view from the handlebars explores photography from different perspectives.

Rediscovering the Journey—Through a Lens and on Two Wheels –

During the COVID-19 lockdown, I spent 439 consecutive days mostly indoors inside my 423-square-foot condo. It was, oddly enough, one of the most peaceful and balanced times of my life. No frantic schedules, no rushed conversations, no small talk—just space, quiet, and time. I cooked balanced meals, worked out regularly (thank you, Peloton and Concept2), and finally had the time to think. Deeply. Uninterrupted.

My thoughts, unsurprisingly, wandered to photography—my profession, my passion, my longest-standing relationship. Over the years, photography has been more than a job; it has been the lens (pun intended) through which I’ve come to understand people, places, and myself. Whether working as a professional photographer, guiding clients as a salesperson, or sharing knowledge as an educator, the camera has always been my compass.

Photography has been the vehicle, for me to learn about life.

I will forever be a student of Photography. It is this privilege and being part of the photographic community that has taught me to understand, my life better, learn about you and your life and gain a better understanding of the world around me.

When the world slowly creaked open again and I re-entered society—or at least Boulder County—I felt a bit like Rip Van Winkle with a camera. Everything had changed. Or maybe I had. Either way, I didn’t quite recognize the world I’d reawakened to. Boulder was still beautiful, but it was now louder, faster, and, in some ways, more fragile.

“The roads I once cycled with confidence on my road bike now feel more perilous, in a world where hit-and-runs and school shootings have, heartbreakingly, faded into the background noise of daily life.”

So, I adapted. I swapped my skinny-tired road bike for a gravel bike and began to explore new routes—the quiet, forgotten ones, away from traffic, noise, and the illusion of safety. These rides weren’t just workouts; they became photographic missions. Every ride became a single frame I was chasing, like a fisherman standing still in a stream, waiting for the perfect catch. I wandered the gravel roads of the Nine Hills region, not just for fitness or escape, but for light—for moments—armed with a variety of lenses and tools I’d spent decades learning and helping others choose.

For more than 35 years, I’ve helped equip people to chase beauty around the globe—exotic places, new sights, and fresh perspectives. And yet, in my post-pandemic rediscovery, I’ve realized something that was always true: you don’t have to travel far to find beauty.

You only must look, to see. It’s right in front of us. It always has been.

This website is the result of a friend’s persistent encouragement—thanks, Tom.

At his suggestion, after I began sharing these bike-and-photo adventures on Instagram under the name View from the Handlebars, I bought the domain back in 2022, though it sat unused for a while. Now, just three years later (a blink in pandemic time), I’m finally putting it to use. Fittingly, the site launches on July 5, 2025—exactly twenty-four years to the week since I moved to Colorado.

View from the Handlebars has also evolved into another visual thread: A View from Judie’s Leash. This series captures images from the imagined point of view of Judie, my curious and adventurous 3-year-old Pug—named in honor of my Aunt Judie, a lifelong animal lover. Each morning, Judie and I explore our neighborhood, and the resulting photographs reflect the world from her low-to-the-ground, inquisitive vantage point. It’s a daily ritual, and one more way to rediscover the ordinary as extraordinary.

After the 2024 election, I left social media—Instagram, Facebook, the whole swirling mess of it. This website is now my digital home, the main location for my photographic work, thoughts, and reflections.

Recently, I recalled a note from years earlier tucked into a graduation card by one of my lifelong college friends, Matt. He wrote, “It’s not about the destination, but the journey.” At the time, I had no idea he was paraphrasing Ralph Waldo Emerson. I also had no idea what it really meant, nor would I for many years.

But now, years later, as I ride through the backroads and bike paths of Colorado, camera at hand, in Compact Handlebar Bag, I finally understand.

Photography—like life—is about perspective. It’s about the journey, not just the shot.

Thank you for visiting,

Brian