It takes all sorts...

I usually wear a bright T-shirt when doing roadside bike photos, along with a couple of big signs with my website on them. I want you to see me, but I don't want you to think I'm the police and panic. One thing is true though. A lot of you change when you see a camera.

Not in a bad way. In fact, most of you look as cool as ice. Like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. Honest. But there is definitely a moment when you spot me and your brain has to make a very quick decision about what happens next.

1. The knowing nod. Probably the coolest response, and usually from the people who end up looking the best in the photos as well. Just the tiniest acknowledgement as they go past. No change in speed, no sudden attempt to look heroic, just a little nod that says, "Yes, I've seen you. You may proceed. I approve."

2. The wave. Always appreciated, and there are several levels. There's the casual left hand, the thumbs-up, and then there's the pillion who spots me 200 yards before the rider does and starts waving like they've just recognised their family on the quayside. Occasionally everybody gets involved, like the two below. I photographed them once looking very cool, then again a little later apparently having the best day of their lives. I know which photograph I prefer. It's also nice when both are looking in the same direction.

3. The sudden MotoGP rider. You're coming towards me perfectly normally and then you see the camera. There's a subtle shift in body position, the head drops slightly and occasionally a knee begins a journey towards the tarmac. Mate, I've been watching you come up the road for the last ten seconds. I know what you were doing before you saw me. Doesn't matter though, because nine times out of ten you still look great in the photograph. I usually blur the background, which gives you a little number 46 boost.

4. The look-dead-ahead-in-panic. This one fascinates me because I can actually see the moment you've noticed me. For a fraction of a second you're looking straight at the camera, and then your eyes snap back to the road and you stare rigidly ahead as though somebody has just shouted "DON'T LOOK AT HIM!" You always check your mirror to see if I got you though. Always.

5. The "Are you a copper?" This happens far more often than it should. Suspicious look, slight reduction in speed, and occasionally someone actually comes back and asks me. No, I'm not a copper. I'm sitting on a folding chair with a camera next to a luminous two-metre PHOTOGRAPHER AHEAD sign. If this is a police surveillance operation, it's not very covert.

6. The poker face. This is different from the panic stare because these people want me to believe they haven't noticed me at all. Eyes ahead, completely relaxed, couldn't care less. Unfortunately I've normally got a sequence of photographs showing their helmet gradually turning towards the camera as they approached, but I'm happy to keep the secret. I sell more of these photos than any other.

7. The second attempt. Bike goes past. Five minutes later the same bike comes back the other way. Ten minutes after that, here it comes again. This time perhaps a little slower, jacket mysteriously zipped up, body position slightly different. I'm saying absolutely nothing. I'm just going to keep taking the photographs and we can both pretend this is a complete coincidence.

And then there's my favourite. The people who see me and just look genuinely pleased about it. A smile if they're open-faced, a wave, a thumbs-up, sometimes the full arms-in-the-air celebration from the pillion. They're not trying to look cool, which of course means they usually look ridiculously cool.

That's probably the biggest thing I've learned from photographing thousands of bikers. You really don't need to do anything for the camera. You're already riding a motorbike down a great bit of road on a day you've chosen to spend doing something you love. You've done the hard bit. You're on a motorbike. You already look better than anyone going past me in a car. Even if you're on a £500 125.

It's funny because I also photograph people in suits for a living, and I spend quite a lot of time trying to convince them of essentially the same thing. People tell me they hate having their photograph taken, but I'm not sure that's actually true. I think they hate those few seconds when they realise a camera is pointing at them and suddenly can't remember what they normally do with their face. The little flashes of reality just before and just after they think the photograph is being taken: that's usually where the magic happens.

Bikers have one enormous advantage. Most have a visor.