Like all good superheroes, my Jeffsy has a tragic origin story. It starts with a violent car crash. It was a Saturday in early winter. Both my little girls were in the back of my 1991 Mercedes 190e. We were waiting at a light when a Suburban rear ended us doing 50 mph. The Mercedes was crumpled at both ends, but it took the hit like a faithful guardian. The brave sedan sacrificed itself to protect me and the girls. With my head dazed and the girls still crying, my thoughts turned to my other vehicle, a 1972 VW bus. We all loved riding in the bus. If the weather had been 10 degrees warmer we might have been in the bus. I had daily driven it for 18 years. I thought I would drive that bus forever, and in that moment I fell completely out of love with it. I knew that if the bus had been hit like that the result could be deadly. I sold the bus and bought a used Audi, with money left for a new bike. I was so out of touch with trail bikes, I thought seat bags were still a t
The tale of the Left Hand Canyon trail signs is a story about art. Art in the woods, and corporate timewasting. I had become hopelessly addicted to Left Hand, and I had access to a sweet welder. I thought the broken shovel design fit with the asthetic of the trail system. A system dug by hand with sweat and shovels. My signs would be a tribute to the guys spending their free time out there digging. I started with Indy and Bon Scott since those were the existing trails, quickly followed by Deadass and the RZA GZA sign. The early signs were kind of crappy as I developed my technique. I eventually decided the best way to make the letters was a multistep process. I would lay down a layer of weld, then grind the top smooth, then lay another bead and repeat. I actually carried some of the originals down off the mountain and applied more weld to bring them up to the new standard. Also the first ones were unpainted and nearly invisible to a passing rider. The new trails started coming fa