And just how do you reflect back on a trip to make it truly memorable? It’s a question I’ve pondered after many adventures, each one leaving its own unique imprint on my mind—none more so than my recent motorcycle rides through Mexico, where the landscape seemed to beg for a camera lens at every turn. These days, I’ve found a couple of methods that work well for me, ways to capture the essence of a journey and keep it alive long after the suitcase is unpacked, the laundry’s done, and the bike’s parked back in the garage. There’s the digital album option, which has become my go-to in this age of smartphones and cloud storage. I’ll spend hours sorting through photos—hundreds of them sometimes—whittling down the collection to the ones that tell the story best. A sun-drenched beach at golden hour, a candid laugh over a meal I can still taste if I close my eyes, a blurry shot of a street market that somehow captures the chaos and color perfectly—and now, the rugged beauty of Mexico’s open roads, where every mile feels like a frame worth keeping. These images become my time capsule, a visual shorthand for memories I don’t want to fade.
Then there’s the story-writing blog, another tool I’ve come to love, especially for this trip. It’s where I pour out the details that photos alone can’t hold—the smell of rain on cobblestone streets, the ache in my legs after a long hike, the way a stranger’s kindness turned a frustrating day into something beautiful, and now, the roar of my motorcycle’s engine cutting through the warm Mexican air. Writing it down forces me to slow down, to relive the moments in a way that feels almost cinematic. For this journey, I started with the basics: the route from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido, the twisty mountain roads near San Cristóbal de las Casas, the flat expanses of the Yucatán Peninsula. Then I layered in the rest—the dust on my boots after a day’s ride, the sting of wind against my face, the sudden thrill of spotting a cactus-dotted valley unfolding below me. Writing about Mexico feels different; the landscape demands its own chapters, its vastness and variety practically a character in the story. The blog isn’t just for me, either; it’s a way to share the journey with friends, family, or even strangers who stumble across it, a little gift of storytelling that keeps the experience alive in a different way.
Mexico, though, is something special for a rider like me—and for a photographer, it’s paradise. The landscape is a perfect canvas for photos, shifting from jagged, pine-covered Sierra Madre peaks to the golden deserts of the north, then down to the turquoise coastlines that hug the Pacific. On my motorcycle, I’d pull over whenever the scenery hit me just right—which was often. One day, I’d be weaving through switchbacks, the bike leaning into curves with a backdrop of mist-shrouded cliffs that looked like they belonged in a dream. The next, I’d be cruising past sprawling agave fields, the plants’ spiky silhouettes stark against a sunset that painted the sky in shades of orange and pink. The roads themselves tell a story—sometimes smooth and winding, sometimes pitted with potholes that test your balance—but they always lead to something worth seeing. It’s a country that feels made for two wheels and a camera, where every stretch offers a new angle, a new light, a new reason to stop and soak it in.
Of course, not every moment makes the final cut, whether it’s for the album or the blog. There are the blurry shots that didn’t quite work, the days that felt mundane at the time, the little frustrations—like a flat tire outside Puebla or a sudden downpour near Chiapas—that don’t seem worth revisiting. But when I do sit down to curate it all, I’m always surprised by what stands out. Here’s a few pictures that made it through the selection process this time: one of a misty mountain ridge I climbed at dawn, the air so crisp it felt like it was waking me up for the first time; another of a tiny café table covered in crumbs and coffee stains, where I sat for hours watching the world go by; and a third, a selfie with a backdrop of a neon-lit cityscape, my grin wide and tired after a day of wandering. But now I’ve added a few from Mexico: a shot of my motorcycle parked on a dusty roadside, framed by towering cacti under a blazing midday sun; another of a coastal highway stretching toward the horizon, waves crashing against cliffs on one side, jungle creeping in on the other; and one of me, helmet off, hair a mess, standing on a lookout point over a canyon so vast it swallowed the sound of my engine. These are the snapshots that bring it all rushing back—the sights, the sounds, the feeling of being exactly where I was meant to be, with Mexico’s perfect landscape unrolling before me like a film reel. Together, the photos and the words weave a tapestry of the trip, one I can revisit whenever I need a reminder of the magic that travel—and a good ride—brings.
Trawlercat Chronicles 