A Rebirth...

The radio went silent.

The traffic noise faded into complete silence.

When one paid attention, one would notice that there was not the presence of birds or crickets

Had the world ended?

Was this like that scene in 28 days later where that one English dude with a funny hair cut went walking through that English town and no one was around?  (before all that zombie stuff happened.  Just help me out and stay in the picture I'm paining.)

No.

The world continued.  Other than a moment on Sports Center when Chris Bergman announced the embarrassing "DNF" of the legendary Johnny del Fuego in the Pine Ridge Enduro, the world quickly returned to normal.  People went to work the next day.  Perhaps by chance they would mention the race at the water cooler to an uninterested coworker then blissfully sit at their desk and continue the never ending tasks.  Never to finish, but never to stop. Never really succeeding, but never really failing.  Then go home to their families, their other lives, things that are more important to them.  Or less.  No matter.  Another racer would enter their water cooler conversation.  Their child might ask their parent to buy a different rider's jersey to wear as pajamas, but life continued generally as normal.

Not for Johnny del Fuego.  The silence that came over del Fuego was ____.  To say words to describe it is in adequate.  Because words have volume, so it was just: _______________.  His mind was not quite so silent.  In fact it raced like del Fuego only knows how.  Would he race again?  Were the race officials right when they said that he was so slow getting to the check points that the scoring system had no way to even calculate his place?  Some what of an undefined number where x is not zero and Johnny del Fuego's  score was x/0 but in a bad way?  A score that is asymptotic in a Cartesian coordinate system where Y approaches infinity and X approaches zero?  Like a rectilinear hyperbola, but not the curve that's in the first quadrant, like Johnny thinks he is, but the 3rd quadrant with all the negative stuff?

Such thoughts shake del Fuego to his core.  This would be a good time for Johnny to spend with his friends and even his family to examine him purpose.  His goals.  What is important to the del Fuego.  This even has some risks.  Would they encourage him to descend into the path of mediocrity that they had taken?  Would it be an endless series of back slaps and "That's a tough deal, man. Let's get wasted" 's?  What would they know about trying to maintain the greatness that is del Fuego, only to have it ripped from them by technicalities, uncalibrated watches, and scoring systems that have 3rd quadrant asymptotes?  ASYMPTOTES!

While these thoughts were going through Johnny's mind, he found himself guided by an unseen hand to the airport.  On to a plane that's destination was unknown to Johnny (this is no time for thinking about such ephemeral things as destinations.  The ticketing lady was probably pretty pissed, but someone as handsome as del Fuego is not to be refused).  The plane took him to his quiet spot, the place that anyone should go when contemplating their place in the universe.  That place... is... Ibiza.  To his vacation home in Ibiza.  He goes there every winter anyways so it was very convenient that it coincided with a spiritual journey.

Six months of monastic living.  Training in the ancient ways of pure, Balearic island living cleared his mind and allowed Johnny to distill the essence of his purpose.  He would start the morning with a macchiato on the beach, just to wake and recover from his intense training of the previous day.  This would be followed by a massage in his cliff side villa that over looks the beach.  When del Fuego decided that the massage would no long have anymore benefit if continued, the daily cleansing would commence. His house staff would clean the residue of the previous day's training off his naked body, on the limestone paved deck of the villa, and let the warm Mediterranean breeze dry him on his le Corbusier chaise lounge.  At noon he would have a simple breakfast of tortilla bocadillo or if the previous day's training was particularly hard, a plate of eggs Benedict with extra hollandaise and capers.  After this heroic exertion, a 1 hour nap was taken to repair any damage that might have occurred to the Swiss watch-machine that is the del Fuego.  At three in the afternoon, Johnny would retire to the villa's private theater to watch Bad Boys II or any other Michael Bay movies to "deepen his mind."  All in the name of finding purpose in life.

You may be asking yourself, at this point, why would anyone go through such punishment.  Such harsh punishment of their body and mind.  This behavior, voluntarily, is incomprehensible to a rational person.  But we have to remind ourselves that other people, ones that are made of different stuff than you and I, exist.  Exist for reasons that we can't comprehend.  The few that live on a different plane of existence than you and I, live for a cause (I won't say a higher cause, though it may seem that way to us), a cause that was chosen for them by their ability.  By one or more simple attributes inherited by pure chance. By planets aligning with the location of their parents on the day of their conception, and a good bit of luck and elbow grease.

