This post is by Ron Dawson from The Online Photographer
At least a few people are having trouble seeing some of the Blur images, for which I’m very sorry. I had trouble with the images in the post, but I loaded them again and again and tested the post three times over a two-hour period before leaving. Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about it now except apologize. I’ll definitely look into it as soon as I get home. Very sorry to the readers whose pictures are affected, too. I hope not everybody is seeing problems. [UPDATE: It looks like the problem is with TypePad. The image caching on one of their servers is faulty. It affects about one in four viewers. They’re working on a permanent fix, but this has been going on for a while now. Thanks to Roger Bradbury for bringing me up to speed with this.]
I had a lovely drive through the Indiana countryside this evening, passing Amish buggies and watching the red ball of the sun descend out of the haze and touch the treelines. I was in the car for 10 hours and 10 minutes, drove 505.5 miles, and got 35.4 miles to the gallon—not bad for a nearly 10-year-old car. I can tell you the worst speeders I’ve seen are Ohioans! New Yorkers are law-abiding by comparison (well, at least Western New Yorkers, that’s all I can say.) In Ohio I decided to drive exactly at the speed limit of 70 miles per hour, and many, many cars passed me very quickly and disappeared into the distance. A lot of semis passed me too, but more slowly. Doesn’t Ohio have a State Patrol? I finally got curious and paced one of the speeding SUVs, accelerating behind him to see how fast he was really going. Right about 100 MPH! That’s impressive on an American public highway. Takes some chutzpah, I think would be the proper Yiddish. It must have been an off-duty cop. Only a cop would have the nerve to speed like that. Although other cars that passed me seemed to be going just as fast.
Every day I get a gift whether I take it or not. Today it was an old country church, after dusk, with a graveyard next to it, and a sign out from that said “He Is Risen.” The composition was right there for the taking, but it was late—dusk—and I didn’t stop. Forgot the tripod, anyway! I always forget something. Long day, and my reward is a pretty marginal motel room that smells like somebody got sick in it a few nights ago. Oh well, I will never pass this way again. Tomorrow I will reach my destination.