Meanwhile back in the bat cave

Somitimes the going is good and easy

Sometimes it is not easy and the best way to deal with it is with a fucking cut off torch

Sometimes I will spend too much time making something that i could buy on the interwebs for 20$ But that is missing the point. The point is I like to make shitty drawings that make people smile and I am very much certain that the journey is the destination or at least that the doing of things is the thing that gets us to where we are going

SV is getting there. Even spent some good hard earned beer money on powdercaoting them there wheels gold. bling bling home slice. gang bang heaven at the candy store.

Why I'm me

Whoops!

Fuckingodamsumbitch mondays! ...At least there is one clean title.

Motorcycles and Making love.

So I have been thinking a lot lately. Thinking about the ying and the yang. You don't have to listen to the news for long before you start to feel like shit. What the fuck is wrong with people? I know that in my little hemisphere on this planet I want to be happy, Make the most out of everyday, and help quality thrive. It is a balance of achieving our selfish goals and still contributing to the greater good of our surroundings. Shit is what we make it to be. It feels good to make good shit. Especially after coffee on a late sunday morning. As long as the burritos were not habanero.

It sure is easy to take it all for granted.

Don't know the answers but I am finding good ones every day.

It is Friday morning, this the 23rd of January, twenty fif-fuckin-teen

Getting the SV a bit more in shape. Busa pistons and Gen 2 intake cams. F3 rear tire. Shift light from the land speed bike(dust collecting showroom ornament). Salvage parts only. Thinking about playing with danger and using a 4s 4000mah RC lipo battery for the total loss ignition and electric start. Shorting the dog bones to raise the rear and maybe some Krylon.

If it aint for racing then what is it for?

It's winter

Keep on rockin in the free world

New post.... same old bull shit

I am at a loss for new material to post so here are some old pictures. History is only meaningless if we learn nothing from it. -Sylvester Stalone

And when I get tired of talking to them I take pictures of them

Peace, grease, and polar fleece.

Remembering the warm season

I just had a roll of film developed that i took to the Kansas county fair 1/2 mile series. This would make a nice shop. It is across the street form the race track. Stockton has been holding motorcycle races on the track once a year for over 113 years or something like that. It is only used for bikes and only once a year. It is my favorite U.S. oval track.

And I also love to take pictures of stuff in my shop.

Because, that is all you need. Well, and of course tight pussy, new shoes, and a warm place to shit. Happy year that is to be new and may all your wheels forever be two.

Urban enduro. Looks fun.

Shit in the Shop -part 7654

Work smarter not harder. Fuck that. Do both; Build it, don't buy it.

Don't forget to stretch

Travels with McNasty WOR Rider AKA Lord Mick, Muke.

The first time Muke hit a fresstyle ramp didnt work out to well. But the time I (with a revoked driver's license) commandeered my Mom's van and took him to Lake Havasue and signed his entry form as his "guardian" went very well. I remember taking a pit stop in the pit bike class and chugging a beer. Limits are supposed to be pushed.

Rockabilly girl!

Redheaded, tattooed, wrench turning mind blurring, one whiskey trip with me and you'll never be the same! Don't be scairt! You'll love it!

Just Huck It

Tyler showing off the benefits of having a mini mega ramp in the backyard.

Fat guy on a little bike

156 turns
for my throttle yearns
climbing and twisting
clouds on my visor are misting
forget to drop a gear
miss a turn here
one thousand feet I will yell
all the way straight to hell
shitting
and getting
all the way to the top
until I am king of the mountain I will not stop

Project retard advances

...And the cops are probably about to be knocking on my door...

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

I have done a fair share of desert races. I have also ridden many a gnarly duel sport rides. But I have never partaken in an organized duel sport ride until this years 31st running of the LA Barstow to Vegas. Two days, 500 miles and some 600 riders. It was dusty. I started the build of my XS650 specially for this event two months ago and I had my doubts about getting it to the finish. I bought the bike as an ugly old cafe race/ chopper with an extended swing arm, super low clubemans and a big end bearing knock despite the 2000$ worth of receipts of engine work. I paid 200$, replaced the crank with a spare lying around in my "rape room". I rigged on an '84 XR500 front end salvaged from "#project retard", An XR250 sub frame and of course the daunting mounting of a '91 YZ125 swinging arm and mono shock. Despite fettling the shims in the shock 3 times and creating the most stiff spring I could it is still under sprung and blows through the damping like a bullet through a brain.
The chassis did very good however. As long as I didn't charge big whoops and g-outs. I was bewildered buy the amount of big money desert racing machismo wantabees with support rigs and satellite communication and navigation. I had a flask, a film canister of Colorado's finest and a roll chart. Learning how to use the roll chart was fun. So was passing KTMs one after another being piloted by over weight stock brokers wearing "adventure" jackets that cost twice as much as my bike. Things were going great on the first day until internal engine noise suddenly became very apparently external. I removed the clutch cover, entailing removing kicker, foot peg, and brake pedal to discover the clutch spring bolt had pulled its post clean off of the clutch hub. Removed the little fucker, little bit of JB weld, quick aluminum and some oil resistant medical tape on the case cover and back at it. Day two was going great as well until this time a clutch spring bolt backed out. Same fix, One mile later and one snapped off the post again. This time leaving a hole big enough in the case to see the bastard of a shitfuck clutch spring bolt. By this time the sweep riders (not much help they were) had passed me. Earlier in the day I had lost Mike my wing man on his XL350 when I had to take an emergency trail side shit. I spent a good two housr in a wash alone a long way from any roads wondering why I forgot my map and if the JB weld and remaining clutch would get me out of there. It got me close when another one snapped off. Again; remove cover, remove aluminum chunks and patch cover back up. With three of the six clutch springs remaining Loc Dog thought it wise to take the interstate the remaining 80 miles into vegas.
Beer was drank, fun was had with Co-Built Geoff and the crazy Bixby scooter trash guys and I look forward to next year. The End.