Orange County Choppers...

While in New York, Greg and I decided to make a trip over to Orange County Choppers. If you're unfamiliar with "O.C.C", they've been featured on the Discovery Channel show "American Chopper". There was an infamous battle between majority owner Paul Teutul Sr. and his son, minority owner Paul Jr., that resulted in Paul Jr. leaving the company.Now, if none of that means anything to you, it's okay. It doesn't mean a damn thing to me, either, as I've never watched the show.

Be that as it may, however, O.C.C. has an enormous facility in the town of Newburgh, so Greg and I decided we'd need to take a peak. Greg's the biker of the family, so he went for the motorcycles. I merely went for the photo ops:

Here I am in front of Orange County Choppers in Newburgh, NY (photo by Greg Parr)...

Being a Jets fan, this was one of my favorite bikes on display...

One of the many motorcycles hanging overhead...

Here's Greg with "343", built by Paul Jr., to honor the 343 firemen who bravely gave their lives on 9/11...

Another of the many motorcycles hanging from the ceiling...

 

Another of the many motorcycles hanging from the ceiling. This one is in the O.C.C. Cafe...

Another of the many motorcycles hanging from the ceiling. This one is actually in the O.C.C. Cafe, as well...

 

Don't know what to say about the bike, other than it was begging to be shot from this angle...

 

This chopper was built for Lance Armstrong's "Livestrong" foundation...

Another of the many motorcycles hanging from the ceiling at Orange County Choppers...

Santa's ride...

 

A peak inside the shop...

 

An O.C. Chopper for sale. The price was a surprisingly low $34,000.00...

You could buy this one for only $23,000.00...

Before heading up to the hospital, we decided we should have lunch. What better place than the Orange Country Choppers Cafe?

We took a seat at the bar and ordered up a local brew, and decided on what to have for lunch. In this case, it was some crazy fried BBQ beef concoction called "Beef Rolls", and they were insane. They reminded me a bit of the deep fried Reuben sandwich I had in Tennessee back in June, but different... and quite possibly better:

The Rib Rolls at the O.C.C. Cafe. Highly, highly recommended...

It would've been easy to spend an entire afternoon here but, of course, we did have more important matters to attend to. So, we finished lunch, and found our way past the stage and bowling alley (yes, they have both on site), and walked back into the showroom. We picked up the obligatory t-shirts and stepped back into the frozen wasteland that was Newburgh, New York.

If you ever happen to find yourself in Newburgh, or if you ever have to be passing by on the New York State Thruway, this is a worthwhile stop which will satisfy the inner biker in anyone...

New York...

Recently, my brother Greg and I decided to visit our Dad near Newburgh, New York. Dad's not getting any younger, and he had to go into the hospital to have some tests done. We decided to take the opportunity when we both had the chance to make the 18 hour drive from St. Augustine.

Initially, the drive wasn't bad at all. We'd made good time during the day, and even had some time to take breaks here and there.

We made the obligatory stop at South Of The Border, although I won't bore you with the photos you've seen a bazillion times taken by everyone who's ever been there. Suffice it to say, if you've traveled along the I-95 corridor (and I-95 is a freeway, by the way), you've seen everything there is to see of SOTB. Except for, maybe, these:

Of all the plastic garbagy crab you can waste your money on at South Of The Border, I can't think of a finer way to waste your hard-earned greenbacks than to buy a pair of these. I've since been advised that I made a wise choice in deciding not to buy a pair of these. But you should. 'Cause they'll look good. You know... On you...

Our next prolonged stop was at a place known as Kenly 95, which is located in Kenly, North Carolina, or just about 70 miles south of the Virginia border. Just as I was thinking to myself  "This is the biggest damned truck stop I've ever seen", I learned that it was, at least, the largest truck stop on the east coast. It was H-U-G-E. It had the usual fare you'd expect to see at a truck stop: Bathrooms, showers, restaurants, etc. But this place also had what can only be described as a department store. You could buy everything from tactical uniforms to suitcases to toiletries, and you could even get your oil changed and your rig washed.

A festive holiday truck stop display...

For those of you who like pirates (and you know who you are), they've got one at Kenly 95. 'Cause, you know, nothing says "North Carolina truck stop" better than a pirate...

Need some more chrome of new lights for your rig? Well, here ya' go. I was thinking that Greg should've bought some for the Chevy Cruze, but I was out-voted...

 

I'm still kinda' at a loss for this one. It makes only a little more sense than the pirate...

 

As confirmation that, sometimes, he does know best, Greg had the Dairy Queen guy make our chocolate shakes with chocolate ice cream instead of vanilla which, oddly, is the norm. It was amazing...

As we made our way north, the weather, as you might suspect, started to change. Gone were the sunny, balmy days of St. Augustine. Now we were facing snow, ice and temperatures which would kill a penguin. Simply put, as much as we thought we were prepared, I think both of us were a bit taken aback by just how ungodly cold it was:

I'm sorry, but humans just shouldn't have to be subjected to such things...

Six inches of global warming fell on Dad's deck before midnight...

