For the people.

I wish nothing more but for my liberal friends to develop good relationships with firearms. Learn to shoot, learn to know these weapons, become proud owners. Because unlike our conservative counterparts, who know and understand that to secure a freedom and way of life, you need to be willing to die for it, and defend it. And a gun has always been the most civil of reckoning tool. It can be used to persuade evil intentions to leave you alone, and it is a wonderful negotiating tool, when it comes to securing your freedoms and hard earned way of life. This country wasn't founded or secured with pacifist ideals, and the pursuit of freedom for many wasn't secured without many a hard fought battle between violently contentious ideals, and the new rights and freedoms that we are trying to secure in this country aren't going to be secured without a solid frontline of progressive patriots willing to fight and die to pursue and secure our hard earned rights and freedoms. We as America won our freedom from England by the gun. Slavery was defeated by the gun. So many eras of forcible expression fought with the gun, for the right to hold down new and achieved freedoms in this country. Same as in other countries whose people and ideals are at warring odds; The progressive vs. the antiquated. When the status quo tries to prevent at all costs the progress in mind and body of their people, the people must fight to break that old mold, to pursue, and secure new freedoms. And old mold is not broken without a forcible blow.

Chew on that.

Call me old school, but...

I might be at odds with a lot of you pot culture folks, because I'm someone who doesn't like the stuff, but because I have sooooooooo many friends who like the stuff, I've always tried to take a positive stance and show my support for the legalization of it, because the whole "alcohol vs. weed" history thing.  And there are a lot of you out there, with whom I'm close to in various different ways, who smoke an awful lot.  I always question ones ability to just be present, and just be mentally and emotionally available.  And if I were to have a beer every time someone smoked a joint my liver would be toast, and I'd be drunk all the time.  Like, I don't drink in the morning, but weed smokers will have weed in the morning.  How is that even ok?   What is so wrong with feeling life and emotions the way we as humans were supposed to?    Sober isn't just for alcohol anymore.


This Vice Article will Enlighten You.

Getting Lost In The Downtown Industrial.......

District of St. Louis, Missouri, wasn't my idea of a sane time Saturday night on my last trip across the country.  Here I was dealing with a funky navigation app, which basically means my navigation is me watching a blue dot move bleepingly across the screen of a yellow map on grey lines.  I am bound to misunderstand a route or two.  This one put me heading north in the heart of St. Louis, and as I was yelling "WTFWTFWTF!" I took the first exit into the heart of that shithole.

 Where the buildings are blank, and crumbling, the roads are shit, there isn't a sane looking person in sight, and I'd imagined someone was about to run out at gunpoint and try to take my CB radio, which I would fight for dear life to save of course.  I was just short of running all stop signs and red lights, and using the excuse: "Well, officer, let me tell you what happened once.  Ya see, I once was in this really rough part of town with a bunch of grassroots canvassers, and this Po-lice officer spotted us in our mini van with no tinted windows, all doughy eyed, and ready to go knocking door to door...in this really rough neighborhood.  But before we could get that far, he stopped us in our tracks, and said to get back in our minivan, and head right out of town.  He said do not stop at stop signs and do not stop at reds, and if anyone approaches the car, just drive away.  He said, that, he did.  I was having flashbacks."  

True story.   We survived Richmond.  We did just as he said, and rolled all those stops.  Shit, sometimes you end up in areas, that all you are is happy to see a cop.  "Hey officer, can you please just give me a chase car to the highway?  Would really appreciate it."  Bahahaha  

       I drove far enough away from that city before I found a nice rest area to curl up in the back of my truck.  Actually, I think I slept pretty on my guard that night.  You ever have those nights where as soon as you get to falling asleep, you hear a noise, and you jump right up and look out all your windows, sleeping with your hands on all your knives and 911 is ready to dial on your phone.  Haaaaahaha.  I wish I'd had a short lil shot gun on me that night, something that would just spray an hit.  Man, things to never leave home without.  

       Outside of that,  the trip went fine, until I realized I'd reached that part in the drive where I just didn't want to drive any further.  I laid extra long under my sleeping bag that morning, rain shuffling down all around the truck.  The Eastern gloom.  I'd hit it.  I just wanted to sleep forever that morning.  But I had to make miles and time, and I know I won't be here long, so I just plodded on down the road.  Made it to Brooklyn around midnight Sunday.  Yeah, it's raining here, but it's warm, and that's nothing to shake a finger at.  My cat is within arms reach, curled up and cozy.  He was really happy to see that I had come back.  That I didn't abandon him.  He'll get used to this, but I'm sure it's never easy. 

Signing off.  10-4 good buddy.

