It's been a while since I built something from scratch. The time has come, and I have a gorgeous project. I'm building a couch. It's for a client. A ground up, 100% custom piece of furniture.
While I was up in Portland last week I picked up a lot of the materials. Today I picked up the the materials for the skeleton and started sawing lengths for the structure. Tomorrow I pick up a few more items at the hardware store, and begin doing some major cutting and shaping, and assembling.
I'm getting so excited for the finished product that I get choked up just thinking about it, and talking about it. It is totally revolutionizing my portfolio. I'll insert photos later. I'll post the raw materials, and the process as it starts to take shape, all the way up until the unveiling of my new masterpiece.
Just had to get this out, so now I can sleep, and tomorrow I shall make more couch.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Some references to rad pages.
An entertaining read about the Dyna Street Bob.
http://www.carolenash.com/insidebikes/bike-reviews/harley-davidson/dyna-street-bob/
Chop yo shit kits for all different makes of bikes. (if you don't have fabricating machinery.) I can't believe how dope these Kawasaki, Suzuki, and Honda bikes look.
http://bluecollarbobbers.com/web/index.php?option=com_virtuemart&page=shop.browse&category_id=8&Item=0&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1
http://www.carolenash.com/insidebikes/bike-reviews/harley-davidson/dyna-street-bob/
Chop yo shit kits for all different makes of bikes. (if you don't have fabricating machinery.) I can't believe how dope these Kawasaki, Suzuki, and Honda bikes look.
http://bluecollarbobbers.com/web/index.php?option=com_virtuemart&page=shop.browse&category_id=8&Item=0&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
I recently did a fun project on my bike.
Cleaning up my front end
Then I separated my speedometer from my signals.
The finished product.
I switched out my tail lights.
This is via: Vegas Crew/Devils PlayGround: 666 is the Number of the BEAST 670 - Approxim...
I couldn't resist this, it's giving a good laugh this morning.
Vegas Crew/Devils PlayGround:
666 is the Number of the BEAST
670 - Approxim...: "666 is the Number of the BEAST 670 - Approximate number of the Beast DCLXVI - Roman numeral of the Beast 666.0000000 - Number of th..."
Vegas Crew/Devils PlayGround:
666 is the Number of the BEAST
670 - Approxim...: "666 is the Number of the BEAST 670 - Approximate number of the Beast DCLXVI - Roman numeral of the Beast 666.0000000 - Number of th..."
Monday, September 13, 2010
name change
To all my beloved followers, take note that I changed the title of my blogspot url to "dirtyfree" this blog address is now "dirtyfree.blogspot.com" (Instead of the previous "dirtybirdmotorcycleclub.blogspot.com")
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Day 40: The longest and hottest ride home.
And so it had been that I found myself on Wednesday, on exactly day 40, making my last leg of trip home. But first......
After leaving Tahoe on Monday morning, I wound my way down Hwy 50 to a road called Ice House Road. It led me approximately 20 or so miles up a tight, windy, slow, new-growth forested Eldorado Wilderness to Union Valley Reservoir where I spent the next 3 days camping with a long lost friend. It is for reasons unbeknownst to the two of us, why we can't manage to get together when we're both in San Francisco, which is only 7 miles long in diameter, yet we can have a 2 year reunion 4 hours away in the wilderness, where we just both happen to be. It is a miracle. After a few wrong turns, and long rocky nature trails, I rolled up to the campsite. It was early noon and the camp was empty. So I trampled down my own path to the lakeside. There I found the campers. I had a small meet and greet with those I didn't know until my friend Gessika emerged, bounding down out of the beaches sandy shadows to give me a big bear hug. Our first plan of attack was drink making, to which Gessika made me a generously large cocktail. And for the rest of the afternoon, we floated around on colorful, deflating pool floaties catching up on lost time.
The first night was the night before a full moon. It was bright and warm. My friend Gessika is a personal chef in SF, so immediately after returning to camp from the beach she was hot on the case of some dinner cooking. In the meantime I'd helped assemble some chip dips and then put myself in charge of building the campfire, while the other campers sat about reading, gabbing, and just plain old preparing for the evening. An amazing dinner came and was consumed by our ravishing appetites, and we gathered around the beautiful fire I had gotten roaring. That evening we tired over smores, stories, and watching the fire go from piping flames to mellow roasted embers. After everyone had gone to bed, I laid a tarp and blanket out on some chairs next to the fire pit and slept catching all the heat rising from the coals, waking periodically through the night to throw a log on as the last one was cooling down.
