“Hey! You dropped something!” the kind faced woman called out to me. Looking back, I see what she’s referring to… a torn strip of backing paper from the roll of film that had earlier torn inside my camera, wasting 40 minutes of golden hour light, and turning 12 lovingly framed and conceived squares into nothing.

Superstition is something that has been a part of my life since growing up playing baseball. Streaks were powerful things, that must be respected. Big Red gum before each game. Lucky socks. You know the drill.

Most people outgrow their superstitions. But for those of us whose “North Star” guiding principles on how to be a good human were forged on a baseball diamond, they never fully go away. Sure, logic informs my worldview more now, but “hot streaks” still catch my attention. So does “the Schneid.”

That is where I find myself, four days into a cross-country roadtrip that I’ve been planning for months, and dreaming of for even longer. Don’t get me wrong, the trip has had some of the wonderful parts of long drives: time to think, good music, and varied and interesting scenery. But it’s also had bad luck, especially photographically.

A dust storm south of Salt Lake City, Gale-Forced Fog outside of Laramie, Severe Thunderstorms the minute I get out of the car in Cheyenne… you can write those off as chance.

But when you leave early to avoid crazy desert temperatures, but still find yourself driving in 113 degree heat; when the road out from your hotel is, as it turns out, the parade route on the 4th; when forecasted cloudy skies become steady drizzle, killing any chance of photographing a lot of interesting things during your morning in Cheyenne; when you head out early only to find bad light; when you “fog” a roll of film by opening the door before it’s fully wound; and yes, when the leader paper on a roll of film tears when winding up to the first frame… you know you’ve hit a patch of bad luck.

Rolling Thunder Prairie - some view, huh? I drove half a mile through gravel to get there. In a Prius.

As legendary as the stories of bad luck are - so are the apocryphal tales of how curses were broken. Sacrifices and offerings, lucky antidotes… hell, even the gang from Ted Lasso lit a bunch of things on fire to purge their luck. The trouble is, you don’t really know what got you off the schneid until after it happens.

“Thank you!” I said to the woman, forcing a sheepish smile, “it’s been one of those days.” She smiled as she rounded a corner and walked down a side street. “It’s been a full week of Mondays this week!” she called back.

It certainly has.