"Here from a kings mountain view,
Here from a wild dream come true,
Feast like a sultan, I do,
On treasures and flesh, never few.
But I
I would
Wish it...all away
If I
Thought I’d
Lose you just one day."
On June 24th,
Maynard James Keenan's lyrics held the open air like a clinched fist in the convertible
BMW Mario and I were driving. The
Tool frontman was singing the song "
Jambi," which Mario and I both loved. Just the two of us, headed southbound on the
PCH with the top down on our way from Huntington Beach to Laguna Beach. Moments earlier we had left
Fred's Mexican Cafe, which was the final establishment Mario enjoyed before taking his last ride, June 29th, 2008. I recall him saying,
fuckin' a man, I'm coming back here this Sunday for sure. This is going to be my new place.I didn't doubt it. Nevermind that it was a good 40 minutes away from where he was living. There was a common theme at Fred's; not a single girl was unattractive. The atmosphere was laid back, the drinks were a'plenty, and the flatscreens were numerous. It was right on main street Huntington, located on the second floor of a building across the street from the beach. There was great view, times two.
Delicious, as Mario would say. There happened to be one girl working in particular who was incredibly attractive. She was a tall, gorgeous brunette. Mario and I were always quick to come up with nicknames for people "across the way." Mario said she looked like she could be Greek. I said, "no, she looks Egyptian. Like
Cleopatra."
Cleopatra, nice! (I really only mention this so that everyone knows that for all intensive purposes, Mario was a single man. Don't let the paperwork fool you.)
I snapped back to the drive and the moment while my memory worked to archive the entire day we had just shared. We spent half the day on the beach throwing the frisbee around and talking to one another. Mostly dashing in and out of small clusters of people to save the frisbee from hitting someone, laughing at our own maneuvers, and stopping to dip a toe in the water here and there.
Doing 55 miles per hour down the PCH in the car I was, as usual, hidden behind my sunglasses and hat observing the world the way I always do. Mario was wearing his No Fear tanktop and a pair of cargo shorts. The tanktop, accompanied by his new found love for the female
angel/devil logo on each side that
No Fear produces, was a smash hit in Mario's world. He had purchased 4 of them, all in different colors so he'd never be without one. He was hidden behind his sunglasses as well,
Oakleys no less, with his favorite
Alpinestars hat on forward. His curly little tufts of hair jutted out the sides and the back of his hat. Between the sounds of the world and the air whipping through the open cabin, there was
Maynard - perhaps one of the most piercing voices in all of rock n'roll. I kept my camera on the entire ride practically, snapping off photos every few seconds. Mario and I paused inbetween sights to admire the land and toss our opinions back and forth while the stereo commanded attention from our ears.....
"Shine on forever. Shine on, benevolent sun.
Shine down upon the broken . Shine until the two become one.
Shine on forever. Shine on, benevolent sun.
Shine down upon the severed . Shine until the two become one.
Divided, I’ll wither away. Divided I’ll wither away.
Shine down upon the many. Light our way, benevolent sun."
The time was shortly after 7 PM, and we were minutes outside of Laguna Beach. I had the camera dangling from the passenger side of the car taking pictures of both the ocean and the sun. The sun was picturesque to say the least, having been painted in the sky that evening, suspended inches from the ocean gently lighting our way back. With my enthusiasm for photos of the ocean, air, and sun, Mario stopped off on the outskirts of Laguna and had me walk down to a private beach he had visited a few months prior.
Isn't this sweet man? It's awesome. This is my beach, I claim it.I have to admit, it was peaceful. The area was secluded and quiet, and even though the tide was in there was plenty of room to relax and pursue otium. Super's fun-loving emotions had been pouring out all day, but it was on this beach where they reached their highest point. It was so abundantly clear to me, although I never had the chance to say it, that Mario had found happiness. You didn't need eyes to see it. You could feel it. He was destined to be close to the ocean.
