Saturday, March 25, 2023
the most impressive company at Conexpo 23 was a tie between Caterpillar and Bobcat, they bot had extensive commitment to attendees, but Bobcat had more fun interactive things for attendees
corresponding to this brilliant marketing idea of getting attendees to self identify as one of these categories, and when pushing the button, the display had a definition for each term, they were making me laugh
Friday, March 24, 2023
And some not so good idea
In 1976, O’Neil was crowned “the fastest woman alive” after zooming across the Alvord Desert at 512.76 miles per hour! She drove a rocket-powered car called the Motivator and surpassed the previous women’s land-speed record by almost 200 mph.
Thursday, March 23, 2023
When vanity plates were first introduced in Ohio, their grandfather went to the BMV and requested to have the lowest number, which just so happened to be 7, followed by the letters MV, for McVay— his wife's maiden name.
When he passed, his oldest son was gifted the plates, and when he passed, his was next in line to sport 7 MV.
Just before he passed he requested one thing: That the family keep the tradition of passing the plate on to another family member.
I know a lot of younger people are not good at spelling, it seems it's not important since I graduated high school and spell check can be helpful, but really, it's pathetic for simple words to be spelled wrong, when it's obviously not a typo made by hitting a key next to the right key
I just got this letter from Alex, about getting Von Dutch to paint a helmet and motorcycle gas tank (It's a hoot!)
I saw your blog about the Blue Velvet Firebird and Von Dutch and wanted to tell you the story of my encounter with Von Dutch.
It was mid 1973, I was a 24-year-old second lieutenant pilot training student at Williams Air Force Base in Chandler, AZ. I had a motorcycle fetish (which I eventually outgrew), but couldn’t afford much of a bike, but I found a used Honda 450 that I could afford and because of that I thought it was pretty cool. I put headers and front forks on it, but it had an ugly orange factory paint job that I just couldn’t stand. I went to the local Honda dealer and asked them who I could get to paint my bike. Actually, the only parts to paint were the tank and the two covers over wiring on either side below the seat – the fenders where chrome (which I also hated, but new fenders weren’t in the budget). I wanted my helmet painted to match too. They directed me to the bed of the Salt River where they said there was a guy who did “pretty good paint and pinstriping”.
I followed their directions and eventually found a run-down garage populated by this “old guy” (remember I was only 24) and I asked him if he did bike paint (the first clue was the compressor and multiple paint guns around the place). He said he did and I outlined the project. He told me to get lost. I came back a couple of days later with a case of beer and offered to pay him whatever he asked to do the bike. He took the beer and told me to get lost. I had to go back three or four times before he finally accepted the project (at a rate around twice what I’d offered him and with the added requirement that, whenever I came over I had to bring beer in payment for interrupting his important work (although I never saw him move from the chair he was sitting in when I arrived).
I naturally expected him to ask what type of paint job I was looking for, but he didn’t, so I said I wanted something like red, white and blue or some other quirky thing. He looked me up and down and said “who’s going to paint this bike, you or me?’ I acknowledged that he was going to do it. He nodded and the paint scheme negotiations were over. I paid him 50%, left the parts with him and left.
Several weeks later I figured he would have the job done, so I dropped by only to find him sitting right where I left him – the bike parts hadn’t moved. I asked when he thought he’d get the bike done and he said something like “when I want to” and told me to get lost. I figured I was out both my money and my bike parts, but over the next couple of months I kept going back on the theory that if I made a sufficient pain in the ass of myself, he’d do the paint job just to get rid of me. During one of these visits I brought up design again and he grudgingly agreed to let me pick the basic color. I chose maroon.
After several months of buying him beer and begging for a completed job, I arrived one day to find the parts perfectly painted, with shadow chevrons and wonderful orange pinstripes. My full head helmet matched. I paid him the remainder of his money, gathered my parts and was preparing to leave when I finally asked him his name and he said he was Von Dutch. I’d never heard of him.
I finally sold the bike after a near accident that started my weaning from the motorcycle disease. The guy who bought it paid me 50% of the price and I gave him the bike with the agreement that he’d return on the next payday with the rest of the money whereupon I’d sign over the title. I never saw him again.
That was my encounter with Von Dutch. I still miss that bike --- well after a few beers anyway.