Getting the Shot: Review Photos

“I could probably throw a football to the parking lot from here, and I’m even worse at throwing footballs than I am at riding bikes!” I exclaim to Jack as he fiddles with his camera, setting up the next shot. We’re out taking review photos for the Marin Alpine Trail (spoiler: this bike is awesome), and we’re talking through the concept for the evening. I want to shoot an entire review’s worth of photos on this one big pile of rocks, right at the bottom of my favorite trail on Galbraith, less than a stone’s (or football’s) throw from the street.

Why? Because shooting photos for bike reviews is pretty silly, and I want to lean into that. One of my very first gigs in the outdoor industry was taking photos for a different publication’s mountain bike reviews. Earlier that summer my bike had been stolen, so I jogged around the mountain, setting up shots to highlight specific components in reviews. Now, about a decade later, we’re doing the same thing.

I’m sure somebody could put together a very scientific breakdown of why we need riding photos in gear reviews. Something about how the human brain needs visual confirmation that the words they’re reading are based on personal experience. How rich photos add to the overall impact of the review, and help the reader subconsciously empathize with both the rider and product being covered. Or maybe it’s just that the all-powerful algorithms shut down any sort of written content on the internet that doesn’t have an image breaking up every couple of paragraphs. I dunno.

The “why” is not that important. I've accepted that readers want visual confirmation of my mediocre riding talent in every review I publish and thus take the necessary steps to produce those images. Sometimes, there are genuinely interesting features on a bike that are worth photographing that can’t be explained verbally, but the vast majority of the photos we shoot are eye candy. Thus, our experiment producing said candy in a controlled, easily-accessed environment.

I walk back up for another hit on the drop. The trailbuilders have been busy this spring polishing everything, and it’s all running really well. I’m used to this being the last move at the end of a long ride, tacked on after a full day of pedaling other trails. But tonight, we’re just here for this one rock pile.

There’s a formula: static close-ups of the bike at rest, cover any pertinent details, and get at least one climbing shot where I smile and try to quiet my messy body English. Ideally, three descending shots: one cornering, one in the air, and one moving through tech or chunder. Get those shots in the bag and you’re golden.

There are things to avoid of course: try not to make it look like you shot both climbing and descending photos on the same section of trail, just going opposite directions. Make sure there are no major mechanical faux passes visible, because folks will call you out for a tire logo not aligned to a valve stem or messy hose management. Try to make the bike look good, make your riding look good, make the trails look good. Or, at least, try not to look like a goober.

There’s always a bit of conflict in parts of the world where there's a lot of unsanctioned riding. Decide where you draw the line. Do you only shoot on recognized, public trails? Do you occasionally shoot on unsanctioned features, but only ones you helped build? Or are you comfortable using trails you didn’t build, on land they’re not supposed to be on, to make your paycheck? Is there a wrong answer? How far do we take “Public Land in Public Hands”?

There’s a little nook in the corner of my yard with good light and some mossy stones. I like to shoot close-up photos of parts and accessories there. My dog likes to poop there, and I’ve almost knelt in piles of crap when I’m trying to shoot some shiny new doodad too many times.

Back to the pile of rocks near the parking lot. The light is not great—it’s harsh and speckled, with blown out highlights and buried shadows. And I’m not riding well. But Jack is patient, dialing in focus and angles, explaining the body language that will look good on camera. Hike back up for another lap, roll in, eyes up, try to smile.

The last move we shoot is terribly unphotogenic. A buddy built it right after he moved to town. His imagination wrote a check that his skills couldn’t cash, and for a year this rock roll went unridden. It’s a little scary, it’s awkward and exposed, but it looks so boring on camera, with no great angle available to shoot it. Hike to the top, roll through it, eat up the compression, run it out. The mom walking her dog is impressed. Hopefully the shot helps somebody scrolling through the review make it through to the next paragraph. High-five the photographer and remember to submit their invoices. Thank the builders and try to lend a hand and donate to their beer fund. Get the work done, and then go for a real ride, one where you actually push the bike and get to know it. This job is silly. This job is great.