Huffy and Flip Flops
Gear does not matter. But also, it does.
In a previous iteration of my life, I was an avid mountain bike racer. I chased the local series calendar. Outside of my day job, it was the major focus of my life. I was what one might call serious (Wait. Hold up. Amateur bicycle racing is a game. The stakes are non-existent. Me and Taylor-Past are having an ongoing conversation about what all of this actually even meant. SERIOUS. Maybe I’ll write about that someday). I had a buddy with whom I occasionally raced. We shall call him Chuck. Chuck was a fit guy, and could reasonably handle himself on a bike. Chuck is a bit older than me. He’s been there and done that. Chuck once told me a story from back in his earlier, fitter yet, and more competitive years, of being smoked by some kid on a Huffy. Wearing flip flops. Let me just say that all bikes are good bikes. If it is what you can afford, gets you to where you are going and makes you smile, you have won the game. That’s it. However, for those of us who are serious (there’s that word again), it is considerably less likely to see certain bikes at the start line of certain races due to certain practical limitations, but also because we are serious (we have some unpacking to do). But also, flip flops? Nah. I like my toes. What’s fun, and I suspect this is particularly true in mountain biking, is that if you keep at it long enough, the Huffy and Flip Flops phenomenon is fairly common. My own personal experience involved some shaggy dude wearing tattered Chuck Taylors, on a geriatric loaner bike of who-knows-what brand. I distinctly recall feeling good about myself while standing on the start line astride my very fancy bike, wearing my snazzy team kit. I distinctly remember watching that shaggy dude slowly pull away from me, just a fraction of a second at a time, just a hair cleaner through each corner and rock garden.
Gear does not matter. But also, it does.
Photography is not mountain biking. Mountain biking is not photography. But maybe there is a lesson that can be extrapolated. First, let’s talk about my Rat Rod Photo Kit. This is the gear that I primarily shoot with.
The Body:
I found this Canon 7D Mk I on Craigslist for $250. It is OLD. Canon stopped producing this camera in 2014. The maximum resolution is 18 MP, and I don’t currently need any more than that. There is no in-body stabilization, so I have to pay a little more attention at low shutter speeds. There’s a bit of noise at very high ISO, but I can compensate with wider aperture in low light. It is weather sealed. It is durable. It has great battery life. It is easy and intuitive to use. If I break it, lose it, drive away with it sitting on the roof of my car, or it just plain stops working, I will be annoyed. But I will not cry. I paid $250 for this decade old cinder block of a semi-pro camera. I can find another just like it with very little effort and for very little money.
The Short Lens:
This is a Tamron 17-50mm F2.8 lens. I bought it used for about $100. This lens does not have image stabilization, but there exists a version that does (the internet reviews suggest the non-stabilized lens has better image quality). It works well and does exactly what I need it to. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The Long Lens:
This is a Canon 55-250mm F4.0-5.6 lens. Image stabilized. It came with the camera body. $0.00. The front of the housing is slightly damaged, causing the lens cap to fall off unless it is positioned just so. But it works. I will replace it when it has turned to dust.
The Bag:
I bought this bag new. It’s a Think Tank Digital Holster 20, purchased new for about $75. I sweated every penny, but it was worth it. I’ve threaded a piece of 2” webbing with a squeeze-clip-buckle ($0.00 from my box of random sewing project stuff) through the belt loop. I can comfortably wear this setup along with whatever other backpack I choose. If/when I am finished shooting for the day, the entire holster can be strapped to the outside of or stuffed inside the main pack. In the context of on-the-go outdoor/adventure photography, all backpacks are now Photo-Backpacks.
The Tripod:
I purchased this tripod back in 2016 when I was frantically preparing to run away from real life. It has been to Alaska. It has been to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It is a stable place to put one’s camera. I paid about $30 for this Hakuba T3500. I would love it if one of the $200-$500 professional models (for the serious photographer) would magically appear before me, but for now, buying one is completely unjustifiable.
So that’s it. I shoot on about $450 worth of gear. For counterpoint here’s Canon’s mirrorless EOS R body, on sale at B&H for just $1400. Just the body.
Gear does not matter. But also, it does.
Back then, my race bike was a custom built Sinister. It was a very nice bike, not that it mattered. Mr. Huffy and Flip Flops simply rode a better race than I did. There were places where I would make up ground, but then he’d dance around another slick corner, leaving me just little further behind. On a given course, no two riders are equal, and everyone sets up their machine a little differently according to their own strengths, weaknesses, limitations and personal preference. Understanding that framework and working harmoniously with one’s machine is key.
In context of making images, no one cares what body, lens, settings or modes you use, so long as the end product is worth looking at. Know your strengths and leverage them. Know your weaknesses and work on them. As for the device itself, greatest value will be realized by intimately knowing its abilities and limitations. Work within that human and mechanical framework. Make something beautiful. That’s it. That’s the whole entire game.
Gear matters. But also, it doesn’t.
If you must buy more stuff, consider buying used, and consider supporting your local shop.
Apropos of nothing, here’s a recent shot of my friend J., trying hard not to be shredded by the gnar.
