Mechanic's Musings: Monk Dawg

I’ve been dreading this day for the last couple of years - our friend, colleague, inspiration, legend, Monkey has passed away at the age of 46. I feel that his story and effect on my life and countless other people's lives is worth writing some words about.

What are the chances? Cool, random things happened daily with Monk around.

I first met Monk in 2013 when I joined Trek World Racing, my first World Cup wrenching job. I had a trial in Belgium with the Head Mechanic, Sander Gijs, for 4 days, before flying to California to build the US race bikes with the elusive 'Monkey' I'd read so much about, and idolised for years. When I finally alighted at Ontario airport in California I was immediately met by....no one. Once I figured out how to contact Monk via a payphone and a friendly person who lent me a quarter, I called his cell and shortly after learning that he thought I was arriving 4 hours later (at 2am?!) his white Dodge dually rolled up outside and once I'd cleared myself a space to sit amongst the Taco Bell wrappers, we were on our way. Monk had booked me in to a Motel 8 in Hesperia and despite him having a room in a house up the road, he booked himself in too as he wanted to keep me company.

That first week was about as 'Monk' as you can get. For someone who could sleep while standing, sitting, driving ("I ain't sleeping, I'm just checkin' my eyelids for holes!") Monk couldn't sleep in beds. Due to earlier health problems in his life, mainly scoliosis, he could not lie comfortably. He must have ran on an average of a couple of hours of sleep, every day, while doing the same physically and mentally draining job that we do as Professional Mechanics. Not that he would ever complain, or even give a hint that he was experiencing any sort of discomfort. I quickly learned that sharing a room with Monk, like so many other aspects of his being, was a unique experience. Usually he would sit on the end of his bed, watching either an action movie or a nature show while drifting in and out of sleep, all the time muttering and saying 'Monkisms' in his slumber. Another one of his eyelid-checking spots was the shower. On the first morning in that Motel, he was taking a trademark 45 minute shower, and all of a sudden I heard an almighty crash that sounded like...well, like Monkey falling over in the shower. I ran to the door and started knocking and shouting to Monk frantically. Images started rushing through my head of the hotel staff coming in to find a pastey Scottish kid wrestling with a naked, 350-pound Mexican guy in the shower room. To my relief he eventually responded with an "I'm fine", and once he was dried up I got a string of explanations about the shower being too small, the floor being too slippy etc and this was probably the first glimpse I got that Monk was not a person that liked to accept help.

We spent that week hanging out and building bikes in his stomping ground. We would go and visit his friends at the BMX track or the local bike shop. Every time we turned up somewhere people would embrace him (definitely no hugs though), and his legend status was clear. They say never meet your heroes but it couldn’t be less true with Monk, there was never a dull moment with him, and so much life experience to quiz him about.

Monk at home on the ranch

Monk was selfless, almost to a fault. This phrase is banded around a lot but he genuinely would do anything for anyone, and he took pleasure in it. Unfortunately what people wanted him to do, especially near the end, was to help himself. Tragically, this didn't fit in with his mantra. He was dealt a string of bad hands in the past and he viewed every day past his 40th birthday, which he was surprised to get to, as borrowed time. He once went missing for a few days in Philadelphia whilst staying at Neko Mullaly’s house, in what turned out to be a fairly typical Monk phone/bank card/forgetting-his-email-password catastrophe, and when Neko finally got a hold of him on the phone and told him everyone thought he was missing he proclaimed “Beaner aint dead yet” and made his way back. He was dealing with a lot of demons, and he took comfort in food. He did stop drinking his Mountain Dew a few years before I met him, but despite our best efforts to give him water and healthy snacks, Monk was firmly on the Monk Program. It’s this stubbornness and attitude that made up part of his totally unique personality, but it’s a heart-breaking paradox that it also ultimately helped lead to his premature passing.

A dream come true to be working with a couple of legends.

Monk loved driving. Our team Peterbilt was his baby, and he looked perfectly at home behind the wheel, and I am lucky to have lots of memories of drives we did up and down the west coast of the USA in it. Sander once told me a story that encompasses a few of my favourite Monk traits. While they were driving from Mont Sainte Anne in the east of Canada to the west coast, they hit a moose on the highway in the truck, which Monk regarded as no big thing. They pulled up at a truck stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Canada, the truck still dripping with squashed moose, and from inside, the attendant walks outside and declares "Monkdawwg!" To which he gets a look from Monk above his glasses and a "whaddup". If you met Monk, you remembered him. He truly had fans all over the world.

Topping up the transmission oil in an In 'N' Out parking lot - Monk in his element

Monk's tales at the dinner table were legendary, with expert delivery and timing, all coupled with a bemused look as everyone cracked up laughing. Whether it was stories from his previous employment in the porn industry, reviews of his favourite lemonades around the world ("That stuff they got there in Italy, that'll make you slap your grandmother!") Or anything to do with Cousin Chad, he had the beautiful quality of being hilarious without trying in the slightest to be.

Monk went quiet all of a sudden at dinner in Italy once, when asked what was up, he shook his head a few times, then a minute later let out a belch followed by "Woah, someone threw it in reverse down there"

It is with great sadness that I write these words but I think we can take some solace in the fact that he is no longer suffering, and that he is hopefully with his beloved dog, Moto now. Monk's story should be a lesson to all of us involved about the power of empathy, and that empathy is something we learn and should always try to keep developing as we move through life. To an outsider, and even to a lot of his close friends, Monk would have had you believe he was fine, improving, back on the circuit next year, and when he repeated it so vehemently it was difficult at times to be convinced that the truth was anything else.

I am incredibly grateful to have know Chris ‘Monkdawg’ Vasquez and grateful for all those people who tried to help him along the way. Rest in Peace, Foo.

Some more pictures..