a favorite portrait story

Since we’ve been talking about portraits the last couple of days I wanted to share a story about a particular portrait with you.

Cleaning up the studio (getting ready for the move) has unearthed some forgotten mementos. Hidden in a stack of memories was the October, 1997, issue of Mountain Biker Magazine.

In this issue was an article I wrote and photographed at the Newsweek 24 Hours of Canaan (West Virginia) mountain bike race. At the time, 24-hour mountain bike races were relatively young and most often contested by teams of four or five riders, relay style, riding around the clock. After a rider completed a lap they would hand a baton to a teammate to carry for the following lap, repeating the process through day and night.

These types of races are grueling (I know, I’ve given it a try), especially on a course like this filled with rocks, roots, hills, mud and ghostly visions appearing in the foggy West Virginia night. Now imagine riding this race solo, being pounded around on a skinny cycling saddle for 24 hours straight, picking yourself up crash after crash, pushing through exhausted delirium. That’s just what ultra-marathon cyclist John Stamstad did and I was there to cover it.

John was the pioneer of what has since become a regularly scheduled solo class in 24 hour racing. He was the first to do it, against the wishes of the race promoter. After entering himself as a team (under four variants of his own name: J. Stamstad, Johnathan Stamstad, etc.), well, the promoter finally relented.

On a remote West Virginia hillside I watched as the 24 race hours ticked by. Every lap John would quickly stop and give a quote or two. Blisters and cuts appeared. He ate and drank whatever necessary to fuel a body requiring massive calories. Muscles tightened and reflexes slowed a bit, yet he managed to pass more and more of the multi-rider teams. John, alone and unaided, would finish in the middle of the pack all by himself.

Here’s how I wrote about the finish of the race in the original story:

Rounding the final turn in the pits, it’s infectious to root for Stamstad. He springs from his bike after 24 hours of competition and rushes over to speak with organizer Knight over the P.A. system.

Stamstad puts on his latest sponsor’s jersey (Chevy Trucks) just minutes after the checkered flag and begins the journey to his pit. One racer offers congratulations as he passes while another invites him to an after-race party. Stamstad politely declines the offer and says, “That’s what really sucks about it. You’re usually in so much pain that you don’t want to do anything. You don’t want to see anybody; you just want to crawl into a hole and die”.

We stood alone as he said this, each of us at the end our respective assignments. My job was done here, except for a final portrait of the racer. Spent as he was, I hated to ask: “John, may I take a portrait”?

“Sure”, he said.

I lifted my Nikon FM2 as he leaned, exhausted, against a deck rail in the harsh midday sun, looking directly into the camera. I snapped just one frame of Tri-X film with the 105mm Nikkor lens and told him, “thank  you and congratulations”.

It wasn’t until the film was processed and printed that I realized this portrait had captured the summation of the man. His face was visibly beaten and covered in dirt but his eyes still glowed with the same fire and intensity displayed at the start of the race. I look back now and still see in his eyes the determination of a champion, a resolve that looks like it could have taken him even further that day, despite a body pushed to the brink.

So, to me, this photo is worth more than a thousand words…it’s worth an entire 24 hours, all summed up in one frame.