We all have family vacation horror stories. I remember many a trip to all points to nowhere in the third seat of the station wagon (you know what I am talking about- the one that faces the other way). As children, we were giddy with anticipation to get to Grandma's, or to the amusement park. There was always something to look forward to at the end, but nothing (that we can remember) happened on the way. Flash forward twenty years, and now I am touring the country, once again looking forward to the shows. The fun, I have found, has shifted from the destination to the journey. I have been asked a number of times about some of our best road stories, so here are a couple to remind you how good you youngsters have it these days, and remind us why we do what we do. One of my favorite stories has to do with our sometimes silent, sometimes non-functioning fifth member of the band - our van. We had a St. Patrick's Day show at a big venue in Baton Rouge, LA, about 3 hours away. We were packed up and headed out of town, U-haul trailer in tow. We made it about 80 miles outside of town when we heard a 'pop' from under the hood. It wasn't a blowout, just one of those noises that didn't sound quite right. We filed out, and looked under the hood, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. As we were talking about what it could be, flames started shooting up from the engine. We had no fire extinguisher (lesson 1), and no cell phone (lesson 2). Panic time. One of us ran down the road, thinking the van was going to explode; I reached in the van and pulled a few handfuls of personal stuff out; and the other guys tried to fight the blaze. Within 7 minutes, our whole beloved vehicle was a ball of flame, and the trailer was still connected. We watched helplessly as the local fire department hosed down our charred carcass of a van, with a laptop, CD player, and travel money still inside. So we're stuck. Very stuck. We walked up to the next exit to call a friend to pick us up. We were going to cut our losses, and hitch up our (very hot and now- discolored) U-haul trailer and go home. Our friend arrived and we joked to him about taking us the rest of the way so we could make our show. He made a couple of calls, and sure enough, we were back on our way to Baton Rouge. Everything looked back on course, and we were in good spirits again. We were driving along, 6 deep in a king cab pickup, and laughing about our day. We must have laughed too hard, because one of the trailer tires blew. We weren't worried-U-haul is good about fixing tires - when they are open. It was now 7:30, and we had to go into 'necessity' mode. We rode to the local dealer and swapped tires from one of their trailers, and left them a note telling them what we had done. Of course, we didn't leave a number or a name. We may be stupid, but not that stupid. Long story longer, we ended up making the show (very late), played to a packed house, and made the much needed money to lease a van until we found a new one. The tour manager and I rode in the back of the pickup on the way home. Not really smart when it's 45 degrees outside, and you are wearing shorts (another lesson). Another great one was from 1996, when a huge ice storm hit the Southeast. We had two big-money fraternity shows that particular weekend, and neither hail nor sleet nor dark of night was going to keep us from our appointed paycheck. We made the executive decision to leave early on Friday and allow us extra travel time to get to our destination that was 6 hours away. Twelve, yes - 12 - hours later, we made the Atlanta show, driving on sheets of ice - sometimes not having any brakes or acceleration, and none of us sleeping a wink, for fear of not seeing our loved ones again. Think playing polo on ice. That's how our steed handled. The show went on without a hitch, and we got up at 6 AM (after playing until 2) to make the journey to Nashville for the next stop on our ice tour. We venture out, once again, into the snow and ice. This run wasn't quite a straight shot. On several occasions, State Troopers had set up barriers to close I-65. Well, let's just say we found ways around them, and we headed north. One fun part about touring is a luxury called eating. In fact, it's so cool, I recommend it to all my musician buddies. Well, since the highways were closed, I guess the managers of every restaurant in the South decided to close as well. We usually had a cooler with goodies in it, but for some reason, we left it at home this time (lesson four). We did find an open gas station, however, and we all had a gourmet lunch of beef jerky and crackers. So now we're exhausted, and what should have been a 4-hour trip took us 15. Yes, 15 hours. We didn't sleep, we're starving, and we stopped talking to each other around the 13th hour. We finally pull up to the fraternity house, and the brothers are all outside, anxiously awaiting our arrival. They started cheering and congratulating our arrival, as well as blasting our CD. We were set up in record time, and played one of our most inspired sets. The second set hit us kind of hard, because we started drinking instead of remembering to eat (lesson five). The kids were happy, and the van made it back (only to have the previous story happen a few months later), and we made rent that month. What are the morals of these road tales? Well, none really, except maybe follow the Boy Scout motto - Don't get caught! Wait! That's not it! Be prepared. Yeah, that's it. Be very prepared. And remember that life on the road will suck, but the show will go on, and you will (eventually) get paid, and you do have the best job in the world. |