Still, the training would continue on this typical day.  As the sun set over the Mediterranean, Johnny would continue his brutal regiment.  A salver of paella and a grab bag of tapas would serve before the coup de grâce of his training for this typical-not-so-typical-holy-fucking-shit-training-for-Olympians day.  Yes, when you thought that one could not endure more, the del Fuego would crank an all night rave at Pacha with DJ Tiësto.  Tiësto would always play Johnny's favorite, "Adagio for Strings" by Samuel Barber, out of respect for his greatness.

At last, the training for this typical day would end.  Fuegito would wake up the next day, in the arms and legs of several models that that he met at Club Pacha (who were letting some steam off from a hard day of shooting a spread for Women's Immaculate, just like Johnny was relaxing from a hard day of physical conditioning), kick them out of his villa, and repeat the process again.  Every day he was getting stronger mentally and physically.  The more Johnny trained like this, the more his confidence returned.  And closer he came to understanding el lugar del Fuegote in life...almost.

Then, came a phone call.

The Pine Ridge Enduro

51B - Johnny del Fuego.  Itching to Go!

Team Johnny del Fuego packed up the pit vehicle and headed to Chadron, Nebraska for an “Enduro” race.  The Pine Ridge Enduro has been going on for years in Nebrasaka and it gets a good turnout of die-hard enduro enthusiasts.  The Manager/Mechanic, del Fuego’s barista, and the team videographer were in the cab, and del Fuego was in his “quarters” in the back.  Del Fuego’s personal burrito chef suffered a mechanical failure to his LC4 Adventure motorbike in route to meet the team, so the Barista would have to double as the cook.  The weather was cold, and when it wasn’t blowing gale forced winds, it was lightly snowing.  A small amount of precipitation would actually increase the traction, so the snow was welcome.  The wind was difficult though, blowing the truck from lane to lane and occasionally on to the shoulder.

del Fuego's barista behind the pit vehicle

The team arrived at the Nebraska National Forest at midnight and set up the tents.  After drinking a beer, they retired to the tents exhausted from the drive.  Morning was bitter cold and dry.

The mechanic changed the battery, and removed the center stand and sidestand on del Fuego’s bike in a last ditch effort to lighten the race bike.  Del Fuego and the mechanic left for a recon ride east of the campground.  The terrain seamed to be just what JdF wanted, but they still weren’t sure of what the course would be like.  It was mostly rolling hills in the forest, with rutted dirt roads.  The bike was running well and JdF felt like he had loosened his joints from the previous week where he hadn’t ridden, so 50 miles of riding seemed like enough.  They headed back to break camp and then to the fair grounds to check in for the race.

The Mechanic explains what he wants del Fuego

to accomplish during the warm-up ride

During check in, the mechanic started vomiting.  The sickness had the symptoms of a case of food poisoning, probably due to the barista not washing his hands after his morning constitutional and before preparing that morning’s breakfast burritos.  It was decide that they would check into a hotel rather than camping at the starting line of the race, so the mechanic could have a toilet to vomit in all night.  The loss of a team member had a domino effect to the rest of the team.  The chef also happened to be the most experienced desert racer on the team so his presence would be missed, and now the team might not have a mechanic, leaving all the support duties to the videographer.  The barista had to check in JdF, which turned out to be a daunting task outside of the barista’s skill set.  He couldn’t remember the team’s address, had to ask all the questions to find out everything JdF might want to know about the race, and find all the information that the team needed to know in order to support JdF.  Where was JdF during this process?  He was in the back of the truck.  JdF doesn’t like to see people before the race, or during the race for that matter but he is willing to put up with a little human contact for the sake of racing or making his sponsors happy.

Lots o' Gas.  Will JdF be able to find his can?

The team ate the spaghetti dinner prepared by the Lion’s Club of Chadron, which was actually really good; the best meal they had had all trip, especially since the chef wasn’t there to prepare JdF’s traditional paella.  At the hotel, final preparations were made.  Hydration packs were filled and del Fuego was put on IV.  Del Fuego watched The Muppets Take Manhattan, something he does the night before every race to get psyched up.  Del Fuego would also trade with anyone with a jacuzzi.