Around midday sometime on July 7th, *bing* - my phone went off. I had a new email message waiting for me. Casually I walked around the room to scoop it up. I clicked the envelope icon at the bottom of the screen with my index finger. New message titled "
Mario Frassetto." Over the course of the next 15 seconds, my heart sank to the bottom of the Pacific. My immediate reaction was complete denial. "No no no no.....no.........."..........my heart and mind raced. I quickly returned the email from Mario's friend Joe, got on the phone and tried to call the Frassetto home in Wisconsin. Busy signal. I called and called......and then I turned my attention to another number, Jeff's. I knew Jeff was working that day and that chances were his cell phone was off or not even with him to begin with. Like a
bounty hunter I called place after place, until I got routed to someone who knew where Jeff was. When he got on the phone, I told him that Mario was gone. His response was much like my own, total disbelief. We were both in shock. Shortly following my phonecall with Jeff I fell apart. I curled up on the carpet with my back against the wall and cried like a baby. I was comforted by a friend and went on to be sick to my stomach for 3 days straight.
Jeff and I had agreed to speak later that night, July 7th, and we made plans as quickly as possible to make our way back to Phoenix where my car was parked so we could get over to California. Jeff was in Wisconsin, I was in the middle of nowhere. On the drive out to California, I tried to keep our minds occupied with good thoughts, so I had Jeff type up a list of all things Mario on my laptop. It's still sitting here. It was just enough distraction to keep us from wanting to lose control of our emotions.
Before I even set foot in California, I had a relative idea of where Mario's life passed from this one to the next. Just two weeks prior he and I had crossed over the exact spot together. I did what I could to contain my emotions, even up to the point where I saw the exact spots the accident occurred. I'll get to that momentarily.
First things first, Jeff and I retrieved Mario's
Stealth Bike from the impound. Legally speaking, Jeff was the titled owner of the bike - which was really good news for us, because we were able to get access to the bike. Inside the building in the room where the bike was stored, 6 other vehicles of fatal accidents were housed also. Every vehicle looked like it had been used at a monster truck rally, and there was one bike that didn't even resemble a bike anymore. The man who gave us access to the bike stood nearby to make sure we didn't take any pictures, as ongoing investigations were in process on the other tragedies in the room. He agreed with Jeff and I, that the bike looked fine. It looked ridable. I had always imagined, not that I imagined, that if Mario was ever going to die on his bike the motorcycle would have to have been obliterated. Not 10 feet from where his bike was parked, lay a pile of scraps from a bike that had been in a head-on collision. There was nothing left to identify it as a bike anymore. The other vehicles in the room were also destroyed heavily, and yet here was Mario's bike. It looked decent. Scratches lined the front of the headlight casing and right fairing, and the right fairing was partially destroyed (maybe the size of half a shoebox lid). There was a dent on the rear leftside fairing behind the seat, and the left footpeg had been bent up 90 degrees from it's normal position. The throttle had snapped at the right handlebar, rendering the bike unridable to anyone.....perhaps the best thing because Mario would have liked it that way. When Jeff and I sold the bike as is, we knew the bike would have to be completely rehauled to be ridden, and as such, the entire thing was going to be parted out.
Back at the impound, Jeff and I made arrangements to get a Uhaul and take the bike to storage. Maybe 30 minutes after we realized where Mario's place of business was, we found ourselves scratching our heads with confusion. Was this a coincidence? Of all the towing companies and impounds in the greater Orange County area, the place where the bike was stored was one block away from where Mario was working. What are the chances!? We laughed because we knew in our hearts that Mario had to have had a part in that. Under California law, any vehicle that can't be started under it's own power must be towed away, but with a little convincing we got the impound to let us push the bike down the block so we could put it in the parking lot of the business building.
One of the things I'll never forget was pushing that bike. Because the right handle bar was broken we had to work a little differently to keep it under control (even at a walking pace). I was on the leftside, the street side of the bike, as Jeff and I pushed it up the road. Each of us was holding the bike from the front, with our hands near the seat, and I operated the brake when we came up and down the sidewalk ramps to cross the street. We were both still so shocked that the bike was in one piece and that Mario was gone. It was just so unreal. Never in a million years would I have predicted that Mario would pass away and that the bike would survive.
But there we were, pushing Mario's bike down the street. We were like pallbearers, in a way, guiding the vessel that carried Mario from this life to the next with our hands. In almost a movie-like tribute, several motorcycles came roaring by. Japanese and Italian. I asked around a couple local places to see why there were so many bikes on this business complex (practically industrial) road, but no one could come up with an answer. It just so happened that while Jeff and I pushed the bike less than 150 yards, probably 20 motorcycles came by, some in pairs, some in groups, and some solo. The sound of the engines revved as they approached, as the road banked slightly to the left and went uphill. We were stunned by the irony.....here was the bike, without Mario, and all we could hear was the sound of bikes echoing through the streets every 15-30 seconds or so.
