by Ian Rygiel | Dec 19, 2014 | Ian's Blog
One of the reasons I enjoyed Rt. 66 so much was because of the spontaneity we were afforded on that stretch of road. Unlike our other stops, we had no pre-approval to film anywhere along the highway. Sure, we had a few ideas for locations, but we were truly counting on our own charm and good luck to be able to shoot anywhere. Luckily, the staff at Pop’s were gracious enough to let us record our visit. It was about noon and our first real stop of the day. We were all starved and grateful for a break from rest stop food, and the heat, as we rolled into Pop’s. If you’ve seen any of our short videos, it’s the place with the massive soda bottle out front. The metal frame buzzes loudly with the sound of electricity during the day, almost as if straining in anticipation for the moment its switch is flipped, and it can illuminate the night. There’s likely a metaphor to be found here; possibly, something about feeling boxed in and yearning to light out across the land – or maybe just some sexual innuendo. It’s been a long work week, so I’ll let you fill in the blanks. But I digress. Aside from the bottle out front, Pop’s is known for carrying a ridiculous number of sodas (pop, to our regional readers) for sale. If it’s made inside this country, or even outside, they likely have it. I’m not much of a soda drinker myself, but even I was taken by temptation to try some of the more interesting flavors and fill up a...
by Ian Rygiel | Dec 5, 2014 | Ian's Blog
Route 66: The Mother Road — Few roadways in America can claim more nostalgia or whimsy than this historic route. Luckily, our departure from Missouri and our next shoot in Texas placed us conveniently in the path of 66. I had wanted to ride the Mother Road for years, and it was an opportunity too good to let go by. Like many Route 66 travelers, we had left our homes behind with little money in our pockets and California in our sights. We didn’t have any specific shoots planned; rather, we hoped to pick up some impromptu footage. The prospect had a freeing effect, and I for one hit the highway in high spirits. As we rode however, I began to grow disheartened. The routine of the journey was all-too-familiar: ride until our bikes or bodies demanded refueling; fill ‘em up; and keep going until nightfall forced a stop. We had an all-day ride ahead of us, and I was becoming increasingly worried that time limitations would once again trump the experience. It was during this stretch that I became aware of a cycle that would happen on long riding days. Inevitably, they had their ups and downs, and as the sun rose and the humidity grew, it looked like we were in store for a miserable stretch. By the time we rode into Galena, Kansas, Jeremy and I were dehydrated and overheated. We split with the crew in order to search for water while they set up for some quick pick up shots. A few bottles of water later, we were standing in front of the cameras once...
by Ian Rygiel | Nov 21, 2014 | Ian's Blog
As I less-than-coyly hinted at in my last post, my work life has been incredibly busy the last few weeks. Regardless, I wanted to make sure I squeezed in a post tonight. One: because I feel guilty when I shirk an obligation (I’m a proper American laborer in that way; blame it on the Puritans). Two: I feel reinvigorated whenever I get to relive the trip in my own way. Short on time or no, I’ll share a quick story from Missouri, which the crew and I still get a kick out of. We were doing a bit of camping and realized there wasn’t a whole lot of dead wood to be found around the campsite. Not having the means to cut anything substantially dead down, and being fairly close to civilization, Lauren and I headed out in search of a small town we passed a couple miles back. Rolling into a small strip mall that had seen better days, we split up. Lauren went in search for the truly important items we needed (water and beer), and I went looking for some fire wood. What I found was described to me as a cord. Now, if you’re at all familiar with cords of wood, they generally measures 4ft x 4ft x 8ft. I didn’t know that at the time and was just happy to have found some fuel to cook dinner with, so I bought two and headed back to the car. In my absence, it seems our van had become quite the topic of conversation, which Lauren managed to eavesdrop on. It went something along the lines of:...
by Ian Rygiel | Nov 14, 2014 | Ian's Blog
My apologies to both of our regular readers for missing last week’s post. In the interest of full disclosure, I did have an entry ready to go, but I would have immediately regretted posting it; I was in my cups, my Irish was up, and I was feeling frustrated with my current profession (not the one where I get to ride a motorcycle and talk to amazing people, that’s the best job in the world). The language of my original post was a bit too raw, but I’d still like to touch upon the same theme. Labor. It’s a noun, it’s a verb, it’s an adjective, and it’s the unsung, under-appreciated engine that drives our economy. So where’s the love for those who literally and figuratively put their backs into their work? The sad reality is productivity and corporate profits are at an all time high in this country, but workers’ wages continue to stagnate. The laborers reward for their hard work? More work. Longer hours. Larger demands. A smaller share. When I think of the hard workers we met, the first person to come to mind is a rancher named J.R.. He very much played the part with his wide-stance, direct speech, and exceptional mustache. J.R. was an intimidating presence, but he said some of the most insightful things I heard all trip. Through sweat and sheer force of will, J.R. made the Blue Springs Ranch in Missouri what it is today. To any outside visitor, myself included, the Ranch seems idyllic, and wildly successful, but it takes an incredible amount of work for everything to appear so...
by Ian Rygiel | May 29, 2014 | Ian's Blog
I’ve always enjoyed sitting in dive bars. I’m not talking about the hipster-chic types, where yuppies can safely slum it, but the taverns, bars and pubs found in working towns across the country. The places with dark wood, stained even darker from years of cigarette smoke and contact from countless bodies. There’s a level of comfort I’ve found in these sacred places. No matter what town or state they’re in, they feel familiar. Populated by workers, regulars, and professional drinkers, these bars are the new campfire. Looking around at the introspective gazes of the patrons, it’s easy to find the ones who have lived their lives, experienced the world, and basked in success and failure alike. They’ve got story after story, and while they might seem as world weary as everyone else, their eyes are alive. The most common of these stories is the “if only…” tale. The lottery ticket that was almost a big win… The sport that could have led to a professional contract… The business that would have made millions… …if only… And if there is one thing I’ve learned from sitting in these bars, it’s there is no shame in the “if only…” story. The shame comes from only have one. After listening to these modern day bards wax poetic, it’s not long before I’m feeling restless again. Picking myself up, I’m ready to leave the stale air behind, venture out into the world, and continue writing my own story. This way, if the day ever comes when I’ve settled into just one bar in just one town, I’ll have a few of my own...