Because of the increased duties taken on by the barista, he only had time to make coffee for del Fuego, so the remaining members of the team had to get coffee at the race.  The Lion’s club, once again, didn’t disappoint with the pancakes and eggs provided at the venue.  Del Fuego had his traditional dozen egg yolks for breakfast.  The mechanic was feeling slightly better and was able to put in a clean air filter for JdF; a “race day change” that the mechanic didn’t agree with because del Fuego was always fastest with an air filter that is completely covered in sand and beer.  The tires were inflated to 20 psi, a pressure good for the tempo he rode, and JdF went out for a warm up ride on the fair grounds during which he wrecked only a couple of times.  Because it was cold, JdF wore his cold weather gear and paid no attention to the fact that he rode a bike twice the size of all the other competitors. 

Finishing touches on the race bike

The race was a time keeping enduro, which is becoming a lost art:  most enduros are now “restart” enduros, which are a lot like a hare scramble.  A conversation with some other experienced racers informed JdF of the chance that a time check could be close to the start, making it quite easy to “burn a check” or come into the check early which would give the rider a hefty penalty.  This afforded del Fuego the chance to get his legs under him during the first part, but also annoyed him because it was the only part of the race where he could actually go as fast as he wanted.  There didn’t happen to be a check after the easy section and then the course went in to a wooded single track that wasn’t the best for JdF’s giant bike.  Despite suffering from irrecoverable forearm pump and many wrecks, one into a barbed wire fence, he found himself all alone and as far as he could tell, he was winning the race.  At one point JdF stopped at the top of a steep drop off, to mentally negotiate how he would maneuver “El Negro Gordo” (his racing machine) down the drop.  He put his right foot down after stopping and felt nothing but free air.  The bike started to tip and went down.  Del Fuego and his machine went sliding down the drop and came to a stop, the bike turned 180 degrees from its intended direction.  He couldn’t turn it around by himself because the ground on the right side of the trail dropped steeply and on the left side was a sheer wall.  A good Samaritan happened along and helped JdF turn his bike around, saving his chance to win the race.

At each check station, panting vigorously, JdF asked how big his lead was over the rider behind him.  The check station people just laughed in reply, and del Fuego understood why: there would be no way for them to know because the other riders hadn’t gotten to the check yet.  This made JdF laugh and think about how great the volunteers at the race were.

At the first gas stop (the only one for del Fuego because he was in the “Sportsman C” class, the class reserved for only the fastest competitors) JdF found that his crew wasn’t there.  This, as far as he could reason, was because at the speed he was going there was no way they could get there in time to meet him.  This was unfortunate because they had his replacement hydration system and he had run out of water well before the arriving at the gas stop.  No matter, del Fuego filled his gas tank and headed out for the last half of the race.

Still waiting for JDF at the gas stop...  Did we get here too late?

A common problem for racers when they are all alone, presumably having left the rest of the field miles behind them, is getting lost.  JdF took a left turn on the course and after not seeing any course markers for a while, decided that he had taken a wrong turn.  He went back to the turn, went the other way, and still didn’t see any course markers.  Luckily he had the route sheet in his pocket and determined that he had been going the right way originally.  He booked it back to the course and still didn’t see anyone, indicating that his lead was greater than he imagined.  After the long section of straight roads the course plunged into wooded gullies that plagued him during the first half of the race.  The course would wind through a gully, jump over a ridge into the next gully, then wind the opposite direction.  It did this three or four times.  At just under 70 miles, the course ended for the C class.  Del Fuego had finished.  He headed back to the starting line and turned in his scorecard.  There were many competitors already at the scoring table, probably racers that DNF’ed and were able to get back to the starting line before del Fuego.  He handed in his score-card, ragged from the numerous wrecks into barbed wire fences, and waited for the woman at the scoring table to enter in his times.  After the times were entered, the woman wrote “DNF” on the card.  This perplexed del Fuego.  He had finished the race, and as far as he could tell, he had won the race.  A short, civil conversation ensued and it was decided that the scoring laptop had broken, probably because it couldn’t compute the extremely fast times that del Fuego had done the race in.  JdF would check in later to see if the problem had been resolved.