After meeting with someone who bought Mario's love on paper, whom everyone had the unpleasant knowledge of finding out about much later (and much too late), we tried to make as many arrangements as we could to bring back OUR friend's things so the people who knew him for half a lifetime could preserve his memory. This was a man we knew for 10-years or more, a man we spent years living with, interacting with, and several years sharing memories with. We earned his love, we didn't buy it. Of course, this certain someone felt there was a sense of entitlement because of the falsity that had been created, and that caused a great deal of pain to Jeff and myself. Pain and frustration. We had never been treated with such disrespect by someone who claimed to be a friend of Mario's. Mario for sure would never have allowed that to happen if he were still here. I could say much worse things, but I'll just say that if that person is reading this right now, trust me, I hope you enjoy living abroad.
Jeff and I sorted through what little stuff we had access to, and then loaded the bike in the Uhaul before starting back towards our hotel. Along the drive I felt like Mario was right there with me, in a way that is hard for me to explain. Had I not been carrying the cargo I was I would have taken a picture of it while driving; the sun going down over the west. Words fail to explain how blood red the sun was that afternoon. It was one of the more intensely rouge sightings I'd ever witnessed, brighter and more bold than a glass of red wine against a flame. That oxide colored sky lasted only a few seconds to a minute at best.....but I took off my sunglasses to be sure that what I was seeing was real.
The next day Jeff and I woke up early to head down to the scene along the PCH where Mario spent his final moments. We parked the car at an elementary school and played human
Frogger to get across the PCH. There is a light at a "T" intersection, but it would only giveway to vehicles and so we found ourselves darting out to the median, and then quickly moving to the other side. Because of the bend in the road, it did make things a little more dangerous.
We spent almost 5 hours out in the sun walking along the guardrail, the incline to the rocks, and down to the beach along the side of the highway. Between the two of us, we found a large envelope worth of items that had belonged to Mario. I won't go into great detail but just to mention, we found them, and we brought them home. We spent a couple hours trying to relive the moment, examining where the spraypaint from Mario's bike had made initial contact with the barrier. Maybe we had seen too many episodes of
CSI, but we went to try and discover for ourselves and lend our own point of view for the people who couldn't make it. More importantly, so that way we could try to see something that perhaps someone else missed. There were several orange spraypaint lines and circles left by
California Highway Patrol, marking off where it all took place. Jeff and I did what we could to make the most out of it, and later found out that our theory was not too far off.
Before heading back to the car, we each took turns watching out for each other as one of us would run out in the highway and lay our hands on the ground where Mario came to rest. We were able to say goodbye to him the only way we knew how in the physical world that exists. It was......emotional, to say the least. I cried slightly as I trekked back up the incline to get in the car and head back to the hotel.
It was another day before we took the car back to Arizona, and if you haven't already read the other post I wrote that was in regards to our return home, titled "
The Vacuum Earth," I would recommend it so that way you can visualize the journey as a whole.
I look back now and think about all the little things the universe provided me in the final days of my contact with Mario. On our last few days together we ate, walked around, took in the sun, watched some volleyball, checked out some women, played at the beach, threw the frisbee, and conversed like two brothers would. Later that night we took the drive I just mentioned, stopped off at Mario's beach, and drove to Irvine. We shopped for some expensive guy gear (shirts and sunglasses), we met up with some girls, we had some drinks, and Mario took the time to take several pictures of me in settings he found suitable. He had a good eye for things.....and even better, he wouldn't stop taking the shot until he got it right. He took the same picture of me wearing my new Oakleys outside the Oakley store that night probably 20 times. He only wanted the "O" from the Oakley sign to be in the photo, and not his hand (then again, that's what I wanted too).
