Six. Sixteen. A Gallery by Gunner Hughes
Generally speaking, one should not recommend leaning out of the window of a van, or careening over your shoulder while on a motorcycle. That’s just generally speaking. Now include trying to get the right angle with camera in hand to both of those unadvisable scenarios and you get a somehow-unscathed photo of roadside Americana from photographer Gunner Hughes. The Anywhere But Here series follows the exhaust fumes of Gunner through adventure and misadventure across the country. Usually finding the backwater towns, roadside religions, old-salt locals, cash-only dive bars, and much more character than you might see off the main highway.
In this second installment, Gunner ties up a few balloons to the back of the bike through the peach state and the storied side roads of Savannah.
Over to Gunner
My birthday date is very special to me. I was born on Father’s Day 1991, so there’s that. Shoutout Dad. June 16th. 6/16, if you will. Six-16 was/is a now-retired camera size made exclusively by Kodak from 1932-1948 that shot, that’s right, 616 film. Also made exclusively by Kodak until 1984 (big old American-made camera guy over here). Also, 616 is arguably the original number of the beast in some very old religious writings, papyrus 115 or something, probably written on rocks (666 made for better marketing I hear).
Devils and American art history aside, it sounds good, it’s the name of one of my businesses (shoutout Studio Six16) and of course, it’s my birthday. I like it. That all being said, my birthday itself does not mean a whole lot to me at all, as far as the cake, candles, sing the song, sort of things go. So, being that my three favorite bars in this country and my pancreas are all in a sort of retirement, what to do for the symbolic 30th birthday? Set out alone on a motorbike towards a spooky southern city some 200 miles away with a backpack, a few cameras, zero presents, and zero plan of course. See you in Savannah, birthday boy.
Fun fact, for the superstitious bunch in the back, when I pulled back into my Florida driveway at the end of this little runaway what do we think my Harley’s trip odometer read? That’s right. 616 miles total, start to finish. Cross my fingers hope to die.