#gearhead
don’t let the morality of others impact how you enhance your power.
listen to the sounds of a bro falling in love with his dirty gains and tren soaked pump
Motobécane. ca. 1929. Geo Ham.
46 ¾ x 31 in./118.7 x 78.7 cm
Geo Ham had a need: a need for speed. Known as the “prince of motion,” he is famous today as the illustrator of Monaco Grand Prix posters from 1933 to 1936, as well as motorboat competitions, air meets and aerobatic competitions between the wars. He produced exactly two posters for Motobécane: this one, presumably the earlier of the two: despite the lady’s scarf waving in the breeze, there isn’t quite as much of a kinetic frisson as Ham’s more mature works. The other Ham Motobécane is directly adjacent.
Available at auction June 26. Learn more >>
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Monaco Grand Prix 1930. Robert Falcucci.
31 ¼ x 47 3/8 in./79.3 x 120.3 cm
It’s a red, red, ripping and roaring sunset in this gripping design by Falcucci. Created for the second running of the Monaco Grand Prix, it’s arguably one of the best created for the event. (The first Grand Prix was just announced with text; this the first image done for the competition.) We don’t know the maker of this blazing white beast of a racecar, but René Dreyfus took the checkered flag that year in his Bugatti T35B.
Available at auction June 26. Learn more >>
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#vw #porsche #porsche911 #garage #garaged #gearhead #periodcorrect #garagebuilt #gearednomad #vwthing #germany #germanycars #thecreatorsclass #wethecreators #vscocam #portrait #nothingsordinary #seekthesimplicity #styleblogger #streetphotography #hypebeast #lensculture #exploremore #lifestlyleblog #lifestylephotography #postthepeople #makemoments #unlimitedbrasil #explore #carspotters
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Just chiilin in the woods with the bike.
Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.
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I’ve always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I’m no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There’s just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.
I want to be that guy.
To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there’s a biker.
There’s a biker….
A biker that wouldn’t care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.
To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.
And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won’t have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They’ll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They’ll leave their old lives behind. They’ll sail on their monstrous machines.
And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.
And they will be.
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