Category Archives: BMW Restoration

Gator’s Unofficial Season Two Premier

By Anthony

Spurred to action, kind of like Rob Stark* when his father’s head was forcibly removed from his shoulders, I ride back into the interwebs wielding my almighty pen and preaching stories about things that I do drunk, observations that I’ve had the pleasure of observing and run-on sentences that I’ve had the pleasure of concocting. I bring to you now the first official Season Two Premier of Gator’s No Shit Playing.**

It’s tough to start a post with an asterisk at the end of the first sentence. It’s a bad sign when one must declare something with one of those mysterious grammar functions you only see in textbooks and prescription drug ads.

But anyway, like so many posts here on Gator, I’ve begun by digressing. Has anyone else noticed a common theme, in at least my own ramblings, that it’s easier to start somewhere completely different and then abruptly shift back into the intended post with an eye jarring fragment like: “but I digress.”

Just a thought, but I digress.

Seriously though, if you’re keeping score at home and holding us to the promises we make in our posts, you’re likely going to be let down 9 times out of then. Which are at least better odds then a lion fighting a tuna in the mid-Atlantic. However, I’m happy to report on one small victory today. I’d like to say this is the reason for radio silence, but that’s not true. Our writers went on strike when they realized we were serious when we told them they would be paid in wheat grass seeds. What? I thought everyone knew holistic anything seeds were an accepted form of currency in Williamsburg and Bushwick these days? Didn’t you?

Now if you’ll harken back to the olden days, when Gator was just a young startup, full of spit and vigor, hustling on the street corner of the internet known as – and not the multibillion dollar IPO it is today – then you’ll remember four odd months ago when I mentioned the 500lb motorcycle I had in my apartment.

It wasn’t very hard to get it in there and even easier getting it out, especially in pieces. But we’ve taken all those pieces to a shop – along with Cindy’s Christmas tree to try and get that goddam light to finally light up. A little bit of elbow grease, some sandpaper, several hundred kilowatts of grinding metal and least a thousand or so PSI of sandblasting has turned a corroded, rusted old hull of a former hulk into something not quite so hideous.

To bring back the luster of a fresh start. To reuse, recycle, rebuild. To give credibility you can’t buy with all the flax seeds in Green Point. I love the effect of a surface half finished. Here’s the latest:

*Yeah, I’ve been watching a lot of Game of Thrones. It’s brilliant.
**While this is not the official Season Two Premiere, Zach beat me by a day or two, I already had the working graph and didn’t want to change it. Too bad. Temporal intelligence is an afterthought here at Gator. Obviously Gator don’t play that.

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Is That a Motorcycle In Your Apartment Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

1962 BMW R27

The motorcycle currently occupying my apartment living room. No thats not an Occupy Wall Street joke. The bike refuses to start, won’t get a real job and plays drums all day.

By Anthony Martin

I recently acquired a 1962 BMW R27, by acquired, I mean I rolled it (it doesn’t run) out of my father’s garage and onto the back of my brother’s truck. The plan is simple, restore it, get it running and use it to pick up chicks. Zach was suspicious about the endeavor, but I assured him that the 500lb bike fit in the building elevator just fine. He wasn’t convinced.

What’s the difference between a piano in your living room and a motorcycle? I’m not really sure, but were I a more clever man, there would be a joke about girls and man’s futile attempts at impressing them.

The bike, like many of my projects, has a history of falling short of completion. My dad bought it for my mother so they could ride together, but it was never finished and it sat, covered, the typical white ghost, under a white sheet in a garage. You’ve seen a hundred movie protagonists unveil some classic vehicle of any random type from underneath a dusty white sheet. At which point there is a montage and in a few short minutes, with some music playing in the background, the vehicle is moving again. Well this played out a little different, and the project itself will be a harder than those montages would lead you to believe.

It is at this point that Steinbeck comes to mind. “The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry.” It’s the root of human nature, I believe, to dream big. To plan and scheme, it’s the American Dream, to increase ones position. Whether it’s a house with rabbits, or a contraption of metal and rubber.

I’m not trying to infuse this simple endeavor with any of the weight that Lenny and George carried, but I think often of these two, doomed to a certain fate, and I recognize this difficultly.

My best laid plans do often go awry, too often. But I invite you to follow me on this simple venture, to cut just a small slice of the great American dream.