The desert - lo or hi - seems to be biker heaven. In Death Valley, often the only other people I would see would be bikers, usually riding in packs of three to five, waving as they rumbled by me on the side of the road taking pictures.
Despite the more populated, commercialized nature of the Twentynine Palms Highway, which runs along the towns in the Morongo Basin including Joshua Tree, I still find bikers in my rear view mirror all the time. I find it comforting. They don't weave in and out of traffic, one minute cutting me off and the next minute passing me in the road shoulder. They ride patiently behind me, smiling if they catch my eye in my rear view mirror.
I had to capture this guy, on my way back from eating lunch at the Route 62 Diner, adjacent to Hutchins Harley Davidson store. We were stopped at a red light but I wasn't quick enough, and had to push the button just after the light turned green and I started to pull away. When I turned into the left lane to pass the white truck in front of me, I lost him.
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