You'll Never Intern It: Ian Moult Drops Science.

Alleged Norco factory pro Ian Moult bomb-dropping the [world-destroying] Large Hadron Collider, where he is, according to the always blogworthy Gnarwhale, a summer intern:

Heck of a bullet point for your CV.

SUMMER THURSDAYS ARE BACK.

DBZ and I have some stuff planned for the season. Stay tuned...

Ben Piff Spring iPhone Dose.

I feel like Ben calls me with a trick-by-trick report every time he gets back from riding, but this video came as a total surprise. Following up on last year's excellent Summer/Fall edit, Ben brings his usual mix of clever spots and trick-list bike-control jibbery. Bonus points for the super filthy lens.

Micro-slantpad.

As the clouds pass: Memorial Day weekend solo sesh in Medford, Oregon; shot w/digital point&shoot and pocket tripod; edited w/Windows Movie Maker on Mother-in-law Jane's laptop.

Sacred Spots Revisited: David Joy Clears the Pizza Fence.

Ten years after Jeremy Davis called out the line, David Joy makes it count.

Matt Reckless photo.

As seen in the opening clip of Pizza's ./blueprint part, if you need a reminder...

Nice work, David.

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June 6th edit: I thought it relevant to add that Joy cleaned the "triple-life rail" (aka the "longest rail in Oregon", and seen bucking a number of pros in the ./blueprint credits) in a web edit from last year:

Celluloid Dump.

Been sitting on this for a while, gathering, scanning, and uploading a small pile of non-digital media for what appears to be April's only blog post.

Presented in reverse chronological order:

Shot by TJ Henderson, circa 2006:

Bottom bracket grind at my alma mater, Washington University in St Louis.

Bros.

Canadian nosepick by TJ Henderson in Des Moines, Iowa. Shot by Bobby Altiser.

...

These black & whites came off a roll of film that sat undeveloped in my glove box for four years. Shot with my Pentax Spotmatic.

Young wives Tika and Jaime, with the Nikon D50 and Sony TRV950, respectively.

Huge sub box, huge film grain, Ben gets first marks in Clayton, Missouri, Summer 2006. Sorry for the faulty exposure, expired film, and/or bad Costco processing, Ben. This would've been a great shot.

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Shad shot this Reed College tree-ride-to-fence-grind for Dig just before I left Portland in early 2003. (The photos never ran.) Double hoodies and massive cuffs date the pics, but the bike itself would see few updates over the next seven years.

Regular.

Opposite.

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Lastly, another b&w shot of Ben from my Pentax, late 2001. That's our old backyard in Everett. Ben reps an o.g. Kink tee shirt, DK SOB, and 45t Threshold sprocket.

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Off the topic of film photography, but still on the nostalgic tip, is the first video I ever made (with editing assistance from Cousin Paul), shot in October of 2001. If anyone is aware of it intact online somewhere, I'd love to know.

Almost nine years later, pegless and brakeless, I still feel pretty well represented by it.

Gravity-Powered.

The "Gravity Powered Vehicle mini craze" was long dead by 1988, but I'm not surprised to find the mantle raised again and burning brightly in Portland, Oregon, 2010, just ten blocks downhill from the Zoobomb pile.

Saturday night, my cousin Trey and I happened upon this fellow parked at Voodoo Doughnut, and I instantly identified his custom "GPV" as a DK SOB.

"It was the heaviest frame I could find," hippie Clint explained (as per the gravity-powered premise).

Although it's a confusing sight at first, the bike is sitting right-side-up, with a seat welded to the chainstay wishbone. The handlebars underneath turn 90 as knee rests, and you can see disc weights hanging down below.

The handlebars (SBC 4-piece Strips) also turn 90 but remain inverted, with curved tubing tack welded in place for additional hand positions. (Also note the vintage S&M Ditchforks.)

Clint says he stopped riding bmx around 2001, and after we waxed bmx-nostalgic for a few minutes, asked if I knew of anyone selling a complete bike for cheap. "Nothing too light," he said. I said I would put him in touch with someone who might be able to help and took down his email address.

(Caleb, I'm looking at you.)

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Two nights later, Trey and I were out on another late ride when the red foldie suddenly fell apart in Trey's hands. He avoided crashing, but I confess that his look of bewilderment was priceless, as the bike slow-motion folded in half beneath him. Serendipitously, we were just then directly in front of Voodoo, and so were Clint and his taxi, reggae gently bumping. He was quick to offer his help and the use of his tools. The confusing repair took our combined concentration more than ten minutes to work out, bending and hammering and furrowing our brows, everything finally slipping together effortlessly in one fabulous aha moment. A cotter pin from Clint's tool bag clipped it all permanently in place.

The satisfaction of the experience was palpable, not to mention the value of Clint's tools, the cotter pin, and not having to walk a bike home. We expressed our gratitude and insisted on tipping him a few bucks, against his protests.