Eight Years

At night, while on my 24 hour shifts, I look at blogs. And read. But mostly the blogs occupy time between runs. I read and take in the pics. . .and dream. In less than eight years I can retire from the fire department. I've had nine injuries in 12 years that required me to stay home and heal. The fire department is a physically greedy place if you do the job right. The fact that I want to retire to a garage not too far from some mellow surf, and live out my dreams- stimulated from the blogs- makes eight years seem so far away.

I wonder how many more beatings I can take until then. I would rather die than not do the job 100% every time we go out the door. I hope I make it. I really just want my few bikes, my dog, a little work space, my 9'4" Mayo, and a bunch of books. . .in eight years.

New Stickers Coming

Finally got the sticker order in. . . a few weeks and they'll be available. The bike is Merlin's Frankenbike, a project that was born from scaps, right from the floor of Unholy Moto. Pretty proud of it and him.

Obits

Saw the Obits at Talking Head Club on a snowy Tuesday night this week with the GF and good friend Geoff Danek, the Triumph madman. The snow kept a lot of people away, so the venue was pretty loose.



We stood five feet from Rick Froberg. The new stuff was really super, and sounds like a rational progression from 'I Blame You.'

Before we got to the club that night, we stopped to recruit Tom T at Rocket- we had an extra ticket. We ended up spending 15 minutes troubleshooting his toaster-tank-con-sidecar BMW-Hella machine. I think our presence fragged Tom a bit, not unlike any mechanic when over-concerned friends loom over and try to help. He got the Beemer running and decided to run back to his shop and give the bike a once-over under a roof and in some heat.

Good weekday night.

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72 CB750-Four

This is what I could have done to my 72 CB500-Four had I not hard-tailed it. Rats.

CTOP: the folks over at bikeexif

Dirt Church

Went to the Mount Royal Tavern with the GF and some friends last night. Before my time in Baltimore, this spot was called the Dirt Church- because of the Sistine Chapel wallpaper on the ceiling- and was basically the spot to go- especially on Monday nights for the jerk chicken. Definitely a bar with some character, and some really heavy apple pie shots poured like a highball- limit 2 per drinker. Head waay too big this morning a measure of what two of these will do to a mortal man.

I need this sign for the shop. Screw-Screws-get it?



Sentinel Sign



Drinking Mates


Bathroom Art. Lead Foot-Fuck You

Street Art

Being a big fan of Banksy and Shep Fairey, and having watched 'Exit Through The Gift Shop,' I didn't mind nearly getting run over in Phila the other day to capture this work in a crosswalk line.

Finally, good heat in the shop

Harbor Freight. $50 Bones. Sketchy to light, but damn it does a fine job heating our 20x20 shop.

Truckers on NYD, TLA, Philly

Jim's Steak sub, extra wiz first.




Hour and a half set, and a helluva encore.




The best New Years Day EVER.

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