2 Darned Proud of Myself

There's this thing about practicing a skill- once you've mastered it, you don't have to be primarily absorbed in it. It becomes an unconscious skill.

Consider how our consciousness of writing cursive script evolves as the skill is learned, then mastered- for the first few years you're intensely conscious of the feel of the pencil between your fingers and thumb, the texture of graphite sliding across partially-pulped, yellow schoolhouse paper transmitted up the yellow wooden cylinder.

But then, gradually, with little notice or fanfare, writing cursive script became an unconscious act- no longer are you absorbed in the how of writing, but rather in the what, or perhaps, why, of writing. {And if you're a PostModern Existentialist Heideggarian, you'll have moved from writing to Writing, in all of it's capital-letter implications.} You scratch down an address on the back of a dollar bill, scribble out your name on the FedEx guy's digital clipboard, and pen a few thoughtful words in the get-well card going around the office.

So I've been strapping little digital cameras to various bikes and trailers for a couple of years now. It's been a demanding little learning process- figuring out how to get a camera securely mounted on the bike, then puzzling out how to get the camera securely mounted, and vibration-free. Figuring out camera angles, interval timers, wide-angle adapters, wide-angle adapter mounts (dental floss. no joke). Finding a compact, simple & effective lens-cleaning tool.

So it was darn satisfying to realize that somewhere between Kingsport, Tennessee and Abingdon, Virginia, it all came together for the picture above...It'll be part of the Bike Virginia Movie that I'm putting together. See my BVA blog for more info.