I do actually like roadtrips. Not the stiff-legged, getting out of the car after sitting there for five hours, or the sunburn on one arm because I forgot to put sunscreen on (yeah, sunscreen in the car. I am that obnoxiously white). It’s the whole rolling through the American landscape, watching it shift from mile to mile, changing from prairie to hill to mountain; the stopping in various small towns and finding the completely unexpected weirdness in them (a giant statue of Superman in Metropolis, Missouri, for example).
Flowery writing aside, the No Coast Slam from Lincoln went to the National Poetry Slam in West Palm Beach, Florida last summer, and I followed along because there seemed to be no other photographers they organizers could find who were willing to work a week’s worth of crazy hours for no pay.
So the competition parts of the week took place in the evenings and nights, so I pretty much had the days free to wander around parts of West Palm Beach.
The day we left, I went to bed somewhere around 3 a.m., and got up a couple of hours later to find my way to the ocean. I’d decided early on that, at some point during the week, I was going to watch sunrise on the beach. After navigating an unfamiliar city, I found my way back to the beach and spent a good hour there, watching the sun come up, dodging the tide, and keeping sea creatures from gnawing on my toes.