Babes In Borrego 2016 Reunion

3 Years ago 50 women descended on the desert for a day of sun and fun and being absolutely free from the egotistical confines of every other typical motorcycle event.   Something different, where women could just exist and express themselves in unabashed freedom.  That's how Babes in Borrego started.   You can fiddle back through my previous posts for the long harrowing experience that led me on a day long journey, and adventure that I never once gave up, in order to join those women in that desert late one evening back in 2013.  The bonfire, the booze, the camaraderie around the campfire.  It was something to behold.

And whelp, we did it again.  The originals.  Long story short, I ended up being in Los Angeles this time picking up my truck from a Toyota dealership where I left it with a blown head gasket, back in December.  But I had to had to take it back twice in February because they hadn't fixed it right.  While I was in Los Angeles some friends had let me in on a little reunion scheduled the first weekend in March for the original Babes in Borrego attendees, and so I decided to extend my trip just to attend.  Cause really when was I ever going to turn down an opportunity to get dirty and dusty and tear up some desert ground?  After, I got the truck back and it was working great, I headed to northern California for a few days, hung out with my parents, had beers and bonfires with friends, installed a roof rack on my truck, threw a road side coffee table inside the shell, and drove out to the desert for a party!    Yeah, I know, I drove, what the fuck is that all about?  Well, usually I don't go to a bike party if I don't ride my own bike.  But this time, it was something a little different, a reunion of sorts, a gathering of originals to relive the past.  It was great.  Mini bikes, sitting round a giant bonfire, playing guitar drunkenly, dancing, singing, laughing, playing games, telling stories, making new stories, and reliving and remaking the energy that brought us all together in the beginning.

So heres the next part to this California trip.  The bitter sweet side to being someone with a very busy mind, a busy soul, and too many things to sit on one plate without medication...this is what I call the dump. 

I've been missing my bike terribly as I had to leave it back in Brooklyn, while I flew back to California to get my truck.  The weather on the east coast had me shoveling snow the day before I flew out, and the weather on the west coast had me buying surf shorts and thinking about living life on a beach in the sun on a tropical island.  But mainly a lot of things have been swirling around my little world of mental noise lately.  I'm really distracted with all the directions I want my life to shoot, things I still want to accomplish, and guess that means I'm feeling a little unsettled, and a little out of sorts about it all, because I seem to find myself in the same place every 2 years.  And well as a friend so kindly reminded me last night, that it's not something to be down about, it just means that I'm evolving.  So basically I evolve every 2 years, and take off on another route, direction, adventure of learning.  And along with all that is a bit of uncertainty, feeling ungrounded, and somewhat frustrated.  But my friends words were wonderful to hear, and a sweet reminder that I'm still great, and just becoming more of myself and the things I want and am pursing in life.  But while we're here, allow me unload some of that mental noise on you now:  I'd love to launch a model of my jeans; I'd love to have customers lining up for my custom tooled leather products; I'd love to be making music again; I'd love to be digging a pool in the desert;  I'd love to be riding my bike to new places in pursuit of my perfect most happiest place in the world; I'd love to be building beautiful things for people; I'd love to join SASS and start the shooting circuit; I miss my cat with 3 teeth, and I feel like an ass for always leaving him behind.  Most of all I feel like a lost soul (evolving).  And I need to listen to my needs, and follow my dreams, my instincts are trying to guide me.  So here I am with all these random skill sets, and dreams that I have, you may or may not find me retiring it up in Slab City.  #ramblingsofalostsoul  

Blow winds, blow.

I swore the fence was gonna blow down last night.  Things were knocking around outside, chain link fence was swaying as hard as it could under the moon sized globes in the parking lot next door.  Every time I look out my bedroom window there is one of many lamps glowing largely out the window, and I pretend it's the moon.  The way the moon always looked in old black and white movies, dreamy.  There are some branches that sometimes hang in the way to the left and right, as if I'm in the woods looking through the trees up at the moon.

          The winds weren't just blowing physically, but by golly metaphorically and representative of the things that are happening in my life.  Unsettled change.  I guess when you have an unsettled soul, then that is the only constant, and mine is always drawn to that.  It's either rigid control and perfection of work and the mind that I strive and sometimes struggle to achieve, which drives me nuts, or it's me freeing my mind in the only place where no one can hold me down, or judge me...the open road.  I'm always happiest when I'm just at peace in my mind, and my body, in the middle of a vacant and open land, where I can dream up a future, and dream about a wonderful youth, the last time I was really happy.   Reflection, the things we go through and experience, the marks they leave on us, reflection is the best thing you can ask for, when you reach the answers, the honesty it brings you, it helps you grow and move forward.  So heres to honesty and progress and strength of character and pursuing and finding our futures.

