Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1990's

·ADVENTURE Enduro Internacional da Independencia had been a solid sixth-overall placing on Day One, he was near the bottom of the results page that evening. Our odometer sensors were replaced that night, and both worked flawlessly for the rest of the event. Well, almost; mine gave up the ghost less than a kilometer from the final check of the last day! hough our dreams of respectable finishes were by now just that dreams - Steve and I found it difficult to be disappointed. After all, the Ell is more of a traveling party than a motorcycle competition, and now we could concentrate on the important part - having fun! And with Cristiano and his group of friends, having fun was easily accomplished. Social life is extremely important to Brazilians, and our sizable crew spent its evenings laughing and joking over twohour-long feasts in tumultuous restaurants. Afterwards, we would all collect in a hotel room and tape the numerous strips of our roll charts together while laughing at Jerry Bemardo on MotoWorld 2 (honest!). The information Mark gave me claimed that over 13 million telephones are in use in BraziL I think that "data must be a bit dated, because I saw at least that many being used in just my weeklong visit. Everyone in our crowd had a cellular phone, from an eye doctor to a motorcycle mechanic, and they were all chattering away on them almost nonstop. At one point, I looked up from a meal to see four people on the opposite side of my table involved in telephone conversations. I wondered if they were talking to each other. The zaniest member of our group was undoubtedly "Mad Man" Cassius Vieira Nunes, a huge, bald guy who can make a Suzuki DR350 go much faster than its designers ever intended. Among his T (Above) Not your typical American finish line: Steve Hatch at Day One's completion In beautiful Petropolls, and (Inset, at right) taking some navigation pointers from event promoter Cristiano de Mello paz. (Left) Blackwater's 1-93 "Mud Fleas" are apparently of Brazilian descent. Actually, most of the course was fairly dry, and the need for dismounting was rare. (Below) A competitor makes his way through a small village. The enthusiasm of the local townspeople make one feel like a hero. favorite pastimes are parading around hotel hallways completely naked, and waking up entire towns at 5 a.m. by sticking his head out the window and crowing like a rooster. But while he's both fast and crazy, Cassius is also quite. smart, and he gave me several pointers that proved useful during the race. In one transfer section, the roadbook had a mistake, and panicked riders were wandering around the streets of a small town in every direction. Not Cassius. He simply advanced his rolJchart until he found a diagram that looked like a traffic circle, and after locating a local and asking him the way there, Cassius found the roundabout, reset his odometer and proceeded down the correct route - with everyone else tagging along behind. Though not every rider in our group of friends was as talented, all were extremely "good people." The KTM I was riding was the property of Fernando "Tweety Bird" Loyol~, the owner of Workshop Racing. I never mentioned it to him, but I couldn't figure why he would let me thrash a perfectly good motorcycle, when I could do absolutely nothing for him in return. I hoped he hadn't been of the impression that I was a big shot here in the States. Fortunately, the same bike had been ridden by Italian ace Luca Trussardi at the international race, and his fifth-overall finish had gained Tweety's shop some exposure. If the company we kept wasn't enough to make us happy, the scenery pretty much finished the job. It was nearly enough to make me not mind being lost. There wasn't as much jungle riding as I had hoped, since most of that terrain is in a different part of the country, but I saw some beautiful sights nonetheless. I suppose the wilderness vistas were imp~sive, but my personal favorites were the little villages. Cheering townspeople lined the streets while school children waved Brazilian flags and flew colorful kites, making one feel like a bit of a hero. Some cities actually blared the names of passing riders through P.A. systems, and shot fireworks off over our heads, which was both flattering and extremely distracting. It was tempting to pull wheelies and catch air over speed bumps, but doing so could cause you to miss a turn in the roadbook. Of course that didn't stop Steve, who even threw in a few nosewheelies for good measure. The cities chosen for our overnight stops were all beautifu1 and packed with history. Day One ended in front of an ancient church in Petropolis, a 3000-foot mountain resort that was once the residence of the royal family; the next night was spent in picturesque Juiz de Fora. But the best finish of all was Day Three's in Ouro Preto, an ancient city that was once the rich.est mining town in Brazil (its name means "black gold" in Portugese). The town is a national monument, and though I'd been valiantly combatting the early starts by hitting the sack at a decent hour, I gave up in Ouro Preto and stayed out late, walking the narrow, cobblestone streets and checking out the cool architecture. I finished the night off in the central plaza, kicking

• Cover