It felt like summer was trying to say sorry for the messed-up past few months, so the weather couldn't have been better for the annual Open House at Custom Parts & Wear. Everyone – and I say everyone – showed up. The place even got so packed people had a hard time getting their rides out when they wanted to leave. But actually, no one really wanted to leave. The burgers were way too good, the artists were busy, cold beer was plentiful and we were all enjoying ourselves. For the first time I had set up a little booth with some of my artwork so I couldn't take too many photos but here's a bunch from the few moments when it was less crowded. Thanks to everyone who showed up and said hi and special thanks to the Custom Parts & Wear crew led by Stöffel and Däddy who did an outstanding job making sure everyone was happy. It truly was a perfect day.
For a long time, Lincolns have been a customizer's favorite. From mild to wild, from a late 30s Zephyr to a mid 60s Continental. But actually, they don't need much improvement. With their long sleek lines and a pretty extraordinary styling most of the Lincoln coupes are essentially factory kustoms. Add a little lowering and a good shave and you're done with an impressive looking cruiser, ready to hit the boulevard.
There's a certain mystique that surrounds those survivors, barn finds and one-family-owned hot rods. It's not just that they allow you a glimpse into the way they did it back in the day. Most of those stories add some new dimension to that ole pile of steel, rubber and rust. Call it spiritual if you like. And maybe it's just me but many of those tales start with something like, he built it in high school. Or, during his senior years, this heap was his only means of transportation, including frequent trips to El Mirage and the Santa Ana Drags. There's also a story that goes with this black beauty here, albeit it takes a little different turn.
Check out the ebay listing for the whole story.
Here are some pics I took the evening before the race.
More pics in the gallery...
To the gallery...
When I hear about someone being a fan, I usually think of screaming teenage girls. Or soccer fans. Or dinosaur fans. But I would never ever consider myself being a fan. Of anything.
Except maybe for this: It was on a sunny afternoon in 2004 or 2005. I was hanging out at Custom Parts and Wear, Switzerland's only hot rod store and shopkeeper Stöffel just had received a dozen or so copies of a book called Cheatersville. It was a nice coffee table book by Laurent Bagnard, a French photographer. And there wasn't much text in it. But the book was packed with bitchin' photos of a bunch of young hot rodders, of their rides, of their parties and their road trips. Those hot rodders weren't from the US, hell no. They were from goddamn Switzerland. It fucking blew my mind. From that moment on, I became a fan of the Cheaters Geneva. And I still am.
"A fan, sometimes also called aficionado or supporter, is a person who is enthusiastically devoted to something, such as a band, a sports team, a book or entertainer." (wikipedia.org)
Stephane's chopped 1950 Mercury.
Franck's blown 1932 deuce sedan.
Laurent's shoebox Ford.
Xavier's daily driven El Camino.