Two Americans in Paris.

Peter says we met in 2013. This lines up with my recollection, and if I had to pin down the exact location, I would say it was outside of the now defunct VOID shop on rue Michel le Compte in the Third. I recall my first impression of Peter, still to this day. He told me he was American, and I asked him where he was from. He said he grew up in Montana. But the way he pronounced Montana was not like I’d ever heard the state’s name pronounced before “Mon-tahn-uh”. VOID was a weird place with some weird individuals frequenting it. Is this guy lying to me? No one has ever said “Montana” like that before. Peter seemed cool, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Mon-tahn-uh”? It’s “Mon-tanuh”, dude.

That’s it. I’d bump into Peter here and there. In Paris. Later in Williamsburg at a bar down the street he worked at. Always random. However, in 2019, the randomness peaked. A group of friends from Sydney were planning to run The Speed Project, a running relay race from the Santa Monica Pier to the Las Vegas sign. They asked me if I would like to photograph the team, and I agreed. In conversations, my friend from the team, Sam, kept telling me that Peter was driving the team RV. “Ok” I said, figuring Peter must have been some random person Sam thought I had known from Sydney, a Peter whom I could not place at the time.

Touchdown: Los Angeles. The night before the race, we dropped bags off at an address in Mar Vista. There’s “Mon-than-uh”. Peter. We’re at his place. How small can the world be. From le Marais to Mar Vista. From strangers to the support vehicle. Man, oh man.

After The Speed Project finished, the real purpose of my trip began. I rode my bicycle with my friend Joe from Los Angeles to San Francisco. Peter and Sam joined in one car while a different Sam (Also a part of the TSP Support Crew) and Robbie were in another car.

Ok there so there’s the basis of my friendship with Peter. The rest is less interesting but more valuable. I hung out with Peter a couple of times when I would pop into LA. Peter moved to Portland, and I would make pilgrimages down from Tacoma to see him when I would go home to visit my mom. Peter started cycling. I’d like to attribute this to the fact that he saw the adventure that Joe and I undertook from LA to SF.

Peter, Portland, and The Pandemic did not mix well, and Peter made his way back down to Mar Vista. I came to LA in the end of November for a few days to finish up some Context pieces I’d started in the months before. Regardless of all the unfinished business, I chose to start my trip with two days shooting Peter. This included two rides, a few meals, being extras in a commercial being shot at Luft on Lincoln, and some Mid-century architecture tourism.

Peter and I are quite different from how we were when we met in Paris. No more black drapey goth-ninja attire. Now it’s LYCRA® and Schoeller®Dryskin. No more late nights raging at Silencio. Now it’s coffee and height-meters. It’s quite interesting to see how two peoples’ paths can cross so many times and be apart for such long periods and still follow such similar paths. Peter lives thousands of miles away, but our lives are not too different. He might not board as many flights as I do, and I don’t stretch as much as he does, but we both find peace in similar catharses.

It’s always harder to photograph people you’re close with. The result has more consequences, in a way. I hope Peter likes this little glimpse into his life from my point of view. I have known Peter through some of his worst times, and he’s known me through mine. I’m looking forward to more time together on and off the bike in Copenhagen. We don’t have as many height-meters as LA but we also don’t have as many potholes either.

Thanks, Peter!