Two years ago I drove down south for
The One Motorcycle Show. It was in some sorta warehouse in an industrial part of Portland. Three stories tall... I think. There were beers for a buck, art all over the walls and more motorcycles than I cared to count. I met some interesting individuals that evening -
Todd Blubaugh being one of them. I walked around all night; always a cold can in my coozie. It was excellent. For whatever reason, though, I didn't drive down last year. Probably cause I was trying to score some stoke (it's an addiction, I know). This year, however, I had to go to the show. Not because of an obligation to the industry in which I
work, but because I wanted to be around bikes, and bikers. Because sometimes you need to stand outside. Take two steps back from what you've been doing. Surfing - sans everything else. Because it was time to do something different. To spend a few days with a few friends. To drink Old Fashioned's and eat big ass biscuits for breakfast. To daydream about building bikes and poke fun at Portland. To connect dots and whatnot. And it was a wonderful weekend. Without waves.
Blubaugh's Bike.
Kiddie Porn.
Slave Made.
Gold Standard.
No Guts. No Glory.
Shame.
Tard.
Lush.
Chrome Dome.
Click
here for a few more photos.
