As a boy growing up on the prairies of Manitoba in the 1980’s, my friends and I would jump onto our BMX bikes and head out exploring until the orange street lights began to hum. Many of these adventures found us standing nervously at the foot of the local haunted house. We’d banter back and forth, daring each other to go in first until one of us caved under the peer pressure, usually me. The smell of wet plaster filled my nose and lungs as the stale air settled heavily on my clammy skin. I’d only get a few feet into the house before a knocking sound from an upstairs corridor sent us screaming back onto our bikes leaving a trail of dust and fear behind us.
As I grew older, I packed those childhood memories away, abandoning them for years in a dusty old box somewhere in an upstairs corridor of my mind.
In 2006 I traded in my BMX for a big boy motorcycle. During a prairie storm along a secondary highway, I was forced to pull over and seek shelter in a near by abandoned building. Lucky for me I had my small point & shoot camera attached to my hip. While waiting out the storm, I explored the building and snapped a few pictures all the while unpacking that dusty box of childhood memories.
That day was the start of a back road adventure of self discovery that hasn’t stopped.