I wake up, and for a minute my surroundings don't register at all... I have
no idea where I am...
This is not a condition which is new to me - being a good Deadhead from the
"Class of '81" I have... well, for lack of a better term... come to my
senses in some strange (and on a few occasions embarrassing) places... but
these days my disorientation isn't from Dionysian excess, it's brought on by
something equivalent to spinning before you try to pin the tail on the
donkey...
Generally after a gig and the usual sandwich frenzy (more on this in a
minute), we lay down in these dark little wall-coffins on the bus to sleep,
stacked like canned goods on a shelf... your bed starts moving but you can't
see where you're going, like being on Space Mountain at Disneyland only the
air doesn't move or change nearly as much (pity, that) and there's nothing in
the way of restraints... you can only sense the turns (sometimes you "sense"
them so much you almost roll out and fall to the floor if The Dude's exiting
the highway at a good clip - NOTE TO SELF: I wonder what the bus company
would charge for a shoulder harness and a lap belt in my bunk?)... and with
bus living when you wake up you can be (and usually are) literally HUNDREDS
of miles away from where you were only the night before, sometimes with
dramatic changes in climate... one time we went from shorts-weather in
Atlanta to below freezing in Falls Church VA. overnight and we were all
scrambling for clothing out of the bus bays at a rest area, passers-by
shaking their heads...
... Oh, and just In case you were wondering, all those turns CAN make you a
bit queasy... we haven't had any "incidents" to my knowledge, but the road
out of Boone, NC. last tour brought many of us to the brink...
(Right now, there are some people in Boone, NC. reading this and having a
GOOD laugh - More for the folks around Boone in a bit here... stick around!)
We live on the bus nowadays... "Stay-In" hotel rooms are only once every week
or so when we're going to be in town for more than a day, with most room
rentals (one or two rooms per stop) being used as showering and Internet
facilities for the whole bus and we sleep in the parking lot...
HEY! Eight people per room!!! Just like the old days touring behind the Dead!
Only my VW Rabbit didn't have a microwave, o'course... and there's no dog on
the bus... although some days when it rains you'd SWEAR you can smell one...
Tiny (our truck driver) and The Dude get their own rooms wherever we stop
so's they can get their well-earned sleep after a night's drive... but as I
predicted awhile back, the rest of us are living right on top of each other,
up close and personal, and as you can imagine this arrangement comes with
it's own set of aggravations... I suppose it wouldn't seem like all that bad
a place if you've been a resident on a psych ward, but c'mon... you've
watched 'Survivor'... how long can this many people get along harmoniously?
How long until polarization and selfish acts rip the tribe apart? We've
actually discussed trying to sell life on our bus to FOX Television, they
could install little cameras everywhere in the bus and tape our arguments and
juvenile moments... we'd show those Osbournes how to overuse the "F" word,
I-tell-ya-what...
But we TRY to get along, and I think that's why there haven't been any
homicides... we're not perfect at staying out of each other's way but we
TRY... or as my roommate likes to say, "We TRY to try."
Are there times when I stumble on Dino's stuff pouring out of his bunk? Sure.
Am I gonna strangle him over it? Not likely. Are there times when Bryan takes
out the trash or Lisa vacuums and then the rest of the band gets on and
instantly trashes the lounge? Nearly every day. Are they going to poison our
drinking water over it? Nah. Is someone going to beat me silly if I play
Sheryl Crow bootlegs in the back lounge again?
... weeeeelllll... let's not push it on the examples.
My point is that we spend every day resolving conflict, and we've gotten
pretty good at it... like a DSO model UN, sorta... issues are brought before
the assembly and votes are cast... though not always with the decorum of a
delegate, and the democratic process doesn't always win out... but we TRY.
After a show, we all have routines... some of you have knocked on our bus
after the show asking if we want to hang out and party, and we always feel
like such wallflowers when we say no but we're not out there partying...
anything BUT, it would seem... really, after the show the bus is the most
boring place imaginable because for us it's usually a "School Night" and
we've got another big exam in the next town we can't afford to fail...
