Cesar Gracie skiing story...

Cash Bill 52

Cash Bill 52

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So there we were in Big Bear, California. A whole crew of jiu jitsu guys ready to have a day of skiing. It was circa 1991 and we had driven for hours from Torrance, California up to Big Bear's ski resorts. Royce had already been in the states for a few years and was a regular on the slopes. Myself and Rigan Machado had arrived from Rio in early 1990 followed shortly by Rickson and lastly Ralph, who was a very new arrival.

Most of us were on a very tight budget as jiu jitsu was not yet a lucrative business. I remember having had to borrow all of my skiing attire and using our household's only vehicle (my '68 Camaro) to lug myself, Rigan and Ralph up the mountain. Needless to say my car was not a snow friendly vehicle.

We met up with Rickson, Royce and the others and readied ourselves for the first skiing excursion of our lives.
Surprisingly it wasn't as difficult as I had expected. We were all in phenomenal shape from constant jiu jitsu training and quickly picked up the sport. Looking back I can see how each of our different approaches to this new sport foretold how our grappling styles and teaching methods would evolve.

Rickson was methodical, deliberate and consistent as if he focused on improving without making mistakes. Already an avid surfer, his balance would not betray him. His style was never flashy but rather constant. My memory can only recall one position he sustained; upright.

Rigan approached the snow with a mix of bewilderment and determination. There laid before him an enigma that he was determined to conquer. Having been one of his closest friends I had seen that look before; it was the same look he had whenever he undertook something new. The end result after relentless practice was of him always mastering the challenge. With every fall he would learn something and steadily improve.

Ah yes, Ralph. Ralph didn't ski the mountain, he attacked it. He was fearless and willed his way to improvement. With the same regard for his body as a kamikaze, he relentlessly went down the slopes. Refusing to believe anyone could be better than him, he willed his own improvement. Anyone else would have left that day on a stretcher, but for Ralph it somehow worked. By the end of the day he was accomplished. Still crude but accomplished.

As for myself, I felt somewhat of an affinity with the snow. As a kid I had played hockey for years and the act of balancing on ice or snow were not that different. Unlike the ice rink I was not afforded a flat surface since I was on a mountain. I was determined to not let Ralph best me. (Our last competition was in a farm in Brazil where we both put our hands into a mound of fire ants to see who would pull their hand out first. After much deliberation and pain we agreed to pull our hands out at the same time.)
I must have fallen 99 times that day but I got back up 100. I'm still getting back up.

We kept skiing as the day wore on and into the night. There were fewer and fewer people but we stayed. Rickson decided to stay and get a ride back with us. It was dark and the resort lights were on and we kept skiing the mountain until the resort closed and we were the only ones left skiing. We must have been there for about 10 hours.

Finally we made our way to the parking lot. I was satisfied at having gotten a good workout but relieved to get out of the cold since my jeans were soaking wet from the snow. We were all smiles as we approached my car until somewhat of a disaster struck....

Continued tomorrow
 
My red camaro contrasted distinctly against the white, snow laden parking lot. I was eager to get in, turn the heater on and thaw out from the cold. However when I reached into my pocket for my keys I was greeted instead with tattered fabric and a gaping hole that had formed while I was on the slopes. In a panic I quickly checked all of my pockets in the vain hope that they had not been put into that failed pocket. My hope was denied.

I turned to the mountain and realized that looking for keys in thousands of tons of snow would be futile and that they were gone forever.

"Guys we have a problem"
"No I don't have another set of keys"
"Let me make some calls"

Many questions were asked of me by my cousins who were not in the least bemused by this turn of events. I was too numb to acknowledge most of them.

In 1991 most people did not have cell phones, (not that it mattered because at the time there was no coverage on that mountain), no credit card apparatuses to use or other modern phone conveniences.
Making calls involved the archaic method of gathering your loose change and depositing it into a phone booth.

Call after call went unanswered. It was well past business hours and the automotive shops were closed. Finally I spoke to a tow truck driver that could give me a tow to his shop....in the morning.