I rose around late Tuesday morning. This was supposed to be a scorcher. I spent my morning finishing a light read, chasing the shade as the sun kept creeping into view. The campers had headed down to the lake while I was reading, so when I was done with my book I ran down to join them on the beach. This day was fun because everyone had decided to float far out to a point where there was a large jumping rock. I had been on shore with two other campers, lazing in the shade. We watched over time as the progression of floaters make it way far out to the jumping rock. For a time we enjoyed watching them take turns jumping and stalling. Well, I just knew jumping was something that I had to do, so along comes a wild hair that I just had to wet. So off I ran into the water. Within the first few minutes of my trek I found myself in a number of professional, then clever, then survivalist swimming techniques. See, I'm not a swimmer by any qualifying means, and so the distance proved to be something short of my untimely drowning, cause by the time I reached the rest of the crew I had begun guzzling water, whilst trying to utilize my back/arch survival float. Luckily my friend yielded a floatation device to my floundering, heart racing, arms aching, and lungs stinging lifelessness.
So there I was. At the rock. I'd made it this far and I was bound and determined to jump off that rock. As I was climbing out of the water I felt the full fledged weight of the fatigue, the exhaustion, and dizziness. Body and brain lacking oxygen, I pushed through the wobblies, and the black and rainbow spots swarming my vision as I clung to rock faces and instinctually maneuvered my way dangerously up to the top of the jumping point. Once I was up there I could see the world over the tops of acres and landscapes of yearling forest. I sat down for a moment until the spots in my vision subsided. Then I stood up. I looked out at small and distant versions of my friends floating in the water a ways out to my right, watching. I took two broad steps and pushed off of the very furthest point, flying far out into the warm summer atmosphere clearing the shallow rocks below, and arriving into the dark deep refreshing water a couple seconds after my departure. Splash!!! I was gripping a survival floatie similar to a beach lifeguards red floatie, except mine was...florescent...and...green. This proved to be all sorts of interesting carrying this thing while climbing the rock face about to pass out. And good thing too, cause I love a good challenge.
Well, I floated back to the safety of our camp shores happy and satisfied that I'd accomplished what I set out to do, on top of getting a masters swim exercise out of it to boot. That evening, a full moon, I was ever so rightfully exhausted. Knowing it was our my last night, I drank a few more beers, the fire pit burned brighter and longer, and I had the sheer fortune of passing out without blankets splayed out on the same arrangement of chairs next to my cooling fire. At some point I woke up and shimmied off to a makeshift tent where I had previously formed a soft pine needle bed, and thus was greeted by my lap of pine needle luxury.
Wednesday morning was pack-and-go time. I helped wash all the dishes and police the campground for any trash and unnatural scenery. By this time I was ready to get back on my saddle and hit the dirt road out of the campground. I gave my hugs and goodbyes and I motored on into the head of high noon. As I descended off the windy cool-ish mountain and the altitude diminished, the heat became more intense. In fact as I pushed down Highway 50 towards Placerville, where I planned to meet the 49 and take the foothills home to Sonora, it felt like someone was pushing the blowdryer closer and closer to my face on high heat. By the time I got to Placerville, I ran into a Dollar Bell, asked for a cup for water, and splashed ice cold water down my throat and on my face and neck. On my way out I filled my cup and took it outside where I dowsed my head in ice cold water and embraced the cooling sensation as frozen water made river routes down my back and.
