Fall ColorsAlways Be Creating. Always Be Focused. They say it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert. It’s a falsehood, based on a hole-filled theory (theory != fact) disproved many times through both scientific and practical methods. If you spend 10,000 hours performing a task ad nauseam you’ll have developed muscle memory, and if you’re unlucky, carpal tunnel syndrome—nothing more. You don’t become an expert by going through the motions until they become an easy habit, that’s not enough: you have to pay attention, and learn.   There’s no insta-filter that can take the place of doing the fucking work.   Becoming an expert is not a destination, to reluctantly use the cliché, but a journey. When it becomes easy, great: that’s progress. Now increase the difficulty and keep growing, because the moment you stop learning and put your mind on autopilot is the moment you’ve settled for “good enough.” Good enough isn’t creating. Good enough isn’t expert. Good enough is stagnation of worst form. I’m reminded of this as I sit here doing lat-pulldowns—not just mindlessly repeating—focusing on my precision and fluid motion. And trying not to let my mind wander to the enticingly obvious progress Dani has made with her own fitness routines, as she stretches out in one of her impossibly graceful, borderline-erotic stances across the gym…… NSFW · Explicit
MisplacedFrom the archives of Lost Arizona Have you ever shot an entire set, then completely forgot you have it? These have been gathering dust in Lightroom since April. It was a scout-and-shoot trip, and we were loaded for bear: lenses, strobes, stands, umbrellas, sandbags, and three duffel full of wardrobe…not counting the shoes. Gotta have the shoes.   We’d use none of it.   A frustratingly boring blue sky gave way to one of the warmest slow-motion sunsets we’ve ever experienced. It lingered for what seemed like hours, burning everything in sight with an ever-deepening and otherworldly golden glow. No strobes, no wardrobe, no makeup. Just the Nifty Fifty (50mm lens) locked in at f2.0. Just a coat and the flip-flops she’d worn for the drive up. Oh, and a pair of aviators for good measure.  … NSFW · Explicit
Arizona and New Mexico: 25 Scenic Side Tripsor Overcoming Pavement Aversion Syndrome Think back to a time when you were young and innocent—long before you learned it was sinful for an overlander to enjoy driving a paved road. Go back…before roof tents, onboard showers, and moving dots on mapping apps; back to a time where “county highway” could mean anything from divided four-lane to poorly maintained dirt. Remember when you’d pick a direction and let the road carry you away, with little more than your wits and a bag of truck stop munchies to see you through?… Link: Living Overland
Mojave WanderlustSolitude on the Beaten Path Windows down. Sunroof open. Summer air rushes through the cabin. Tires screech in protest as they fight against another turn they’re simply not designed for. The engine roars back up through the power band, and the heavy beast remembers what continent it was born on as it catapults out of another curve. Ulysses is happy today, she wants to run. A glance in the mirror before I enter the next turn reveals no sign of the stock Discovery 3 running with us, either I’m hauling ass or he’s dragging it. I glance at the speedometer—it’s me. 33-inch mud terrains wail in anguish once more as they’re pushed to the edge of traction. I push the accelerator down farther and smile with a joy that only comes from driving a slow car fast. The Escape I’m relieved the event is over. Don’t get me wrong, I love the community and visiting with the people that bring it together, I just wasn’t wired for large gatherings in fixed locations. Three days is just about right, then it’s time for my cure: an equal number of days wandering. Soaring. Eastbound above the smog along Rim of the World Highway. Chris catches up as I roll to a stop next to the old, long abandoned Cliffhanger. I’ve known him since I was 14, but never would I have guessed he’d want to race down this twisted tarmac, hopping from tavern to tavern, on a never-ending quest to find the world’s best tuna melt. So go our conversations and revelations over a pint at the first of two bars in the entire town of Crestline. We hit the next bar, so we can say we’ve hit every bar in town—tuna melt ordered, and we watch as the attractive brunette behind the bar grabs a muddler and sets about making a proper mojito. She’s lived here her entire life. She owns the place. It dawns on Chris what she’s making for me. He orders one too, and she skips through the back door again for another bundle of fresh-picked mint from the garden. The tuna melt arrives, and all is right with the world. Conversations with more of the locals reveal the location of an “edge of the world” campsite just outside town. The view on arrival does not disappoint, not a bad end to the first (half) day. With Abandon Rounding the next bend I’m blinded by the full force of the rising sun.… NSFW · Explicit