Kirsten Simpson Photography

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  • Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco
    20110619_California_236.jpg
  • The coastline at Port Orford
    20110622_Oregon_020.jpg
  • Highway 101 near Brookings
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  • Mendocino Headlands State Park
    20110621_California_272.jpg
  • Mendocino Headlands State Park
    20110621_California_271.jpg
  • Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco
    20110619_California_221.jpg
  • Bixby Creek Bridge at Big Sur
    20110617_California_160.jpg
  • The coastline of Big Sur
    20110617_California_154.jpg
  • Rising damp: Here’s to the underscrub – overgrown and dripping wet. The dynamic organic backdrop comprised of fern and bracken. The scent of newly wet leaves. The rot of old forest. Here’s to the slick and slippery. The wheelspin and slide. The deep bite of frost and chatter of teeth and chain. The tell-tale flick and spray. The mark of the road less ridden. Here’s to the dank.
    20130504_MountDonnaBuang_08.jpg
  • The trade winds: “We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails” – Bertha Calloway. Both coxswain and master, a rider must always observe conditions with the curious eye of opportunity. A squall to some is a windfall to others – the trade winds providing mixed fortune. Toe the line, analyse your opponents, and take on the cut of their jib – for throwing three sheets to the wind is all above board when it comes to taking the plunder.
    20130504_MountDonnaBuang_23.jpg
  • Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco
    20110619_California_237.jpg
  • Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco
    20110619_California_220.jpg
  • Brisk dismissed: The forward propelling pawl of stubborn pride is the key to driving a stake through the dark heart of a black winter. Anticipation of an inevitable bone-raking cold descent requires a mental fortitude long forgotten in the heady scent of spring. And that descent will come. Fingers seek futile refuge behind tiny levers while deep breaths control the worst of the rigors. A hazy memory of operable toes compete with flushed burning ears for the prize of immediate attention. And as the glove wring dry, and icy fingers fumble with impossible buckle clasps, a crack of a smile appears through the foggy numbness of the post-ride buzz. Welcome to The Winter.
    20130504_MountDonnaBuang_16_1.jpg
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