My Trusty Little Scooter — The Unsung Hero of Every Photo I Take

People ask me all the time how I end up in the spots I photograph — the back roads, the rookery across the street, the little pull-offs along the bay where the light just does something an hour before sunset. The honest answer? I get there on a scooter.

She’s nothing fancy. A little black two-wheeler with a top case for storing my helmet and stuff, a snacks and beverage bag bungee’d to the seat behind me, a purple octopus riding bitch (because of course), and just enough get-up-and-go to chase whatever caught my eye that morning. When inspiration hits — and out here on the gulf coast, it hits constantly — I grab the camera, throw a leg over, and go.

There’s something about traveling slow and small that changes the way you see a place. In a car you’d blow right past the heron tucked into the mangroves, the way the light slants through the cabbage palms at 4 p.m., the funny little hand-painted signs nailed to a fence post. On the scooter you notice. You smell the salt before you see the water. You hear the wood storks before you spot the rookery. You pull over for things you’d never have stopped for otherwise.

She’s been my partner in just about every photo I’ve taken these last few years — the birding shots, the boat docks, the wildflowers along the shoulder, the back-bay sunsets. Not glamorous, not fast, but always reliable, and always ready when the mood strikes. A photographer’s best gear isn’t always the camera. Sometimes it’s the thing that gets you to the picture in the first place.

So here’s to the trusty little scooter. May she keep starting on the first kick, may the tires stay full, and may the light always be golden when we get there, and may i always be able to afford the 5 gallons of gas it takes to fill this baby up.