BEST OF JODYS BOX: “HOW DO YOU SPELL JUAN MANUEL FANGIO ANYWAY?”

By Jody Weisel

“You can’t win on that thing,” said Crazy Dave. “It’s a roach.”

“Shut up,” I snapped as I unloaded my old Husaberg FX450 from the back of the Jodymobile. Yes, it had a blown fork seal (however, even when it was new it had blown fork seals). No, I hadn’t started it in over 12 years. Yes, the engine was the infamous upside down Jens Elmwall design. No, I hadn’t given it any thought since I put the “For Sale” sign on it 9 years ago (it still had the dusty sign on the front number plate). Yes, I had vowed to never ride this unbelievably heavy chunk of Swedish/Austrian legerdemain ever again (and that was when it was shiny). But, the part I needed to fix my KTM 350SXF had been back ordered. If I wanted to race, and I did, I had no choice but to unload what Crazy Dave kept calling “a garbage scow on wheels.”

“You are gonna get smoked!” said Stumpy Phalange as he walked past my pit after sign-up and then he added with a laugh, “even by me!”

“The vintage race was last week,“ yelled Jimmy Mac from across the pits.

“Goodwill picks up stuff down at the Safeway,” said Monte Floyd, while his brother Jimmy squeezed my flat tires and giggled.

I had made the decision to break the 2010 ‘Berg out of its dusty entombment at six that the morning. By working straight through practice and the rider’s meeting I was able to get everything sorted out. I couldn’t do much about the cracked rear fender or death rattle coming from a suspect rocker arm, but with some safety wire, duct tape and elbow grease I got the old warhorse up to snuff.

“YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT MOTOCROSS IS 90 PERCENT RIDER AND 10 PERCENT MACHINE. I FIGURED THAT IF I RODE AT 110 PERCENT I COULD MAKE UP FOR WHAT THE BIKE LACKED.”

You know as well as I do that motocross is 90 percent rider and 10 percent machine. I figured that if I rode at 110 percent I could make up for what the bike lacked. It made me angry when the race promoter came over and jokingly handed me a yellow flag and said, “Carry this with you during your race to save us the trouble.” Right then and there I vowed to win the race. I was going to embarrass everybody who made fun of my Swedish thumper (even if I was guilty of the same thing over the last decade).

Since I was in race one, an unusually large crowd lined the fences to see the race. Crazy Dave sent his girlfriend down to shoot photos and the local cycle paper guy walked up to me on the starting line and asked, “Did you lose a bet? I lost a bet once and had to shave my head. What were you betting on?” I tried to tell the newspaper guy that great racers can overcome inferior equipment and that, in fact, some the greatest racers of all time, John Desoto, Stirling Moss, Tony D, Michael Schumacher and Jaroslav Falta, had ridden with enough heart and desire to overcome the shortcomings of their equipment. “So, I’ll probably be interviewing you after the race. How do you spell Juan Manuel Fangio anyway?”

“Let them laugh,” I said to myself. “I’ll show them!”

It’s wrong for me to sing my own praises, but my race was a thing of the ages. The rusty, but trusty, Husaberg had never handled as well (more like the Sunset Limited than the Pacific Flyer). The engine had never had as much snap (or crackle and pop for that matter). I pushed the blue and yellow machine beyond its limits and brought it back from the brink over and over again. Down the front straight, I could see spectators pointing in amazement as the big ‘Berg belched fire out the exhaust pipe (and a little out of a loose head pipe too).

I was on a mission, not just to win the moto and make Crazy Dave, Jimmy Mac, Stumpy Phalange and the Floyd brothers eat crow, but to save face for every rider who can’t afford the latest, greatest andnewest.

From the drop of the gate, I was in the zone. Things that I used to struggle on the Husaberg when it was new came easily to me (it even started on the first press of the button—although I had to borrow a battery to get it to turn over). Human dignity is often confused with material success. The rich, famous and successful stay on top because of the benefits accrued with opulence. I was shaking the old idioms to their foundation and my efforts were on display. It was a great day to be alive.

As I stood in the pits after the race was over, a tear came to my eye. The Mac, Dave, Stumpy and Floyds avoided my gaze. I had embarassed them. And it turns out that I had embarrassed everyone else at the track too. Although the promoter did come over and say, “Thanks for waving the yellow flag every time you fell down. It was a big help.”

 

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