Two cancers. Seven years of jungle medicine. Five decades of daring death to catch me. Still here. Still riding.
Stickers, story, and cast-metal gratitude from a 2X survivor who finally figured out what the throttle was for.
Die-cut, laminated, outdoor vinyl. Built for tanks, toolboxes, helmets, and coolers — not laptops that never leave the house. (Those work too.)
The wordless ribbon, round instead of cut to the shape. Goes where a silhouette gets fussy — a helmet, a bottle, the lid of a hard case.
I spent fifty years riding to die.
Now I ride to live.
This isn't a wellness brand. It's what's left after dirt bikes, VFX death sprints, ayahuasca in the Costa Rican dark, yagé nights with the Inga in Colombia, a prostate gone in 2023, and a radiation mask bolted over my face in 2024. The shaka is how my people say I see you. The ribbon is for everyone in it — the ones who've been through it, and the ones who witnessed it. Put them together and you get the whole story. And if you count the rays in the burst, one is missing. It stays missing — for the ones we lost.
VFX artist in a past life. Metal caster, writer, and 2X cancer survivor in this one. I make stickers and bronze medallions for the people who show up — and I'm probably the guy handing you one in a dealership parking lot.
Cancer found me twice. Both times it took something — and both times it left something behind that fifty years of throttle never gave me. What that was is a longer story, and I'm writing it. Sign up below if you want it when it's ready.