... I mean, how would you feel if we pulled into YOUR town after painting the
last one red, and we were too out of it to give you the barn-burner show you
were paying for? You'd feel a bit ripped off, wouldn't you? Well, that's why
I'm proud (and also a bit embarrassed as a hippie) to tell you we're the
lamest band when it comes to the Polluted Rock Star Routine... but see, this
time on the road is our day at the office and we take our responsibility to
the audience (our employer) very seriously... YOU don't go to work polluted,
do ya?
Wait a minute... I don't want to know...
Just suffice it to say that we're trying (hey! there's that word again!) to
keep ourselves as healthy and on-the-ball as we can prior to getting onstage
in your town, which is REALLY the topic I wanted to talk about in the first
place (our health on the road, not our partying habits)... but now that I've
started this after-show tangent I suppose I ought to tell you a few other
things... REMIND me to get back to my point if I ramble much longer here,
will ya?
Thanks... where was I? Oh...
So... uh... Yep, it's pretty slow on the bus after a show.
Some people like to listen to music.
Others want to sleep.
Then there's Kevin, who just wants to watch 'Bonanza' reruns on Nickelodeon
until his eyes fall out onto his chest.
Everyone takes a turn at being the DJ, and everyone takes a turn at cleaning,
everyone takes a turn picking out the "In-Flight Movie"...
... but Scott is a sandwich master.
No, that's not some sort of derogatory euphemism... I'm sayin' the man knows
how to put together one tasty sam'mich.
Every day we get a short grocery list of stuff in our backstage area...
bread, cold cuts, cheese, granola bars, fruit, water, etc. and in an effort
not to be wasteful we gather up whatever isn't used by the band, crew, and
guests during the show and port it onto the bus... from there, Scott takes
said leftovers, puts them in a sandwich maker (kind of like a waffle iron for
hot Ham'n'Cheese) and out pop these incredible culinary delights... he'll use
anything including leftover dinners like Chinese food or Chicken Parmesan
with some unexpected but always satisfying results...
"Who wants roast beef and grilled onion?"
"Who wants this turkey/veggie with the dipping sauce? I made DIPPING SAUCE!"
"Who's up? Got a ranch/chicken/pesto... get it off the plate!"
"Who wants this cheese/tomato/spring roll?"
"Hot kiwi/carrot stick with provolone on cinnamon raisin... pick it up!"
I've been thinking of having an apron made for him... or a straight jacket
with a ball gag, I dunno... it goes back and forth...
During the sandwich frenzy, people traipse back and forth between lounges
waiting for a seat to open up... it's like the most popular diner in town at
about 3am when the bars close only no one's drunk... RUDE, but never drunk.
Once everyone is fed, the kitchen area is wiped down and everyone shuffles
off to the previously mentioned pursuits of music, movies, or sleep...
... and the bus just keeps rolling through the night.
When we pull into a hotel parking lot, generally no matter what time it is
Pete is out of his bunk and in at the desk trying to get our dayrooms checked
in... sometimes before his eyes are open, which tends to freak some people
out... but he doesn't need an alarm clock, he just feels the bus coming to a
stop and he's up... sometimes Pete has to use all of his "People Skills" to
try and persuade the night clerks that it's OK to issue rooms nine hours
before proper check-in time, but he's usually successful without having to
jump the desk which is why we love & respect him so much... without Pete,
there would be no showers, no Internet, no peace...
... and a resulting funk to the bus which passeth all understanding.
(... do you think he saw through that butt-smoochin' there? Damn, so do I...
but next time you see him tell him he's doing a good job, because he doesn't
hear it as often as he should from US.)
As people wake up and stumble out into the front lounge shielding their eyes
from the day, Pete has laid out the keys on the table and from there it's a
matter of personal responsibility to return the keys to the table so that
others can use them... and for the most part it's a system that works well...