Today the heat was as I never say "unbearable." Phrases like this, coming from someone who champions their ability to smile through otherwise unbearable humid environments, should not be taken lightly. I was inhaling high-heat blowdryer for over 3 hours. I was riding sleeveless and after 15 minutes on the road my skin was singeing like rotisserie, and I pulled over at the first sign of any store to administer first aid to my skin. I bought 50 sunblock and a large water. I stood in the cool store by the register and lathered up in white thick paste. I took my time drinking my water as I looked out at the heat rays boiling off the blacktop wondering at which point during the rest of my ride my tires would melt or bust. After my skin and body had reached a tolerable temperature, I just threw myself back into the fiery furnace. With no real room for anything else on my bike, I found clever places to stash the large bottles of leftover water and sunblock, sandwiched in sweater knots to the left and right of my speedometer. Pasty arms, and deflating lungs, I motored on further towards Sonora. I rolled past some motorcyclists who had taken shelter in some shade, each time slowing as I gestured whether they needed help, and after getting the signals that they were ok, I'd speed up and hit the next mile, after hot mile, after melting mile. These are the days that I get so hot under my helmet that my brain boils and my judgment gets a little foggy. Had I not had nothing but solid yellow and no passing lanes topped with a ton of unpassable cars, I'd have been home much sooner. Instead I had everyone in the county in front of me this day, so my trip was super slow behind all those damn cars, with all those turns. With the sweat building up under my helmet, I'd lift the lid of my helmet letting the hot air cool the sweat. It helps a little, but not much. It didn't matter that it was getting late afternoon, the heat was still scorching. It was still 107 into the evening downtown Sonora when I rolled into town, which means that I was riding in the hottest highs of the day. I rolled into that Queen of the Southern Mines around 5:30pm. Puzzled with how a 2 hour ride turns into 4 hours, I turned the key into the front door of home sweet home, kicked off my shoes, and ran upstairs and into the cold embrace of the shower. I could hear the sizzling sound and see the steam rising from my skin as each cool bead of water damped the boiling hot day off my skin.
I slept well that night.
The end.
Here have a photo.
After leaving Tahoe on Monday morning, I wound my way down Hwy 50 to a road called Ice House Road. It led me approximately 20 or so miles up a tight, windy, slow, new-growth forested Eldorado Wilderness to Union Valley Reservoir where I spent the next 3 days camping with a long lost friend. It is for reasons unbeknownst to the two of us, why we can't manage to get together when we're both in San Francisco, which is only 7 miles long in diameter, yet we can have a 2 year reunion 4 hours away in the wilderness, where we just both happen to be. It is a miracle. After a few wrong turns, and long rocky nature trails, I rolled up to the campsite. It was early noon and the camp was empty. So I trampled down my own path to the lakeside. There I found the campers. I had a small meet and greet with those I didn't know until my friend Gessika emerged, bounding down out of the beaches sandy shadows to give me a big bear hug. Our first plan of attack was drink making, to which Gessika made me a generously large cocktail. And for the rest of the afternoon, we floated around on colorful, deflating pool floaties catching up on lost time.
The first night was the night before a full moon. It was bright and warm. My friend Gessika is a personal chef in SF, so immediately after returning to camp from the beach she was hot on the case of some dinner cooking. In the meantime I'd helped assemble some chip dips and then put myself in charge of building the campfire, while the other campers sat about reading, gabbing, and just plain old preparing for the evening. An amazing dinner came and was consumed by our ravishing appetites, and we gathered around the beautiful fire I had gotten roaring. That evening we tired over smores, stories, and watching the fire go from piping flames to mellow roasted embers. After everyone had gone to bed, I laid a tarp and blanket out on some chairs next to the fire pit and slept catching all the heat rising from the coals, waking periodically through the night to throw a log on as the last one was cooling down.
I rose around late Tuesday morning. This was supposed to be a scorcher. I spent my morning finishing a light read, chasing the shade as the sun kept creeping into view. The campers had headed down to the lake while I was reading, so when I was done with my book I ran down to join them on the beach. This day was fun because everyone had decided to float far out to a point where there was a large jumping rock. I had been on shore with two other campers, lazing in the shade. We watched over time as the progression of floaters make it way far out to the jumping rock. For a time we enjoyed watching them take turns jumping and stalling. Well, I just knew jumping was something that I had to do, so along comes a wild hair that I just had to wet. So off I ran into the water. Within the first few minutes of my trek I found myself in a number of professional, then clever, then survivalist swimming techniques. See, I'm not a swimmer by any qualifying means, and so the distance proved to be something short of my untimely drowning, cause by the time I reached the rest of the crew I had begun guzzling water, whilst trying to utilize my back/arch survival float. Luckily my friend yielded a floatation device to my floundering, heart racing, arms aching, and lungs stinging lifelessness.
