I was having one of those nothing-can-possibly-be-sweeter-than-a-sleeping-baby moments. Jack fell asleep on the couch and the mid-morning fall light was slipping through a crack in the curtains. But then as the shutter of the camera clicked, the eyes snapped open. A smile broke from behind the sleepy stare. And soon we had a full on wrestling match going in the living room. These are the good times.

all images © Tim LaBarge 2008

Yes, I’ve done a little bit of work lately. Yes, the boys are well. Yes, life is moving right along.

The problem seems to be the only thing I’ve really enjoyed photographing and participating in is cyclocross. So now I risk being like every other guy with a blog who goes on and on about riding his bike through the Indian summer and right into the Northwest winter.

Standing in a field on Saturday chatting with a lady named Dottie about raising mules, I realized just how much I love taking pictures. I had gone to the farm to photograph a bike race, but found myself wandering around simply enjoying having a camera in my hand. There was indeed a bike race, which was nice, but my brief encounter with Dottie put me back on track with why I was really there: to look at people and their lives and try to tell a little story with a picture.

“They’re more colorful, but we’re much more interesting,” Dottie told me as we looked past the draft horses and mules and watched a rainbow of cyclists make a lap past a field of sunflowers. It’s all interesting. I, for one, just need a little reminder now and then to slow down and look around.

all images © Tim LaBarge 2008

My first real cyclocross race ever was about one year ago at the Battle at Barlow. It rained most of the week before the race. And it rained the day of the race. The course was a soggy, muddy mess. To be quite honest, if I hadn’t already shelled out my twenty dollar enlistment fee at Veloce Bicycles while riding home from Mount Tabor one evening, I bet I would have slept in on that chilly, rainy fall morning.

I was alone that Sunday morning. I arrived more than an hour early for the 9 a.m. race and aside from the folks setting up the course, I was one of the only people parked in the lot. What the hell was I doing? After the race, I walked around for a few minutes and watched some of the next race. I was wet and muddy and tired. I left.

This year was different. It was dry and fast and I felt pretty good despite a late night at the Calexico concert the night before. The course was exactly the same as last year, so I knew what to expect with each twist and turn and uphill charge. The big difference came when I got to the top of the big run up that left many of us nearly vomiting. There were yelps and cheers with my name attached. It meant I wasn’t alone out there.

A few hundred yards later, more hollering from deep inside the dark woods. And while no one needed to shout out how many seconds I was behind the leader - because it was hundreds of them - that really didn’t matter. I pedaled harder and felt stronger just hearing those voices.

It seemed with each bend in the course there was more cheering, jeering and clanging of cowbells. I could feel cracks and canyons form deep inside my throat. I was parched. The crash on the fourth lap, quickly followed by two dropped chain events, left me a tiny bit dizzy and searching for breath. But every time I came upon a pile of friends yelling words of encouragement, a sense of strength surged through my skin. That is if you call hearing “Oh man, Tim took a digger,” encouragement upon noticing my dirt and blood stained legs.

On the final lap of the race, I shouldered my bike and bounded down a ravine, crossed a bridge and barreled back up that steep climb for the sixth time. Nearing the top, a voice blasted, “Now that’s how you do it. That’s how you carry a bike. Come on man, get up this…”

As I ran past the top tier racers chatting and sizing up the course, I squeaked out a scratchy, “Thanks.”

See more pictures at our new site pdxcross.

all images © Tim LaBarge 2008

I was just clicking through some photos from earlier this summer and spotted this little series. Within a few minutes of getting out of Big Red in Badlands National Park, I saw this familiar familial scenario unfold many times. It cracked me up.

all images © Tim LaBarge 2008

I went out to the Pain on the Peak race this morning with the intention of making a few pictures for our new site pdxcross. Well, the boys and I checked out the cute dog, saw a bit of the course and then it was time for a picnic under a shade tree near the big hill…and then naps. It looked like a tough course. Rob, on the other hand, got dusty. Check out the slideshow he’s posted on pdxcross.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

Cyclocross season is still a few weeks away here in the Pacific Northwest, but judging from the look in Leo’s eyes, he’s ready to hear the race director say “Go!”. This past weekend was the first in a series of races out at Kruger’s Farm on Sauvie Island. No barriers, no run ups, but plenty of bumps and texture on the course.

© Tim LaBarge 2007

Last year’s Kruger’s Kermesse was fast, dry and dusty. And then as the dry autumn turned toward winter, there were complaints from the hardcore crossers that the season was slipping by too quickly without enough rain and mud.

© Tim LaBarge 2007

© Tim LaBarge 2007

I don’t think any of those folks would argue that mud and rain were missing from the last race of the year. For me this sport is about entering the rainy season with one final burst of energy. It’s about racing hard, then having a cold beer and watching the really good racers that follow. The weather is what it is. I bet on the third lap trudging through the mud in the November chill, a few of the mud lovers were daydreaming about those warm, dry fall afternoons.

