Whats up.

Hello 2014.  Putting old things to new use has always been at the pit of my subconcious. Suppose thats how how I fell into and old 4 cylinder yamaha 10 years ago.  Put together, take apart, put together in a different order.  Well this thing here fell together.  I dreamt of a long bike with a 14 over girder, psychedelic paint on a wassell tank and tiny front wheel.  Silly eh? But this thing was bound and determined to put itself together.  While thinking I would repair a bent girder for use Duane loaned me a 35mm front end with a mag to roll it around the Dojo (our overcrowded workspace where shuffling bikes around to make room for others is necessary).  From there parts just started appearing on their own.  A tank from Bowles, a shifter assembly from Nick, a rear mag from the heavens, hand carved steal your face points cover from Alex, fender, seat and sissy from the dust in my shed shed.  Nothing fit anything. But every piece that came seemed to want so badly to be ridden again. Everything was tired from use accept maybe the seat.  Way off center sissy bar, toasted wheel bearings, leaking tank, ragged out forks and no first gear (the trans is currently apart in my living room).  Cutting, bending, grinding, re-welding (thanks Austin and Duane) to make these old parts bolt together.    When I finally rode it for the first time, the old metal parts seemed to radiate joy in a giant V shape from where the wheels met the pavement, upward towards the sky, like Moses parting a sea of doubt.  This bike is three parts, gratitude for friendship, gratitude for those riders who first wore these parts out, and spirit of ghost parts returning from where ever they go to rest.  

Trip to the States

Birmingham, Alabama, USA Dec 26, 2012-Jan 3,2013

the Greenest

Probably because of my transience in past years, and no winter to speak of, Alabama is an exaggerated green this year.  The storm that just went over my house and the hail that rained on the Dojo also looked dark and strange.  Today a ten story cumulus cloud promised rivers in the city streets and blew trees onto their sides.  Last year Japan looked exaggerated as well.  It seemed I didn't have anything to compare it to.   Everything dripped with thickness.  New paint on thousand year old temples.

In Alabama we have only the more recent history of the last three hundred years, at least of those of us from European backgrounds.  I can pretend though cause I am about and eighth native.  My grandmother still bares some strong physical traits.  My father and I got the high jaw and neither one of us can grow a beard.  That's our claim to the ancient.

Still we wander, with our friends, two lanes to a four way stop town where the board walks are still right up to the lanes of the blacktop (they never moved the buildings to make for parking for four wheeled obstructions).  You go into the only shop in town, which happens to be located on the corner at that same four way stop.  You look at guns, various forms of canned meat, instructions for a bomb shelter, and umbrellas that have been in the same spittoon with the same price on them for 25 years.  You better have cash for that confederate bandana too because the bearded owner on his high stool behind the counter doesn't take new world order.  Lets get back on the road this weekend.

North Country Weekend

I neglected to get any pictures of the brilliant Alabama Swap and Drag that Rick and Michael put on.  Five times the people on their second try.  I stumbled late out of my hammock into a world of vintage parts glory whose dreamy aura was amplified by the haze I was seeing through.  Even with my timely neglect I happened upon parts from choppers' past which must proceed into choppers' future by way of fair trade (thanks for carrying it all home Bowles!) I also neglected to take a picture of the giant swollen lip that a spider must have given me in my hammock the next night at our cliff side camp.  I did however get the camera out for the fishing and some of the ride home.  

Duane and April

Nick and Laci

Jerimiah's Birthday

Jerimiah is rad to the bone.  At least thats what his tank top says.  Not counting a couple of weeks ago in Chicago for a few hours, I haven't seen him since we crossed the country together in 2010.  That time we met at a crossroads near Alison, Arkansas.  This time we met at the Dojo in Birmingham, Alabama.  
    Other than a kiss and a hug I didn't have any material goods to present to him on this fateful of birthdays.  So when he said, "Brandon, lets go ride."  I replied, "Go tickle the Triumph."  We would take him up the mountain.  
  When I say we, I mean that Moon would join in because when hears the pah-tump of primer kicks that boy has got his lid on, his jammer running and is wearing a grin.  The rest of our friends would do the responsible thing and prepare the shop for a party in Jerimiah's youthful honor.    
     So I think to myself, the least I can to is let this guy put some break in miles on the Trumpet which has only recently been put back on the road.  After all it is't riding season yet in Chicago and its been months since the boy has been able to put some miles under him.  
    Grants Mill road delivered us from our urban setting, up the side of a silver stream running with this weeks storm waters.  Then over the new concrete bridge at lake Purdy and through some Shelby County horse farms to Leeds.  After that, AL HWY 25 led us through a succession of forests, switchbacks and trailer homes all the way to the top where it was cooling down.  Jerimiah did upside down opossum tricks in the tree while Moon laid down to meditate.
    On our way back down the mountain Moon collected a roofing nail in his rear tread and survived, but the flat tire had us watching cars bail around a blind curve at suicidal speeds while we waited on the hidden inside of the curve for a truck that we hope would see us in the pitch dark.  Jerimiah recounted the some parts or our cross country adventure from a couple of years back while the orange sun faded in the branches at the top of the valley and a Norfolk Southern engine blew on the ridge not 60 feet above us.  Bowles and Chauncey arrive to bail Moon out and Jerimiah and I enjoyed the rest of the mountain in the dark.  The ride home was as perfect as the ride out.  
Not two hours later later I contracted the bacteria that causes pneumonia.  But thats another story(to be continued).  Hope you made some memories for yourself Jerimiah.  Happy birthday!

Buckle repair

pics by Dustin 

Celebrate

It may not be as romantic as all of this, but I’m not sure that Steinbeck could have written better characters than my friends.  Not intended as an insult to Steinbeck (or my friends), his characters were brilliant, if not well educated and often had true insight.  Their combined antics  and since of loyalty create a force  that even fate seems to have little influence over.  Every moment is reason for celebration or quandary of some cosmic mystery.

A few of my friends have now combined efforts and funds into a building which can house our greatest shared passion.  Not unlike Danny’s house in Steinbeck’s, Tortilla Flat, it has quickly drawn a set of regulars into weekly revelry, creativity and production.   Duane referred to it as the Chopper Kai Dojo and it has struck a chord.  The "chopper" part being in slight jest as most of our chopping experience is limited, but then if you don't laugh a great deal your life might be boring which may be why jest is often high on the priority list.  Just under rent.
   The “Dojo” part of  the name has stuck.  If you have been lucky enough to see the brilliant 1984 americana art film, Karate Kid,  you know that “Dojo” is Japanese for a place of training or learning.  It’s a perfect name.  Our dojo is not a sanctuary, but a gritty collection rooms which is too small to house the amount of people working in it and it has propelled a heightened state of learning, productivity and community amongst us.  

A month before the we signed the lease a few of us helped Duane freshen up the top-end of his Shovel Head motor at Nick’s work shed.  At the end of the day he said, “We need to do this again soon.”  I assume he wasn’t referring to us repeating the work we just did to his engine, but acknowledging the combined since of utility and camaraderie we get from making things on wheels go.  No of us are experts, but every one of my friends is creative and willing to share his past experiences to keep his friend on the road.  

I

A North Country Swap and Drag

This is a good time for a swap meet and northern Alabama is a good place to ride to.  It is currently on fire with color.  We watched old cars go fast and Harley's go... well not as fast. Rick and his son Michael put on a great event which brought together old timers and young hopefuls.  Parts where swapped along with lies and perhaps a few non-fiction stories.  Campfire rants, Waylon covers and Justin Moon can dance!  This experience must be repeated.  

October 29

Avondale car show, oil leaks, S.K.A.T.E off.