The next morning, we made our way over to the hospital to see Dad and, once again, the weather had its way with us. While this may be standard fare for the fine folks in Ulster County, it is decidedly not so for the two gentleman from Florida. It was cold. It damn cold, and neither of us liked it. Neither of us liked it one little bit. I just checked the freezer in the kitchen. It's nowhere near 3 degrees. Why? Because 3 degrees is just stupid.

We got over to St. Francis Hospital and found Dad to be in good spirits, if not completely miffed by the fact that he was stuck in a hospital bed. He wasn't happy, but there he was. After talking for a bit, I decided to go to the cafeteria and get some coffee and some breakfast. Now, I have to say, forget everything you know about hospital food. Not only was the food being served to Dad looking pretty damn tasty, so was the food in the cafeteria. I couldn't help myself:

This bacon, egg & cheese on a roll rivaled anything you'd fine in New York City...

After a few more hours of visiting, I decided it was time to take a walk and get some fresh air. I tried not to think about all of the germs and infectious diseases I was breathing in while indoors, so I though maybe a blast of cold, fresh air would counter it. I stepped outside into a Hellish white tornado of coldness:

It was a nippy 14 degrees when I took these pictures so, clearly, we were in the midst of a warming trend...

After leaving the hospital that evening, we decided to stop by Cafe 32, the bar and restaurant that Dad's friend Bert owns. Bert is a true and loyal friend to Dad, and we felt it was important to stop by. Of course, upon leaving, there was more snow to contend with:

I'm fully aware this hardly measures up to the snowstorms experienced by much of the country this year, but save it. We're from Florida. We don't have snow. I lived in San Diego for 30 years, and we didn't have it there, either. Greg left Long Island in 1983. Simply stated: WE'RE NOT 'USED' TO THIS, AND WE'RE NOT BUILT FOR THIS".

Somehow we managed to find our way through the howling blizzard of whiteout conditions back to Dad's house, where we elected to call it a night. Surely the next day would bring more of the same, and I think we both figured that we would be no more prepared for it than we were the first time around...

Camp Poyntelle Lewis Village...

As I've said, the entire point of my making the long drive cross country was to ultimately get to the small town of Poyntelle, Pennsylvania. I'd been hired to be the photographer at Camp Poyntelle Lewis Village, a Jewish sleep-away camp. I'd never done anything like this before, and I was both eager and apprehensive. For the first time in my professional life, every dime I earned would be earned with a camera in my hand.

Poyntelle is a ridiculously small town. The population is an impressive 103 in spring, winter and fall. But when June rolls around, things change. The population can triple in size with the arrival of summer campers. It's an older town, with almost no industry save for a few dairy farms in the area. It is not, by any measure, a thriving metropolis.

After leaving my cousin's house in Pennsylvania, I drove to my Dad's to spend a couple of days there. The Director of CPLV and I decided that I my first day working would be on Thursday, June 20th. I arrived in the afternoon of June 19th. Wednesday would be my "move in" day, and I had a mountain of things in my truck which hadn't seen the light of day in the better part of a month, and I wanted to get them out of there. My move in went smoothly.

Every year, a couple hundred kids and counselors converge on the camp, and it springs to life for eight weeks between mid June and Mid August. This was going to be a challenge for me, but a welcome one. Our goal was "every kid, every day". Sometimes we hit that mark and, for a variety of reasons, other times we didn't. It was a daily goal, though, and it served us well.

The Welcome Center at CPLV. The open door leads to the office. The room to the left is the Director's office...

The "Camp Poyntelle" side of the 69 acre Lake Poyntelle...

I took this shot about 7:00am; the water was like glass...

In the past when I traveled, I would often spend time in some really nice hotels. Well, this was going to be a little different. While there was certainly nothing "swanky" about my digs at CPLV, It was nice to have a private room with a private bathroom:

Just the basics: A bed, a night stand, and an air conditioner capable of inducing arctic temperatures...

Note the presence of the all-important coffee maker...

CPLV is comprised of two sides. The Camp Poyntelle side is for younger kids, and the Lewis Village side is for the older campers, and they're separated by the lake, with only a single dirt road connecting them. As I was going to be the sole photographer, I was going to need some reliable transportation:

My sweet ride. It was the fastest cart on the entire camp. Here it is parked in front of my cabin...

Aside from one instance when my cart was stolen (I say that jokingly) and then wrecked, it served me very, very well:

This badly bent axle was swapped out on site in about an hour, which I thought was pretty damn impressive. The culprit swore up and down "But I just hit a rock!"

And, occasionally, my reliable transportation was this:

If this boat had wings, it would fly...

The camp actually has some pretty nice facilities, and I shot in all of them. Here's just a taste of what I did on my summer vacation:

This is one of the boy's bunk areas...

This is the Arts & Crafts building on the Lewis Village side of the camp...

The dining hall on the Lewis Village side. This was two days before campers showed up. It looked a little different after they got there...

The Waterfront - Each side has a waterfront. This is the one on the Lewis Village side. And the ski boat rocked...

This is the gym on the Camp Poyntelle side...

The Rec Hall on the Camp Poyntelle side. This served as a multi-function facility where they would do talent shows, meetings and parties...

