They’ll Never Find My Body

I love road trips.

Many of mine involved traveling to watch my son play baseball. He played at Southeast Community College in Beatrice, Nebraska, and later at York University in York, Nebraska. I can't remember missing more than a few football or baseball games he played until college baseball took him out of state.

As a sports junkie my whole life, I got a tremendous thrill out of watching Matt grow up through sports and learn valuable lessons about teamwork, commitment, and finishing what you start. He took to college sports and living away from home about as naturally as I took to watching the way light affects an image.
This particular trip started like most of mine — with the baseball portion of one of my 5-day adventures.

I took this photograph on my way home from a trip to Oklahoma City.

On the way to Oklahoma, I had taken the southern route through Arizona on I-40. Coming home, I decided to visit a friend in Denver, which put me on I-70 heading west.

Leaving Denver meant I was coming to my favorite part of the trip—the Rockies.

That stretch of I-70 is exciting. The mountains seem to show up immediately. In California, you can travel through miles of foothills and smallish pine trees before the majestic nature of the Sierras finally announces itself.

Outside Denver, the Rocky Mountains are on you like a heartbeat.

Then comes Vail.

Vail, Colorado, is such a yuppie kind of place along I-70. Affluent shacks, Mercedes, rusted-out Ford F-150s. Somehow, it all fits.

Especially for a photographer.

I was looking for the eclectic stuff. Interesting personalities. Interesting faces. Maybe even one of those massive rainstorms that aren't uncommon in that part of the Rockies.

That's when I spotted Victor and Panhead, the pup traveling with him.

They were walking along the frontage road, apparently in no particular hurry to get anywhere. I had stopped for gas along that same frontage road and actually drove right past them. At the last second, I caught the two of them in my side mirror.

There's a photograph.

I went around the block, headed back down the road, and stopped to chat.

Panhead was pretty reserved around me. Victor was more accommodating—but there was a deal.

He'd give me the photo opportunity if I'd give him a ride to his gold mine.

He said it was just a few miles up the road. In exchange for the ride home, I could take the photographs I wanted of him and Panhead.

What the heck?

As you can see, they were quite a pair.

I took five or six shots, we all piled into my car, and headed up the road.

It was roughly eight miles farther than he'd told me.

Somewhere during those extra eight miles, I began wondering just how badly I really needed those few clicks of my camera. As we finally got close to the mine, I was actually pretty relieved the adventure was almost over.

Then Victor invited me inside.

A walk-through inspection, he called it.

My opportunity to see what a real gold mine looked like.

Victor kept talking. About his mine. About how one day he'd be rich. About how I'd better come find him if my photographs ever made him famous. About how Panhead would eat just about anything he cooked.

Victor talked. I drove. And the farther we went, the less I thought about photography.

By the time we reached that gold mine, I had only one thought left in my head.

They'll never find my body.