So there I was. At the rock. I'd made it this far and I was bound and determined to jump off that rock. As I was climbing out of the water I felt the full fledged weight of the fatigue, the exhaustion, and dizziness. Body and brain lacking oxygen, I pushed through the wobblies, and the black and rainbow spots swarming my vision as I clung to rock faces and instinctually maneuvered my way dangerously up to the top of the jumping point. Once I was up there I could see the world over the tops of acres and landscapes of yearling forest. I sat down for a moment until the spots in my vision subsided. Then I stood up. I looked out at small and distant versions of my friends floating in the water a ways out to my right, watching. I took two broad steps and pushed off of the very furthest point, flying far out into the warm summer atmosphere clearing the shallow rocks below, and arriving into the dark deep refreshing water a couple seconds after my departure. Splash!!! I was gripping a survival floatie similar to a beach lifeguards red floatie, except mine was...florescent...and...green. This proved to be all sorts of interesting carrying this thing while climbing the rock face about to pass out. And good thing too, cause I love a good challenge.
Well, I floated back to the safety of our camp shores happy and satisfied that I'd accomplished what I set out to do, on top of getting a masters swim exercise out of it to boot. That evening, a full moon, I was ever so rightfully exhausted. Knowing it was our my last night, I drank a few more beers, the fire pit burned brighter and longer, and I had the sheer fortune of passing out without blankets splayed out on the same arrangement of chairs next to my cooling fire. At some point I woke up and shimmied off to a makeshift tent where I had previously formed a soft pine needle bed, and thus was greeted by my lap of pine needle luxury.
Wednesday morning was pack-and-go time. I helped wash all the dishes and police the campground for any trash and unnatural scenery. By this time I was ready to get back on my saddle and hit the dirt road out of the campground. I gave my hugs and goodbyes and I motored on into the head of high noon. As I descended off the windy cool-ish mountain and the altitude diminished, the heat became more intense. In fact as I pushed down Highway 50 towards Placerville, where I planned to meet the 49 and take the foothills home to Sonora, it felt like someone was pushing the blowdryer closer and closer to my face on high heat. By the time I got to Placerville, I ran into a Dollar Bell, asked for a cup for water, and splashed ice cold water down my throat and on my face and neck. On my way out I filled my cup and took it outside where I dowsed my head in ice cold water and embraced the cooling sensation as frozen water made river routes down my back and.
Today the heat was as I never say "unbearable." Phrases like this, coming from someone who champions their ability to smile through otherwise unbearable humid environments, should not be taken lightly. I was inhaling high-heat blowdryer for over 3 hours. I was riding sleeveless and after 15 minutes on the road my skin was singeing like rotisserie, and I pulled over at the first sign of any store to administer first aid to my skin. I bought 50 sunblock and a large water. I stood in the cool store by the register and lathered up in white thick paste. I took my time drinking my water as I looked out at the heat rays boiling off the blacktop wondering at which point during the rest of my ride my tires would melt or bust. After my skin and body had reached a tolerable temperature, I just threw myself back into the fiery furnace. With no real room for anything else on my bike, I found clever places to stash the large bottles of leftover water and sunblock, sandwiched in sweater knots to the left and right of my speedometer. Pasty arms, and deflating lungs, I motored on further towards Sonora. I rolled past some motorcyclists who had taken shelter in some shade, each time slowing as I gestured whether they needed help, and after getting the signals that they were ok, I'd speed up and hit the next mile, after hot mile, after melting mile. These are the days that I get so hot under my helmet that my brain boils and my judgment gets a little foggy. Had I not had nothing but solid yellow and no passing lanes topped with a ton of unpassable cars, I'd have been home much sooner. Instead I had everyone in the county in front of me this day, so my trip was super slow behind all those damn cars, with all those turns. With the sweat building up under my helmet, I'd lift the lid of my helmet letting the hot air cool the sweat. It helps a little, but not much. It didn't matter that it was getting late afternoon, the heat was still scorching. It was still 107 into the evening downtown Sonora when I rolled into town, which means that I was riding in the hottest highs of the day. I rolled into that Queen of the Southern Mines around 5:30pm. Puzzled with how a 2 hour ride turns into 4 hours, I turned the key into the front door of home sweet home, kicked off my shoes, and ran upstairs and into the cold embrace of the shower. I could hear the sizzling sound and see the steam rising from my skin as each cool bead of water damped the boiling hot day off my skin.
I slept well that night.
The end.
Here have a photo.
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