I spend 70 % of my day standing in front of this. The lathe from 1952. Really.
Sea of tires. There are a lot more than this in other areas of the shop. Some of these stacks are eight tires high. The tires are very heavy, stacking eight is a feat. But tales have been told of men, great men, who can stack ten. Do I believe them? I do.
The shop is filled with pictures of lusty beauties. I didn't put them up, the dude before me did. Far be it for me to hold judgment over him. This lady is called Slutty McWhore, and she keeps my manual press notes company. I drew a mustache on her.
Discs, waiting to be stuffed into rims like an oreo into a child's mouth.
This is where they hide the Ark of the Covenant. F***, now errybody knows.
Chips. Shaving chips. This is what the CNC spits out after shaping material. A full barrel is a heavy thing.
Darkness and stuff.
Abandoned engine in the back. Close to the door, hence the leaves. Apparently the boss used to be a bit of a motor head.
The "cool" welding mask. Yeah right. I never wear this one. If it aint black, its whack. All black, and flat black, for that matter.
The "Pen". Those three wheels on the floor...I made them! I turn em out like a champ these days. They are just waiting for a final weld.
Screen shot of the balancer, with the company motto written on it.
My launch ramp, built behind the shop. Yet to be ridden. Bike for reference, seeing as it was too wet to ride today. Gotta fly me to the moon and back...