© Tim LaBarge 2007

© Tim LaBarge 2007

The raincoats came out this week for the children attending summer camp at Tryon Life Community Farm. It caused a pang of fear deep in my gut that summer just might be over. Like a few years ago when it started raining the first week of August and summer never really came back. That year, we failed to pick the nearly ripened tomatoes when the rain started and by the next morning they had exploded and become water logged. We were bummed.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

There’s hope this week though. I dropped in on a couple little veggie plots to make a few pictures for Destination DIY. Next week’s program is about urban farming and raising chickens in the city.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

© Tim LaBarge 2008

The kind folks at Diggin’ Roots were pulling in beautiful tomatoes, peppers, carrots and potatoes. The beans were still producing, and the basil was plentiful. It’s harvest time. My fear of summer ending has turned into a desire to more fully enjoy the hard work of people like Sarah and Connor.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

© Tim LaBarge 2008

I’m not sure I can say there was one moment or one set of music that made Pickathon memorable this year. It’s more about the many moments, the many slices of time that seem to make the whole weekend melt into a fog of pleasure.

It rained off and on Friday at Pendarvis Farm. And while that might spell disaster at some music festivals, it created an atmosphere of hopefulness in Happy Valley, Oregon. We all knew the rain would let up. The question was when…and what was going to happen while it fell.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

Late in the afternoon, I was deep in the woods watching the everybodyfields perform a quiet set for a captive and silent audience. A gentle rain began to fall, though it barely made it through the trees to the forest floor. Band member Sam Quinn said, “This is perfect weather for this band. This is the weather in my brain.” They shut off the power during the rain and the band stepped into the crowd to play the rest of the set unplugged. While I missed hearing the pedal steel and the keyboard, they didn’t sound like they do on their albums. They played different songs than they otherwise would have played. It was perfect weather for the moment.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

Seeing so many people dance in a field on a overcast Friday night made me happy. The band playing the tunes this year was an all-star line up (The Stuart Brothers and Martha Scanlan) and could have commanded attention from an audience for hours with their tunes. But with caller Bill Martin in the driver seat, I felt like I was the only person on the farm not dancing.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

I walked into the Galaxy Barn and ran into a wall of steam and sweat. The Hackensaw Boys were just getting going, but the crowd was already on fire. Having stepped from the chilly night air, my cameras were immediately fogged. It reminded me of going to cover a high school swim meet in the middle of winter.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

© Tim LaBarge 2008

And then, unexpectedly, we were transported back to the 50s for raucous set by Wayne “The Train” Hancock. Songs about being lonely, liquor and being on the road filled the barn. A lady nearby was wearing pedometer…she said she logged 16,000 steps. That’s about eight miles of dancing.

The next day we found ourselves back in this century and just ten miles down the road negotiating stoplights and Monday morning traffic in Portland. We were exhausted from the late nights of music and the early mornings with the kids. Post Pickathon depression was about to hit. I wanted to go to bed, but instead I found myself in my neighbor’s yard talking about our favorite performances and favorite moments of the festival. Time began to slip by as we spoke and it was like were back on the farm sprawled out on blankets, chatting and waiting for music to start. It was a little piece of Pickathon right there in the back yard.

I saw a post on Digital Railroad that a magazine was looking for photos of the Grand Canyon. So I threw together a gallery from a 2006 trip with hope they’d pick one up. This picture of Leo made me laugh.

I’m generally opposed to the “here’s me in front of a fountain” kind of picture. What’s the point, really. But in looking through the slides I just finished scanning from our family’s vacations in the 1970s, I have new appreciation for them. They’re the photos I find myself staring at. They’re the photos that show you the faces, the styles and the objects of the past.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

I love this picture of my older brother Steve. His denim hat (which was really my moms), his boots (which I then wore), the strap to his Brownie camera (which had been my dads and now sits on my shelf) and his much-loved t-shirt (which didn’t survive for me to wear.) And the view from Black Bear Road down into Telluride is truly awesome.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

When lining up for a photo, we were always told “Stair steps, please.” We’d scurry around until we were in the proper order. It’s just another thing to crack up about while studying the plaids, pleats and bell bottoms of yesteryear.

Years from now, I imagine Leo and Jack will have a chuckle about that photo above of Leo being hoisted high above the Colorado River. No, we weren’t dangling the baby five thousand feet over the South Rim. The most harm done here was the giant wedgie he got out of the deal. And while there was only one step in the staircase at the time, I’m glad we lined him up for a quick portrait.

© Tim LaBarge 2008

The music festival Pickathon is just a few days away. It’s an amazing collection of good musicians, good people in a tranquil setting. It’s one of the highlights of the year for me. It’s one of those draining weekends where there’s so much happening, you almost need counseling to recover and get back into your real life. Last year, my sister and I spent the night remembering those subtle moments from the weekend that made it all so perfect. We were calling them Pickathon moments.

I assume we’re not the only ones who feel this way about the festival.

A couple of weeks ago it dawned on me that it might be fun for folks to jot those thoughts down and send them off on a postcard. So we’ve made four different cards which will be for sale at the merchandise table. Just write down your words and drop the card in the mail slot there on the table. We’ll slap a stamp on them and drop them off at the post office on Monday…