The team drank a beer, JdF got out of his racing gear, and the team ate a tasty Lion’s Club burger (they had run out of cheese).  When they checked back in to the scoring table it was found that JdF had “houred out” which means that he arrived late to every check, and the time that he was late to each check added up to an hour, thus “houring him out.”  This didn’t bother del Fuego.  He blamed the “adding machine” as he called it, and calmly did his post race stretches with confidence that he had won the race despite what the official results were.  He had come to Nebraska to race, and that’s what he had done.

Can I Get Your Digits?

Motorbike racers need numbers. That's how they tell you all apart with the helmets on. Johnny doesn't believe in giving the man all his hard earned money. So, what does Johnny do... He makes his own numbers. He spends a lot of time making numbers. He anguishes over the sweetest looking fonts. He compares hundreds of fonts for that particular one that will make all of the racers know just how fast he is. That is what Johnny del Fuego does. After hours of handcrafting his own custom numbers there is only one thing left to find out, will Johnny's numbers survive the rough conditions of the race? I guess we'll see.

Prepping the Bike

Sunday was spent doing maintainence to the race bike. Jfd's dad threw in a helping hand, drawing from his experience of racing rallys in an austin healy sprite in the late 60's early 70's.


Threw on a new d607 in record time (110 minutes) while dad changed the oil 2 or three times ("why is this bolt in the drain pan? Oh, crap).

Oiled the chain with the kind of ease that only a racer of jfd's caliber posseses. Then they changed the fork oil...quickly because mom wanted them to watch a movie with her.

With frequent calls to the mechanic, who was tending to his wife at home, the fork oil was changed by the next day, and just might stay in the forks during the race. They neglected to tighten a bolt that holds down the damping device before filling the fork, so it probably isn't going to get tightened til the next time the fork oil is changed. Racing is all about risks, and this is a risk jfd is willing to take.

By the time the coolant was changed, there was enough fluids spilled on the garage floor to service another LC4. So with a dust pan and a squeegee, we were able to get those fluids into the bike of a lesser rider in the stable. Nothing is wasted.

Stripped off the extra "desert racing weight" and suddenly jfd has a lean enduro machine that probably weighs under 400 lbs. Now only to figure out where he'll put his tools and spare parts...

Endurance Training

Part of any athlete's endurance training is staying out too late listening to loud music and drinking. JDF went to one of his favorite clubs in the springs on Saturday night for a little booze and music. Saw Chuck Ragan who is as loud and brash as ever, but the real performance of the evening was from Possessed by Paul James. This boy can play a banjo, a fiddle, a geetar, anything you throw at him. And he can play it with a passion and fury that lights the fire inside JDF. Those boys didn't finish their sets until they had nothing left in 'em, just like JDF likes it. Any show that ends before 1 AM isn't really entertainment, now is it? A couple hours of sleeping it off and JDF is back at the grind training for it. A few more of those and JDF is ready for any desert race that is thrown at him.

Training for Pine Ridge Enduro

Jfd is so bad ass that he only needs to train once every three weeks.
An epic training session was had saturday that included an 80 mile ride in rampart range. About ten of those mile were highly technical jeep trails rated "moderate" in the guide book. But when the trail is ridden at the speed jfd rides, they become extremely dangerous and inconvienient. The gps unit said the average speed was 12 mph, so it's obviously broken and needs to be fixed.

Conditioning for this enduro might be an issue. Jfd gets tired after
20 miles. And not technical miles. Making turns is also an
extremely slow process. But it was probably due to the slippery conditions.

JDF wasn't the only one that was tired. The helmet cam decided to give up after a bit and this was the best it could do.

Pine Ridge Enduro Sign-up

Johnny feels at home in the desert, but is a bit nervous about the prospects of doing a hard enduro in tough wooded terrain. After a reassuring conversation with the race organizers, Johnny decided it is a go for the upcoming Pine Ridge Enduro in Chadron, NE and attempted to send in his entry form. This act turned out to be possibly as difficult as competing in the race. Johnny will be prepping for the race in the next two weeks both mentally and physically.




View Larger Map