On our final day together, Mario had to work so we met up around 3:30 in the afternoon. I was busy reading for one of my summer school classes, but in true Mario fashion......
hey man, did you look at the helmet yet? He wanted to show it to me the night we got there, but it was pushing 2 AM and not only was I tired, but the lighting in the room just wasn't adequate. He pulled the helmet out of the box, and sat right next to me quietly, waiting for me to comment on something so he could provide feedback. After running through the niceties of the lid, we headed for Irvine again to post up at a sports bar and unwind.
We stopped in to
Fox Sports Grill at the Spectrum Center. First, we walked halfway around the building trying to find our way in, and once we got in the entrance was some 60-80 feet away from the hostess.
That's a weird setup. "I agree, this is the front of the building but it's like we came in through the back." After our hostess sat us, we both ordered a couple of Cokes and some chips and salsa. Mario and I couldn't help but laugh at the way this sports bar was set up. It was like a 2 1/2 story building with tables lined around the outskirts of the bar, and a huge open area as if it were a small venue for bands to play. In the back, there was a glass room with pool tables and couches in it, and upstairs there was another glass room that overlooked the entire bar area - apparently it was for smokers, because there was a big fireplace looking thing and well, people were smoking up there.
Typical of Mario and I, we checked out everything (from televisions to women) in the room. Hey, I'm observant. But so was he! I made a comment about how messed up it would be if people actually knew what we were saying about them, not that it was bad.....it was more like, "yeah, she's hot." Or "meh,"
I give it a meh, with his hand tilting back and forth. Super said,
how funny would it be if there was a hidden microphone in the table and a camera on us somewhere and there was someone in another room secretly recording our conversation? And then before we leave, they'd ask us to sign a waiver form for permission to use it in some sort of sociological experiment. It would never fly, but how funny would that be? "It'd be funny Super. It'd be really messed up, and I'm sure the people in the other room would want to have us arrested or something, but that would be pretty funny too," I said. We laughed and laughed......
When the chips and salsa first came out, we both munched away like it was no big deal. Maybe 3 minutes later I said, "dude, these chips taste like shit."
Hahaha, yeah I was thinking the same thing. These are yesterdays chips. "Yeah, no shit - these things are stale." And then our food came out - we were both pretty hungry, so they could have brought anything out at that point and we would have devoured it. I had a bacon cheeseburger, and Mario had a turkey burger. Again, after finishing our grub, I turned to him and said, "this place fucking sucks. Never come here again."
Yeah man, I hear that. This shit is basura. Hahaha! He proceeded to tell me about the time him and Jeff were at The Venetian in Las Vegas, sitting near one of the indoor canals with the gondolas floating down past them. Jeff looked down at this plate of food and pushed it to the center of the table,
this shit is basura, Mario repeated, and he laughed and laughed so hard again. Our last great laugh together, it was memorable.
After we paid the bill, we went back to the parking garage so Mario could take me to the
Amtrak station in Irvine. I was headed for San Diego that night to hang out with another friend of mine. Riding in the backseat was Mario's helmet, along with his
Dainese leather jacket. He had planned to go back and pick up his bike where he worked, because it had just been finished being tuned up. We took the long way to the train station, and during the drive we commented on how I was thinking about moving out to that area in the next few months. I told Mario that it'd give him a chance to find another job, which he was looking for, and get the area
dialed in so we knew where to go and where to live. He and I planned on being roommates once again.
Eventually when we arrived at the station, I climbed out and we pulled my bags out of the trunk.
Alright brotha', I had a blast man. "Yeah man, I had a really good time too. It was good seeing you."
Yeah man, you too. *Laughing a little* "I know you hate goodbyes Super, so I'll just see you when I see you."
Hahaha, yeah JC, see you when I see you. We shook hands, he climbed in the car, and I walked into the station. Outside a handful of text messages, those were our last words.
The 48-hours leading up to that exact second were almost ideal. I am now equipped with a series of memories and snapshots of Mario in my mind that were, for lack of a better word, perfect. I will never lose them.