My last hope to get my vehicle started was for me to hotwire it. Although I had successfully done it years earlier, my attempt now only succeeded in burning up a wire and almost frying my entire electrical system. I was very cold and it was affecting my thinking.

That was it. Nothing was gonna happen that night. Accept it and move on. Now what? Even the resort employees had left.

There are several hotels, motels, inns and lodges in Bear Mountain and I called them all. Unfortunately it was the holiday season and every last room was booked. I hung up the phone with the last place listed in the phone book and gathered myself up to relay to the guys the latest bad news.

This time there would be no barrage of questions. As a matter of fact, no one said a word. Their eyes simultaneously conveyed that they had accepted the new reality with all of its implications.
We would be sleeping in the car tonight.

continued later. "The Coldest Night"
 
Looking back, the decision to sleep in the car was a foolish one. Not withstanding the health concerns, the sheer discomfort of it alone would keep me from making that decision again.

A hotel lobby, a hospital waiting room or even a police station would be preferable to an ice box on wheels.
But at that time our point of view was molded from a different culture. Hunkering down and waiting for morning was the only viable option.

Brazilians often look for anecdotal phrases when facing certain situations.
One of the phrases is, "se vira".
The best translation to English that I can think of is "to figure things out and deal with it on your own".
Especially as a man dealing with hardship you were told, "se vira".
So with our pride on the line that is exactly what we were going to do.

As we sat in that broken red refrigerator, we took turns lamenting the cold in our own way. Rigan with his child-like smile would occasionally yell out, "que frio filho da puta". (Son of a bitch it's cold!)
Whatever he complained about he did with laughter and a smile as if to recognize the comedy of our situation. But he was always like that.

I thought back to my times with Rigan in Brazil...

Rigan was a monster on the mat. As the leader of the Machado clan and pride of the original Gracie Barra academy he was considered by many to be second only to Rickson.

His technique, athleticism and flexibility would overwhelm his rivals and when he taught or organized the training, even his older brothers would sit in silence. Rigan was the boss.

Off the mat was a different story. Rigan was one of the funniest and most easy going guys I had ever met. His practical jokes were a constant occurrence in our household.
If Rigan was around there would be laughter and good times.

When it came to training however, there was a seriousness that would come over him. A switch would be flicked and the joking ceased. Training was the most serious thing in his life.

He told me on more than one occasion, "I never know when I'll be tested. I must be ready"

Our first year living in Los Angeles was not a comfortable one. Rigan, Malou, (his girlfriend) and I shared a living room in a 1 bedroom apartment that was occupied by 2 other people.

We often lacked some necessities and struggled to pay the rent and other bills. I would get stressed but Rigan seemed oblivious to it all. If he had a mat and his particular food, then he was all good. His demeanor shone that everything else would work itself out.

Something he once told me back in Brazil stuck with me. While leisurely discussing athletic preparation and what it takes to be a champion, he looked me in the eye and with meaning said;

"Cesar, there are 3 things.
1) proper diet
2) proper exercise
3) proper rest
Just three simple things in life, but who does all three?"

Although extremely simplistic it was profound. Who does all three?

Now I'm in this frozen car on top of a snowy mountain. I'm facing a long night and struggling against hypothermia, when I realize, there is nobody I'd rather be here with.

Continued tomorrow.....enduring the night of my discontent and Ralph
 
It was well after midnight and the talking had ceased. My earlier attempt to hot wire my car had shorted out the radio, rendering it useless.

Rigan and Ralph huddled together in the back seat while Rickson sat in the passenger's side and I in the driver's seat.

My pants and socks were still wet from the snow and I was shivering and unable to sleep. There was a slight breeze entering through my window where the weather stripping was missing adding to my misery. (Man I wished I would have gotten that fixed earlier).

Now like two soulless dogs in our midst, there was only cold and silence.

I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Ralph, his head buried in his jacket.
My thoughts took me back to Brazil...

In the 80's our school was something to behold. There in the Rio de Janeiro enclave of Barra da Tijuca we trained and represented the original Gracie Barra Academy.

It was nothing like the clean, family friendly chain schools that carry the same namesake today. The original had unwashed canvas mats and a raw look and feel to it.
It was the rarest of things to have a washing machine back then so kimonos were hung dry in the sun to dry and get the smell out. (This method had its limitations and some people were torturous to train with).

