There’s always something on the rack in The Bengkel…
It’s a distinct smell of gasoline and sweat flowing out from the hand carved entrance, which beckons you back. Like sirens beckoning sailors to the shores rocks. You get the feeling, “are we in the right spot?”
At first glance in, you ask your self, “ Is this cool to be in here?” Then, you lock eyes with one of the fabricators who is hiding behind wielding goggles, he flashes a grin your direction, quite possibly with a smoke dangling from his lips, you then know…
There are no closed doors at Deus. You are in the right spot…
Sparks dance like Firefly’s at dusk. Metal joins metal as the man with the goggles brings life from scrap. You join a group of on lookers huddling around a custom build like it was a cockfight. You stare to long as a tank gets welded, it burns your eyes, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but yet you do.
You picture, if only for a second what kind of bike you would design for yourself. There’s an up roar of excitement, as a bike fires for the fist time, taking its first breath, like a newborn… The proud father winds the throttle back, and a speedball of emotions surges though all that are around to witness this new born. You turn and slowly walk out wondering what could be behind the next open door. The man in the goggles waves his torch to say “good by” as he says “hello” to the next person, beckoned back, to, “The Bengkel”…
