a tool, a camera that I like
When I got into gravel cycling, I fell hard for documenting the rides. It wasn’t just about the pedaling—it was about capturing the vibe, the scenery, the story of each adventure. So, I started hunting for a camera that could keep up. After some digging, I landed on the Sony RX100 Mark III, and let me tell you, it was love at first click. The photos were killer, the features ticked all the boxes, and the size? Spot on. It fit perfectly in my hand—like it was made for it. Sure, you can snap great shots with anything, but this little guy felt like it was built just for me.
I picked it up (I think) early in 2019, and from day one, it was glued to me. Almost every ride, that camera was there, ready to roll. I found my go-to settings—what I like to call “dummy mode”—so I didn’t have to think too hard. Just swap the batteries, pop in a fresh SD card, and boom, I was good to go. It became my ultimate adventure buddy.
This thing saw it all. It crushed the Rapha Festive 500 with me, braved snowy winters, and soaked up the sun on rides through Slovenia, Italy, Poland, and all over the Czech Republic. It got dusted, drenched, frozen, and baked in the heat. But it just kept going. I treated it like a tool, not some precious artifact. None of that keeping-it-safe-in-a-bag nonsense. It was always right there—slung on my back or stuffed in the side pocket of my bib shorts, ready for action.
Then, out of nowhere, it started glitching. I didn’t think much of it at first, but one day, mid-ride, it just died. Done. Wouldn’t turn on no matter how much I begged or cursed. I still remember that moment—it felt like getting punched in the gut. Not to sound dramatic, but it was like losing a limb.
I wasn’t ready to give up, though. I asked around to see if anyone had a spare lying around. Lucky me, I found one pretty quick and snapped it up without a second thought. Just like that, I was back in business. Same camera, same settings, more gravel shenanigans. Life was good.
Until May 2023, when my second RX100 kicked the bucket. Same deal: dead as a doornail. I brought it to a local shop, hoping for a miracle, but the guy behind the counter just shook his head. “Not worth it,” he said. Apparently, these cameras aren’t exactly built for the abuse of gravel riding—dust, sweat, rain, the whole nine yards.
I was bummed, no lie. But at that point, I had to face the music. There was no way I was shelling out for a third one, just to watch it join its buddies in the camera graveyard on my shelf.
And that’s where my letter to Sony starts…