After training, we lined up to shower in a crudely constructed stall at the back of the gym under ice cold water pouring out of a metal pipe.

It was a a simple ritual:
Be at the gym at 9AM, train for two hours, eat and go to the beach.
Go back to the gym at 7PM, train for 3 hours. Go home to eat and then meet up at night.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Competitions brought on the most intense of practices to prepare us for our arch rivals; the Carlson Gracie team.

Legendary training sessions took place in the sweltering heat of the summer nights. Those of us who partook will never forget. And though there were few women amongst our crew, the ones that could hack it were tough as nails and respected training partners.

One of our favorite spots was a club named Mistura Fina. That's where we would usually go to hang out and meet the beautiful women of Brazil.

My first time there, my friend Soneca turned to me and said "we have to find the right spot to jump over the fence and sneak in". Upon finding out that it cost only a few measly cruzeiros to enter I asked why we didn't just pay? He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "that's not how we do it here".

Fighting was invariably part of the culture and where there was fighting there was Ralph.

Although of small stature Ralph was not the guy to start a fight with. Many a club goer chose a confrontation with him to impress a girl or his friends with. This was a mistake.

Ralph's reputation grew as he never backed down from a challenge. He wasn't a bully but if you messed with him it was showtime.

Competing or fighting was similar to him; a challenge to be won. Even training was a test of him against you and there were no 'friendly rolls'.
It all mattered and if you were to beat him he would come at you daily and harder until he broke you down and beat you.

One time we overheard of a guy at the beach who was kicking everyone's ass and making life miserable for people. Ralph immediately took up the challenge to confront the guy. Upon arriving at the beach he found out the guy being spoken of was him!

Now fate had reunited us. This time in Los Angeles. Out of all the words in the English lexicon he could have learned, he chose the term 'mutha fucka' to best express himself in any situation. (This holds true today)

Ralph became my main training partner and this meant that we would train nightly together, sometimes for hours.
Iron sharpens iron and I wouldn't be who I am without that type of experience and adversary but I can truly say, it was the best of times, It was the worst of times.

Now if we can only make it past this cold, cold night..

Continued soon....
 
That's all Cesar has written so far. I'll update as soon as he does.
 
Great story! Really laughed when Ralph found out who the guy making people miserable was. Looking forward to the rest.
 
Cash Bill 52 said:
One time we overheard of a guy at the beach who was kicking everyone's ass and making life miserable for people. Ralph immediately took up the challenge to confront the guy. Upon arriving at the beach he found out the guy being spoken of was him!
Click to expand...
That is some funny shit. Good lord.
 
Cesar should write a book. He is a really important part of BJJ history here in the US. He doesn't get enough credit for how progressive he was. Cesar was one of the first pure BJJ guys that embraced cross training and No Gi. Things are so different now but I remember back in the day taking off the Gi was considered sacrilegious. Chris Brennan got attacked every day on forums for not wearing a Gi. The only traditional BJJ guy that embraced no Gi was Cesar. Personally I believe that because he was raised in the US he didn't wasn't as tied to tradition as the other BJJ BBs at the time. If guys like GIl Castillo, Dave Terrell,and Jake Shields walked into any other school at the time, they would not have had the same success IMO. They would have been made to wear a gi and their wrestling would be discouraged in favor of doing pure BJJ. Cesar embraced their strengths and tailored their BJJ around their strengths. He also gave his fighters autonomy to develop things on their own.He encouraged guys to do leglocks and brought in a Sambo guy.Encouraged guys to do standup. This was at a time when the general mentality was "style vs style" and BJJ guys saw other styles as competing with BJJ rather than embracing other styles to be a better overall fighter.This is why all of his fighters have drastically different styles.
 
Very entertaining story in of itself, even moreso relating the characters to their reputations and footage of their competitions, as I don't know any of them personally. Thanks for sharing, especially in light of the slow death of this forum.
 
"Soneca"
Carlos Machado or Helio Moreira?

Fun story from back in the day.
 
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