Each time we go to Fresno for one or another piece of business, I try to sneak off by myself to take photos. We usually stay at my in-laws’ home out near Woodward Park, an area which is virtually all new subdivisions and malls. I find all this pretty uninteresting on every level, so I always head towards downtown, to the older, more interesting, and typically more run-down, parts of Fresno.
On this particular day, I did not have very much time at all, as we were preparing to head back home by noon. I decided I would drive the opposite way on Friant Rd just to see what’s around. I found the old Friant Rd, the one we took to go to Millerton Lake when I was a kid. The scenery was so familiar it made me feel weird. I wondered where Ball Ranch was, where my cousin Tommy, God rest his mischievous soul, would take me fishing when he talked his father out of the car for a Sunday afternoon. I don’t think I saw it. But before I knew it, I was seeing something else I had not seen in at least 25 years: the town of Friant. Thankfully, it had not really changed much. So, this is my first attempt to shoot here. I’m sure it won’t be my last. I’ll post a few more shots of this outing over the next few days.
I took a few photos of the Millerton Motel. Doing the post on this shot, I thought I would go for a simple film look. While I’m not sure I got very close to that, I do like the result on its own terms. I’ll definitely post a few more shots from this outing over the next few days.
In the final moments of our time around Mt Shasta, I managed to get my group to wait for me while I wandered around Weed, CA shooting the local color. Actually, it didn’t take very long. But it was fun while it lasted.
With subjects like these, it was definitely about color. I was shooting with a polarizing filter, which I have little experience with, and I’m surprised by the deep, dark blues that resulted. Click an image to view large.
Exploring Cloverdale for vacation possibilities, I came across a picket fence world where gold Chryslers bask in the gentle sun.
An unusual route taken after biking my kid to camp and then stopping in at the school district office to again prove we live within the district for the coming school year. At least I saw some beautiful decay because of it.
Earlier this year I changed my morning route to work by bicycle. I was hoping to find an easier way to cross busy Sacramento St near the BART station (which I did), and the side benefit was coming across this specimen.
My poor old ’99 Impreza hadn’t had any TLC for thousands and thousands of miles. It was starting to complain to me. It whined when I cranked the wheel to pull away from the curb. It slammed its wipers into the hood with every wipe. It stubbornly plodded when I tried to spur it on.
So, on a drizzly bay morning before work last week, I dropped it off for servicing in west Berkeley. Unfortunately, my bike doesn’t quite fit in the little guy, so after running down the list of complaints to the service manager, I left on foot. I missed the Ashby Ave bus by seconds. Off I went on my damp, 2.5-mile walking commute through Berklandville. While I was hurrying to get to work, I decided to make the most of it and stop to shoot when necessary. Like when I came across these guys, slowly disintegrating in the urban wilderness of the East Bay. At least I got my Subaru feeling better before it came to a similar fate.
Apparently, someone over by my place of employment is into overseas Fords. While walking to Market Hall for an afternoon snack, I spied a couple of sixties-looking foreign cars parked on the street. Or is that foreign-looking sixties cars? Anyway, both turned out to be Fords. A search online revealed that the Anglia was a British car made by Ford for a good long time. And stylish too! Stay tuned for a photo of the other one, a Ford Cortina.
This is the first one of a little batch of photos shot in Crockett and Port Costa last weekend. 10 years in the Bay Area and it was my first visit to this charming, David Lynch-like oasis. If only I had known, I would have been out here every weekend.
The car reminds me of a girl I knew in high school. She used to go around saying that a fortune teller told her she would not live to be 21. Of course I didn’t believe her. But it turned out to be true.
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