The only time things get a bit cutthroat is when it's Rush Hour to get into
one of the bathrooms... usually about an hour before the bus is scheduled to
leave for the venue... picture the chaos in the Brady Bunch's bathroom in the
morning and add nine more.
Yeah... NOW you're gettin' it... but again, we TRY.
Where was I?
Oh yeah... so the keys to these rooms are left on the front lounge table and
a dry marker board is posted with any pertinent info for the day like leave
times so that no one gets oil-spotted...
DSO DICTIONARY ENTRY - "Oil-Spotted" (also see "Left For Deadhead" and "Man
Overboard")
Oil-Spotted (Oy'el Spah-ted) - Getting left anywhere while on the road,
including but not limited to truckstops, gas stations, rest areas, or even
the venue d'jour; When you come back to where the bus was parked, there's
nothing but an oil spot in it's place (SIDE NOTE: This is why you always grab
your cell phone before making that 5am Krispy Kreme run when The Dude stops
for fuel).
In the history of the band it's happened more than a few times, and it just
gets keeps gettin' funnier every time.
Well... The Dude and He-Who-Is-Spotted rarely laugh, but most of the rest of
us do.
This bus has become our home before, during, and after our shows for two
months at a time. It's our vehicle, backstage, hotel room, living room,
kitchen, and sometimes our bathroom... the water on the bus is what's known
as "non-potable", aka "don't put it in yer mouth"... you have to brush your
teeth with bottled water because unless you're using detergent with it, the
water pro'ly ain't too good after sitting in a tank filled from a truckstop
hose...
... mmmmmmmm... "Truckstop Water"...
But MAN have I strayed from the topic... I'm not here to tell you about ANY
of that.... thanks for reminding me.
As I was saying at the beginning of this... I just woke up and I have no idea
where I am... How many days of tour left? What time IS it, anyway? It's
quiet... TOO quiet...
I reach out for where my phone usually hangs on the inside of my bunk
curtain, because that's where I loop my watch over the antenna stub of the
phone so that it doesn't fall to the floor of the hallway or get lost into
the recesses of my bunk... along with that peanut butter granola bar I
secreted out of the dressing room and squirreled away "for later"...
... speakin' of which, I gotta find that thing before I grind it into dust...
after which of course the package will get ripped open sprinkling wholesome
peanut-ty granola goodness all through my bunk...
Sand in your swimsuit is nothing compared to granola in your boxers.
But I have a good idea where it is, there are only a few places it could get
to... it's probably either underneath my portable DVD player or it might be
under my shaving kit down by my feet, all the more supporting the "granola
ground to dust" scenario...
Living on a bus with fifteen people, the one thing you quickly learn is that
if your cookie is on the table it'll be in someone's tummy by morning, and if
your stuff is outside your personal space (i.e. your bunk), it's in SOMEONE'S
WAY.
You don't want to be the kid in this class who is constantly picked on for
stuff being underfoot, so pretty much anything you bring on the bus you have
to take with you in your bunk for storage... each of our bunks has been
modified to varying degrees to meet the occupying individual's tastes with
hooks or baskets, and as I said before I have places where I hang stuff;
Spots around the bunk between the mattress and the wall to store things like
itinerary, Sharpie Markers, cigarette lighter & smokes, bottle of water,
asparin, the aforementioned granola bar & shaving kit, change of socks, small
DVD player, headphones, 75pc. CD case, scratch paper, H.P. Lovecraft novel,
two video tapes given to me by a DSO fan, sunglasses case, and a handwritten
journal for personal musings...
... oh, and don't forget whatever jeans, overshirt, t-shirt, sweater, and
socks I had on that day, all in the space of a coffin, I kid you not...
and... and...
And wait.
Wait just a flippin' SECOND, here...
There's no rumble of the diesel engine.
The ceiling is really far up there, I can tell even without my glasses.
There's no airflow-stifling curtain!