See you on the road.

Whelp, I'm still dirty.

But I'll admit I did put a new shower head in the apartment, and it really made a huge difference.  So now, when I take that few and far between shower, I'm not just getting a drop of water every once in a while.  Now the shower actually does what it's called, "shower."  Yep, all the holes flow water, and they do it with vigor.  A shower is now a warm thing, as opposed to shivering under sparse sprinkles from a shitty fountain head.  My truck is in the shop getting worked on back in LA, and I had to fly back to Brooklyn, where my bike is under a warm sleeping bag, and water proof tarp, and I'm going to ride later this week.  Gonna put the battery back in, (I like to take it out during the freezes)  Gonna warm her up, And get those juices flowing.  Waiting till end of Spring when I ride cross the northern states and down the pacific north west back home.  But for now, I'm keeping her warm, maintained, and I'm envisioning miles and miles of dirty ground to cover this summer.

Stay Dirty my friends.

See you on the road.

J.W.

My New Mexico Adventure. Aka, I'm a Gawddamn Roadside Warrior. #wrench

I left Lone Grove at 8pm, and drove all night towards Carlsbad, NM.  I got in at about 3am.  I ducked into the shadows of a Chevron gas station, and I rolled into the bed of the truck.  I made use of an empty water jug and dumped the contents out the back window, before crawling into my sleeping bag with my boots on.  Now, I knew my feet would be swampy, but I wanted to be ready to jump at a moments notice.  Small town politics kept me more at a state of unrest, on the edge of ready all night, with the sound of cars driving by just feet to my left, up and down the main drag, and an occasional customer filling their tank.  I set my alarm for 6am. 

When my alarm went off, I sprung into action.  The sky was just getting some slim hints of light to it, and the roadways were packed with work trucks, country trucks, and I knew there was some industrial work drawing the town to life.  Disheveled as usual, and under slept, I just stood in the middle of that convenient store trying to figure out my next move.  Diner, I wanted a diner.  Turns out the diner I wanted, wasn’t open until 11am, and I couldn’t complain about it, cause it was called the “No Winer Diner.”  How suitable.  I drove toward the edge of town closer toward the caverns, and a taco truck caught my attention.  “A burrito will be nice and fast” I said aloud to nobody.  I waited for oncoming traffic to pass, and I pulled left into its makeshift parking area.  The morning was cooler than Oklahoma had been, because I was up in that middle to high New Mexico desert.  

So there I was…getting back into my truck, when I smelled something funny.  I swung the door back open, popped the hood, and looked for any funny stuff.  My radiator bottle was full up.  And I could see some spillage.  “Oh man.”  I immediately looked up the nearest auto parts store, 1.9 miles back in the direction I’d just come.  When I pulled up they were closed, so I inspected the engine a bit closer, and you know what I saw?  I saw a split alternator belt.  yep, the whole thing had just gone up and split in two. That would explain why my things just weren’t working all that well.  Right then and there I set my sights on changing my belts, and before you'd know it, I was well into misadjusting my pulleys and getting those belts off.  Grease and dirt and wrenching are my friends, so I was in my natural habitat.  Soon after they’d opened, I was in there, a handsome ball of grease and parking lot gravel, with my old belts in hand, and walking out with my new ones.  Within minutes I'd gotten them all on and adjusted to Toyota specs, a highly scrutinous process.  I poured what had over flowed into the bottle, back into the radiator.  And I was back on the road by 9:30 am.  Everything seemed fine.  

Carlsbad Caverns was a couple miles off the main road, so I took that short stroll up to the mountain top, and walked around inside their museum and displays.  Their elevator into the cave was broken, so I had to vow to come back on another trip and do the 3+ hour hike.  Once again I was off on the road, heading towards Phoenix, my destination for the day, and where I’d spend the next few days having a good time.  I was motoring along for a couple hours in the dead zone in and out of New Mexico and Texas territory, where there’s no cell service, and I was relinquished to the limited iTunes selection on my phone, plus there were no Truckers on any of the CB channels to listen to.  Up ahead I could see this huge steep mountain hill that seemed to come out of nowhere, but I had to climb it to get out of that flat zone.  And wouldn't ya know, that as soon as I started to climb that steep mountain hill, the truck started overheating.  Now, this was the first time in it’s entire life that it had ever overheated, and I was super bummed.  I knew I had to get that needle down below the red F, so I slowed the rpms, and climbed as slowly as I could, not putting any stress on that engine.  As soon as I got to the crest, I pulled into a lookout parking lot.  Figuring there was something that needed adjusting, I popped the hood, checked the belts and because they were new, I gave them a tiny little tighten.  Now, I figured they didn’t cost much, so if one of them blew I could just put some new ones on again.  

