Hand painted by us back in 2017, this vintage leather jacket is now being offered for sale online for the first time ever. Sized large and still smelling of cow hide, stale cigarettes and the must of unknown decades, it's a one-of-a-kind piece that, quite frankly, we're selling for far less than we should be.
It all started back when Jeff, our owner, went to go buy a nasty, rusted out CB750 roller off Kijiji. It was mid-winter, cold and grey. And because Jeff, our owner, doesn't own a pick up truck (and is too much of an asshole to have enough friends that he could borrow one) he had to go pick up the roller in his sub-compact SUV. If you're picturing a classic newb moment, you're bang on.
After a brief stop at Tim Hortons (again, this was before Steeltown Garage Co. was even a thing) for a facility break and an oversized cup of sugary swamp water with a fancy roll up rim, Jeff, our owner, arrived at the address he had been told to plug into Google Maps. It was a boring townhouse in the middle of a boring suburb. Maybe Milton. Or Georgetown. Or Bolton. It doesn't matter. What matters is that, in the middle of a cold grey winter as we have already established, it felt like a suburban post-apocalypse film, made for TV. Scratch that. Made for the web.
The garage door lumbered up to reveal a packed little cubby of random paraphernalia. Dust covered trash to-be. The sum parts of a life half-lived in the suburban post-apocalypse. Jake, the seller (let's call him Jake) pointed to a mass of metal pipes, cracked cables, flat tires and pitted chrome within the assortment of musty, post-modern artifacts. "That's it," he said.
Jeff, our owner, really didn't need this stupid rolling chassis. But he had driven all this way. He had drank the shitty coffee from Tim Hortons. He had Google Mapped. And so, like many a useless Kijiji purchase has transpired in the past, he felt committed to the thing now. He had to take it, dammit. He must rescue this trash.
Jake, the seller, had a brief look around for a pickup truck. Or a trailer. Before realizing that Jeff's plan was to shove the thing in the back of the sub-compact SUV. "Fuckin Kijiji people," he must have thought to himself. But whatever, he wanted it gone and Jeff, our owner, was already in his driveway.
After some futile attempts at getting the old engineless motorcycle into the trunk (yes, of course the seats were folded down) it was decided that the triple tree clamp must be loosened, the handlebars must be removed, the show must go on. By the by, the thing made it awkwardly into the trunk, laying sideways, contorted, degraded and probably deeply ashamed of the position it found itself in currently. A former race bike, a magazine cover model, the bike that killed the British motorcycle empire, the first true Universal Japanese Motorcycle, the object of desire of every #BuiltNotBought garage builder with a shitty Home Depot angle grinder, there laying like a near-dead corpse in the back of a family SUV with the seats folded down.
But there was another problem. The front wheel of the old beast was resting heavy on the shitty plastic bumper of the SUV, threatening to crack it like peanut brittle. Did we mention that it was a lease? Jake, the seller, obviously being racked with pity for Jeff, our owner, and his leased SUV, went rummaging through his single car garage searching for a blanket or piece of fabric that could be a buffer to protect the plastic bumper of the shitty leased SUV.
Out he came, emerging from the rubbish through a cloud of garage dust, like a phoenix from the flames, holding this very jacket. "This will work," he said proudly, obviously just wanting to be done with the deal so he could get on with his bloody Saturday.
The leather jacket was passed off to Jeff, our owner, who examined it haphazardly by feeling the weight of it using one hand, up and down in the cold winter air. It had seemed like the most professional way to examine the thing, at the time. He offered Jake an extra few bucks for the jacket, which was obviously worth more than the stupid 40 year old motorcycle frame and wheels laying pathetically in the trunk, still. "Just take the fucking jacket and get the hell outta here," Jake said, in different words.
The jacket was the perfect buffer to protect the plastic bumper. In fact Jeff, our owner, began to worry about damaging the leather now. After all, it was worth more than the bike. But it was quality, old leather. It was invincible. Never to be beaten or destroyed.
The bike, the SUV and the leather jacket all made it home. The bike is long gone now. Jeff, our owner, actually has no idea where it went or to whom it was sold, or given. See? He really didn't need it. The SUV is on the last few days of its lease. Jeff is still procrastinating booking the lease return assessment appointment, for obvious reasons. And the jacket? Well, here it is. Cleaned up, polished, oiled and hand-painted with the now-iconic Free Spirits Never Die Steeltown Skull.
Buy it. Be yet another milestone in the life of the immortal artifact unearthed from the depths of the suburban garage during a useless Kijiji deal gone wrong.
Year: who the hell knows
Smell: still unknown