And if you don't carry enough momentum into the rocks to get you at least halfway up the exit, you're doomed to dab.

Which is where it gets interesting, because there isn't anywhere to dab. The stream drops away a couple of feet at this precise point, leaving your right foot nowhere to go but down... until it connects with something hard and immoveable. My current period of rider's block began with just such a dab a few months ago, when I ended up upside down with my bike on top of me, my feet still clipped in, and a mildly twisted ankle. I was lucky. A friend in the village broke his leg at this exact same spot...

So what it all comes down to, really, is mind over matter. Once I don't mind turning in blindly at a speed that won't give me space to stop and just using my momentum and sheer bloodymindedness to haul me up the other side... it won't matter. And I'll be able to ride one of my favourite trails without dabbing. Again.