I have LEG ROOM!!!
... and best of all...
I DON'T SMELL GAS THAT'S OBVIOUSLY NOT MY OWN!!!
(Oh stop shaking your head... you all know what I mean and don't act as if
you don't...)
I'm not on the bus, I'm in my apartment in Chicago, all by myself... and I
breathe a sigh, feeling every bit as relieved as it sounds clichéd to be...
I'm home. My cat Ophelia raises her head and looks at me, yawns and stretches
a paw out to touch my arm as if she's reassuring me.
Being at home is something that few of us learn how to appreciate in my
estimation... when you're a Deahead especially, "The Road" is where you
always want to be... chasing the next musical explosion or wild meeting
that's around the bend... The Road is the conduit...
The Road is The Beat.
It's a romantic notion to travel... as Jerry once said (and I paraphrase
here), being on the road is the Last Great American Adventure left to us...
Kerouak made the idea of constant motion take form forever in the character
of Dean Moriarty, and from the moment we kindred Gypsy souls read about this
man and his frenetic travels we wanted to BE him... because to be Moriarty
was to be FREE... if you live like ol' Dean you don't need a job... your
heart has wings, you never grow moss...
... but what you also tend to find out is that when you're in constant
transition, it's hard to hold onto anything or expect it to be a constant in
your life.
I could be just speaking from the other yard, but let me tell you about yet
another aspect of our lives and maybe you'll understand how much we musicians
and technicians envy you audience members when you leave the concert hall for
home, just as much as some of you might envy us our position being headed on
to the next show...
Remember, the grass is always greener.
We are typically out for a period lasting no longer than seven weeks... we've
found that this is really the limit when it comes to being on the road as far
as puting up with each other and "being at the office", and even that can
seem like an eternity when you are away from the one you love or your family
or pets. For those seemingly peripheral people in our lives, the time we
spend out on the road can be an equally torturing sentence which can tear the
very fabric of relations to pieces (and I'm sorry to say, has done just that
on several occasions over the five year history of the band, to just about
everyone in the band and crew)...
We miss weddings, birthdays, holidays, and funerals in order to do what we
do... and that's not easy for most people to understand... we BARELY
understand it ourselves... but nonetheless, we're out workin' so you can come
out and play. For the last several years I've missed out on a lot of plain
ol' LIFE - my niece and nephew are growing at an alarming rate, I've lost
touch with most of the people I used to hang out with and the few I still
talk to are now married and having kids, buying houses...
...the Blockbuster was replaced with a Starbuck's then it became a
Blockbuster again...
... and late last year I had to come home from tour and the very next day put
one of my cats, a sidekick of fifteen years to sleep... we were leaving again
in a few days and that was the only window I had to dispense with my
responsabilities to a friend who never left me no matter how poor or (in the
end) how busy and distant I had become... I had no chance to make ammends for
being gone so much... and no chance to really say my good-byes... for the
last few years of his life and for the final months as his health
deteriorated I was absent, and I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty
over it...
There are moments in time when I feel lonely and I really, really hate my
job... that was one of them.
But I digress... who do I think I am getting all heavy like that anyway?
Sorry.
What I wanted to get around to here is the topic of Road Health, and now in
comparrison with the rest of this it's probably going to be fairly
anticlimatic but what're ya gonna do? Tell you what, read through this last
little bit here and I'll get to writing something else... but Eddie's getting
antsy for this and I've gotta finish it, so here goes...
Hi, my name's Cameron... and although I'm not a doctor or a public health
official and don't even have a rudimentary backround in the following area,
I'm going to talk about it anyway.
DSO ROAD HEALTH
If you think it through, in the two hundred-plus days per year we're touring,
we come in contact with a pant-load of people on a daily basis - gas station
attendants, waitresses, hotel staff, stage hands, system techs, security, and
of course you the audience... of this group, by the law of averages a certain
amount of people are either on their way to becoming or have just gotten over
being sick, whether it be a cold or flu or Palorton's Proliferation...