        The truck had cooled down by this point, and the rest of the way to the next town was downhill, so I’d just ease the truck to the nearest gas station.  I picked up a bottle of coolant, thinking that the truck fluid was actually low, and as soon as I made an old coffee cup into my new funnel, boy did my radiator guzzle that fluorescent green liquid. So I started getting curious about the radiator.  I got back on the highway, and before I knew it the needle was heating again.  This time I pulled over at the New Mexico welcome center, and I called my dad.  Cause he’s always my favorite car person, and makes everything better.  I decided in that parking lot, of adobe shelters over concrete picnic tables that I had to change my coolant completely.  I dumped out the contents of straps and bungee cords from a bucket I kept in the truck.  I found the radiator drain, used the coolant overflow tube as an attachment to the petcock, and let all that old rusty brown coolant flow into that bucket.  I then poured the rest of that new coolant gallon into the radiator and then ran the truck (with the cap off) to let it normalize and flow easier into the compartments of the radiator.  That’s the trick. 
       I never waste an opportunity to be a good tourist, so being as I graciously took liberties in their parking lot,  I decided a little spin inside the visitor center would be mighty right.  I went ahead and signed the visitor center book (always).  I also grabbed some free literature on "New Mexico Tourism", mainly cause there was a picture of some snow skiers on the front, and part of this trip I was on was all about the skiing.  I gave the woman attending the visitor center a synopsis of my trip and the way my morning had gone, and she obligingly told me there was a gas station 10 miles in the direction I was headed, so down the road I slowly went.  The needle kept teasing the heat line.  I kept the engine low and slow all the way to the gas station.  I parked right in front, went inside and bought a nice looking bottle of coolant, the 11 dollar kind. I topped the truck up, and ran the motor, same thing (cap off).  Then I let it cool down, and I added some more.  The truck was having some trouble starting each time, because basically, slowly over the course of the last couple days, since the belts were so busted, the alternator wasn’t doing its job of recharging the battery.  And well, I had to get some good driving on her to really get her back up to operating efficiency, so the truck was just slowly cranking, and I had to give her gas every time.  
        After I topped the truck up for the last time, the dude who was leaning against the wall, looking like he either wanted to help, or throw me into his van, walked defeatedly off toward a far part of the parking lot, as soon as I closed the hood, and locked the truck to head into the store for one last round of resources before I braved the road again.  (I feel like I really dodged a bullet with that one).  

I pulled onto the road way, and gradually gained speed down the onramp, onto the highway, watching that thermostat needle ever so carefully for the slightest move past middle.  Nothing.  Not a budge.  In fact it stayed middle for a whole 3-4 hours of normal driving speeds.  I was home free.  Problems solved.  But then....I had just reached Picacho Peak in AZ, when my dad called me back, and I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news.  “Dad guess what? …..Oh, no!  wait!  Never mind.  Dang!”  The needle had started climbing toward the H line.  Most of my disbelief came from the fact that the needle had stayed middle until both Picachu Peak and My dad had called.  I couldn’t believe the coincidence.  I didn’t know if I should blame the spirits of Picacho, or the fact that my truck didn’t want me to give my dad any good news.  I pulled over at the nearest station.  The whole station was empty, except some accommodating overhead lights.  Though I still had to put my head lamp on to inspected the engine.  Dry.  Not a lick of coolant could be seen, so no over-flow problems, but the radiator top felt unnaturally cool.  Turns out the thing was really low, and thus the coolant wasn’t flowing in the upper compartment of the radiator as a result.  I looked around the bottom of the truck for any signs of leak.  Nothing but a puddle of my pee.  No immediate radiator drips to be seen.  But then I did noticed that my drive line was showing signs of immense wetness.  So I deduced that to radiator fluid leaking slowly as I drive. I spent the rest of my coolant on filling the radiator, and I headed to the next nearest "open" station for another bottle to top it off.  The bottles kept getting more expensive the closer I got to Phoenix.  Something to do with supply and demand I guess. Visuals of those pesky graphs from business school flowing through my mind. 

As I drove the slow 60mph just 50 miles outside of Phoenix, I got pulled over by a cop, who was nice enough to tell me that both my license plate lights were out, and that the ball hitch I had mounted was an obstruction, and he couldn’t really read my plate.  We had a friendly banter.  And then he ran my license, just you know, because, and I wasn’t much worried about anything, being a good citizen and all.  Then I answered “No” to all questions about drug transportation, and before you could say the alphabet backwards I was back on the road.   

I arrived at about 1am, backed into the driveway, grabbed my giant green sleeping bag, and found the couch.  It was a glorious arrival, and much awaited slumber.