The Lewis Village Ropes Course: I never made the climb. The zip line (not seen here) looked like a blast...

There were plenty of boats at the waterfront. And sometimes, they'd even empty the rainwater...

This is during something known as "Burnout". Teenagers playing with fire. What's not to like?

Everyone wanted to be photographed jumping into the water. Hey, that's why I'm here. So, I'd put the camera in burst mode and fire away. One unexpected result from that was dubbed "The Jesus Walk", and it happened often...

This was taken about four seconds after Alex, behind the wheel, drove her cart head on into mine. She's British, so she clearly didn't know which side of the dirt path to drive on...

This is Mike Wolff, the head chef at the camp. When he's not hanging out on the upper east side as the Executive Chef at Serendipity in Manhattan, he's making breakfast, lunch and dinner for 300 campers and staff. He's also got a mean swing...

During "Color War" (each team wears a different color), various competitions take place. In this competition, apparently called "How Many Screaming Teenagers Can You Fit Into Matt Russell's Toyota SUV.", it was close a contest. Second place was 24. For first place, they crammed in 28. No word on how well Matt's upholstery fared...

The waterfront on the Camp Poyntelle side of camp...

Aside from the usual camp accouterments, there were other things to see, as well. In this area of Pennsylvania, wildlife abounds. While I'd heard rumor that there was at least one bear on the grounds, I never saw it, despite the fact that there's not a section of the camp where I didn't spend time. There was also a spotted grouse, named Rufus, who would attack passersby. No, I was never able to get photos of either of those. I never saw the bear, and I was too busy fighting off Rufus. But there was other wildlife which was more readily available and, in some ways, quite accommodating:

This guy was perfectly content letting me shoot him, so long as I didn't get too close. I was about 40 feet from him when I took this shot. When I tried to step closer, he raised his head and looked as though he was going to bolt. When I stepped back, he put his left front leg down and continued foraging...

 

This guy was huge. In hindsight, I wish I would've taken a full shot of him. His head was just slightly smaller than the size of my fist. I think they named him Tom. Sadly, Tom bought the farm when he was crushed by a truck...

I don't know what kind of snake this was, and I wasn't all too interested in getting close enough to find out. It was about four feet long and, frankly, probably could've cleared the distance between us in a strike. He seemed mildly upset that I'd stopped to take his picture, so he found his way to the woods in a hurry...

One of the side benefits to working here was the surrounding area. It was very rural and, as such, offered up some unique shooting subjects. The area is replete with farms, so there was no shortage of available opportunities. I just had to go out and look for them:

This barn was about two miles from the camp. I'd driven by it a half dozen times before I decide to stop and shoot it...

I had to leave camp a few times to shoot field trips with the campers. Instead of getting on a bus with 100 screaming little maniacs, I'd opt to drive myself. This approach also afforded me the ability to stop along the way...

 

I decided to go the HDR route on this one. I know, I know... That's so unusual for me...

Rolls of hay are strewn across a field south of Poyntelle...

The Starrucca Viaduct in Lanesboro, Pennsylvania...

Now, as much as I enjoy shooting a good barn (I mean, you know, who doesn't?), there are few things which can top a cool church. I'm not talking about a Crystal Palace-type church that you see on television on Sunday mornings. No, I'm talking about those old school, fear of God-type churches:

This church was just down the road from the rolls of hay...

I honestly don't think this church is in use anymore, but what an amazingly old, character-rich space...

This church was so old that I think even God has lost track of it...

The old church contrasts with this one, with its perfectly manicured lawn...

Old churches are cool, but old cemeteries and graveyards can be even cooler. Not far from the camp, right along the road, was a graveyard which seemed to be for only one family. I couldn't really find much information on the family, at least not that I could verify. Still, this little graveyard was screaming to be photographed, so I obliged:

My guess is there's a veteran in there somewhere, but I can't be sure...

If anyone can find information about the names Slocum and Carr in the Poyntelle area of northeastern Pennsylvania, let me know. I'd be happy to hear from you!

In the time I spent at Camp Poyntelle Lewis Village, I estimate that I shot in the neighborhood of some 23,000 photos, give or take a few hundred. During those eight weeks, both of my cameras needed significant work. The front control wheel on my 40D died on me early on, and the shutter on my 5D died two days before the end of camp. Repairs were a few hundred bucks, and I had to suffer through the down time of not having those cameras as back-ups to the other. I'd wake up too early, go to bed too late, argue with my boss, miss meals, shoot in the rain, make up with my boss, shoot at night, lose sleep, lose memory cards, find memory cards and, all the while, try to take at least one photo of every camper, every single day. That proved to be a chore sometimes, but it was also a welcome challenge.

The trip of a lifetime culminated with eight weeks in one of the most unexpectedly idyllic spots I could imagine, with some of the most wonderful people a person could ever hope to meet. The drive, the problems (remember Montana and my transmission?); all of it was made worthwhile when I rolled into Poyntelle, Pennsylvania.

I'd like to think they'll ask me back, because I'd love to do it all again.

Shabbat Shalom, friends...