... and all of them wanna shake your hand...
... even right after a good sneeze.
I'm going to tell you right now, there are very few things on this planet
worse than being sick while out on the road, and it's something that at times
you can do very little to prevent. Yes, there's probably a gallon of
echinacea on the bus, we've heard of "Natural Defense", we chomp tabs of
vitamin C... but eventually, with this almost endless assault compounded by a
lack of PROPER rest, a body's gonna give out.
Most of the time if one of us gets sick, we're expected to power through it -
sure, you might get out of sound check or setting up... but come showtime...
... well...
"It's Showtime!"
On a few occasions, we've lost a member for a night due to overwhelming
illness... and on this last tour one of those nights came up for me in Boone
NC.
The night before the Boone gig, we had hotel rooms... I woke up in the
morning sick to my stomach with an obvious fever... Scott looked at me and
had instant sympathy, which is NEVER a good sign - When Scott doesn't want to
insult me and push my buttons first thing in the morning, I know it's bad -
I dragged my suitcase down to the bus and went right to my bunk where I
stayed for the next twenty-four hours STRAIGHT. I couldn't get out of my
bunk... my entire body was painful, and I felt more than a little woozy (the
morning's drive into Boone didn't help... the road to Boone is 'Mr. Toad's
Wild Ride' brought to life, folks... I kid you not)...
When we arrived at the venue, Rob Eaton risked pulling back my curtain to ask
if I could make it in for the show... with my near-hallucinatory state of
mind I thought there might be some possibilities to explore here, but in the
end I had to opt for the "Hell No" response.
How does a sick day from work go, DSO-style?
Imagine laying in a coffin with the chills, you can't even keep a few sips of
water in your stomach... unable to get comfortable, on the verge of tearing
off your own skin with your fingernails... if you were HOME, there are a
variety of things you could do: Move to the couch in the living room, change
your sheets, put on a new t-shirt, or take a nice long hot soak in a tub...
... when you're sick on the road in a bus, you can't even take SHOWER, hot or
otherwise, let alone a nice leisurely soak - as a matter of fact, you won't
have the option to bathe until TOMORROW sometime - all you can do is lie
there in your own sweaty sheets praying for death.
I'm tellin' ya - I'd have rather been working a Promise Keeper's
Convention... I'd rather have pointless root-canal without anesthesia... I'd
rather crazy glue my genitals to a bullet train... I'd rather... I'd rather...
I'd rather try to eat a meal across from George W.
I know... I've been a bit extreme here, but if there were ANY REMOTELY
POSSIBLE WAY TO GET OUT OF THOSE SHEETS, I'DA BEEN ALL OVER IT.
But there wasn't. Game, set, match.
When you're sick on the bus, there's almost an unspoken request that you
quarantine yourself as soon as you're sure of your condition... stay out of
the common areas as much as possible, try not to infect the others... and
again, because we TRY, it works pretty well... but for me it meant one
horrible twenty-four hour stay capped off by another run through those
funhouse mountain roads outside Boone... how I wanted to be one of you that
night going home to my bed or my living room couch... or my SHOWER...
The grass IS always greener... but I'm reminded of a poem my sister used to
quote when we were kids that goes something like this:
As a rule, man's a fool,
When it's hot he wants it cool,
When it's cool he wants it hot,
Always wanting what is not.
Duality... I'm a case study in it.
Take right now, for instance... I'm in my bed and the room is still dark,
it'll be a few more hours before the light starts to creep around the shades
and the school across the street fills with screaming kids... I'm here with
my cat, who's now rolling over and begging for attention... I'm exactly where
I wished I could have been that day in Boone, and where my mind wanders to
whenever I get homesick...
... and you know what?
I really wish I was back out on the road, where my heart has wings and I'll
never grow moss, and the beat goes on.
See you around the playground!
~Cameron~
DSO Sound Engineer