Saturday, September 20, 2014

1973 FX, Pothole Plow..

A whole lot of time packed into a couple months.  Distressed denim and sheetrock dust, resurrection, fuel capacity.  Just got back from Japan, we have so much free space here, and bigger food, but I still crave the magic of yakitori.   



Thursday, August 14, 2014

HITW III

 Taylor's Haggard Gallery 2014...  Who hauls everyone's garbage/bikes, loans his bike out, blows up a bike, blows off some shells, tippin' over, ranting out, E.T. and whiskey..  Man, HITW Kinfolk articles, piece of shit.

Good spot, good year, safe travels!



Friday, July 25, 2014

Haggard Starts Saturday Morning!!!

Sorry about any confusion, rumors, general weekend concepts, etc...  This next date is the 26th, which is Saturday July 26th... For those who want to be out-of-confused come join the ride out there, starting at the Carver Hangar 16196  Market Road 39 Damascus, OR.  For those later, we'll try and find a piece of glow-in-the-dark-cardboard to staple to a tree.  Around mile 12 on NF-46...   Bring beer, ice, gas, you'll run out. Will buy $20 of shitty hotdogs for durr and refugees.   Slop boil.   Get it together.  Extra Friday.  Construction schedule. 
  



Tuesday, July 22, 2014

HITW-II

I forgot hot much sun there was, photos from Zach.. Plum Crazy.  






Saturday, July 12, 2014

Gunpowder Kid..

Somewhere out in those vibrating heat waves there's the lost child.  Wandering the neighborhood gathering discarded fireworks from the 4th, scraping out un-burnt gunpowder into a mason jar.  A real hero he'll be, low-voltage garage door wire, 9-volt battery.  Riding down the torn up road on a bmx in big knee wading boots, jumping ruts and throw it over the fence.  Everyone had their own story for how the cliff came to be, he figured the water did it.  A tree overhung the slope, barely secured by scarred roots, below the water was roaring as it fell off into a dark tunnel.  Today wasn't a day to blow the homemade fire-jar.  The creek was too brown, the air too muggy.  Weight off one's shoulders in a place of no expectation, times more like a crayon than a novel.