Looking back, I'm so sad that I lost my friend. I am devastated. I've been telling people that I'm fine, but deep down in my heart I'm in a million pieces. My typical response is that even though I'm broken, I'm held together by superglue. No pun intended. He and I kept in great contact even after I moved to Tucson from Phoenix, and I made it a point to always come by any time I was in Chandler to stay the night and hangout with he and Jeff. My attitude would bump up a notch every time I sat in their living room and heard the sound of his bike pulling in the carport. Moments later, the helmet would appear, usually followed by a
whattup JC!?Mario was more than a friend to me, he was someone I confided a great deal in, someone I looked up to, and someone I loved. He will never, ever be replaced. There was, there is....only one Mario. He was like the brother I never had. He gave me good advice, and he persuaded me to push my own limits while keeping me from going over the edge. He was the friend who always had his other friend's backs, no matter what. If I knew nothing else about him that would be enough. I could go anywhere with him confident that if anything were to go wrong in a social situation, Mario would be the first person to jump in and help, fight, defend, even if it meant disaster for the lot of us. Mario also knew that his closest and dearest friends would do the same for him. Between the 3 of us (Jeff included), we had so many disagreements, that were countered by more laughs than any 3 friends could imagine. We were constantly joking with one another, afterall, laughter is the best medicine. Outside the realm of material possessions we fall victim to, Mario lived his life to the beat of his own drum. He somehow managed to find the silver lining in nearly every situation, and it was something I greatly admired about him. We shared many interests, which further concreted the bond between us. I was always astonished at his generosity, even when the chips were down. If Mario had the means to provide everyone to have a good time, that's what his mission was. He lived for the moment better than anyone I've ever known. I admired that about him so much.
I had always pictured Mario as the guy in the grocery store, helmet on, basket in hand. Now it will be a constant reminder that anything (foreign) with two wheels will be near and dear to my heart. If I had a dream that Mario would pass away in a spot where my camera would capture this instance, I would have thrown my camera into the deepest, darkest hole on the planet. And yet, Mario drove, Maynard sang, and 5 pictures were taken in the exact location of his death. His last intersection. His last view. And literally, his final resting place. I recorded perhaps the best moving picture of my life no more than 10 seconds from where his life came to an end (the fifth one down). This picture means so much to me because it represents the bright and infinite power of life. It is the lyrics to the song we listened to that very day, the one mentioned at the beginning of this post. It is the title of this blog. It encompasses such beautiful things; the sun, the sky, the ocean, and coincidentally, Mario's last green light, his last turn, his last breath, and his final resting place. I share that collection of pictures with you all today...
My imagination urges me to believe that Mario passed away the best way he could have ever dreamed. Where the blink of an eye surpasses anyone suffering from a lifetime of pain. That night he was in the presence of the moon and stars, the crisp ocean air and the beach........he was listening to music on his iPod, and he was riding his bike. If ever there was a time when man and machine were at one, this would be a stunning example. The Stealth Bike, flying low along the PCH on a Sunday night, carrying one happy rider. One right hand turn and a short downhill later.....the Stealth Bike, flying low along the PCH on a Sunday night, without it's rider. I hope when his life ended, a new one began elsewhere, and during his journey from this place to the next he heard the sound of the Pacific Ocean's waves ushering him in.....
Given the exact location of where he passed away, Super would never have been able to guess what kind of visitors he'd have with him.
V-Twin and
12-Cylinder visitors. In our 5 hours of combing the PCH for clues into what had happened, several
Ferraris,
Lamborghinis,
Porches,
Lotuses, and
Maseratis passed by. I lost count at 9. And given that I lost count at 9 with the cars, imagine how many bikes we heard or saw over the course of all those hours. Hundreds.
If only I could find the right words to end this post with. I have struggled writing this because of the way I feel this very second.
Nothing in this world means more to me than friendship and love. To have that challenged reminds me once again how incredibly lucky, fragile, and unique we all are. Why do we not remind ourselves every day in life? It seems far too often we wait until we lose those special people in our lives before we acknowledge the truth. The earth tilts not only on it's axis, but just enough for us to forget sometimes who we really are, and what is really important. Like an infinite game of pinball. Sometimes we just need to take the time to step back, take a deep breath in, and feel it. Feel life. It is with such a heavy heart that I think back on the memories and know that life will move on without him. I'll continue to come here to write periodically, but the emotional side, the unconditional side, will be put to rest.
I look back at the pictures I took that day when we were driving down the PCH together and want to smile, but I also want to cry. With all the knowledge I have of his life and death, I am forever proud and humble to be able to call myself Mario's friend. You'll always be missed, Super.
In loving memory of
Mario Frassetto, to which this blog is dedicated.....
- Justin
