The Colorado Tour begins...
We left Chicago right after our regular Tuesday night gig at Martyrs'...
Public transit... oh how I hate riding the bus... and when you're carrying a
duffle bag with a week's worth of clothing in it the entire bus stares at
you... I don't know why this phenomenon occurs, but I strongly believe it has
something to do with seeing someone MORE miserable than they are... and for
those of you who haven't rode a bus in our fair city, lemme tell you, ya
ain't missin' much... it's a kidney jolting metallic melting pot filled with
all sorts of unsavory characters sporting the most distasteful melange of
aromas this side of a group of Port-O-Sans at a chili cook-off...
So I shuffle onto this joyful vehicle with my huge red bag around rush hour
digging for my exact change when I realize that my years as a car owner have
dulled my "common" senses...
"How much?" I ask the driver, who stares at me for a minute as if I'm the
first talking a-hole she's ever seen, and then she asks me to "get my ass up
the steps" and as an afterthought adds "please"... as if that makes her "I'm-
pretty-certain-they-don't-teach-you-that-at-CTA-busdriver-school" comment
OK...
... and I STILL don't know how much a *$@&! bus ride is...
So I ask again, a little louder, which only makes the slovenly masses stare
even harder because now the freak with the baggage has exposed himself for the
TRUE outsider he is... "How DARE he ride with US... all non-stinky and
clueless in the ways of fare rates... HERETIC!"
"$1.50" she finally tells me, in a "Man I Hate Life" sigh that was so
defeating she must have been practicing it for years on her husband, kids, and
anyone else who got in her path... so I dig through my pocket and finally get
the money in the machine and I pick up my bag and scope out a seat, banging my
bag into at least a half-dozen indignant old ladies in the process...
*thud* Sorry... *thud* Excuse me... *thud* Pardon me...
So as the Geritol Gang gave me the Evil Eye I settled in next to a sleeping
guy with a Walkman headset on which, I swear, was not plugged into ANYTHING...
and I waited for my stop, watching this guy drool out of the corner of my
eye... in rush hour traffic...
I was on that bus for a half an hour... all this trial and tribulation over a
ride that's about a MILE... End Result: F- the ozone, F- the natural
resources, I'M DRIVIN' MY F-IN' CAR!!!
The gig that night was high octane because we were all keyed up to get the
show on the road, and after the show we packed up as quick as we could and
loaded the trailer, crew chief Beau overseeing the packing with Debbie, Nej,
and Rob handling the bucket-brigade of equipment... also along for the ride is
Norm, an old friend of Mike's who has a mini van and some time on his hands
and John O'Day, who handled our physical therapy for the trip, making sure we
got the knots out after sitting in the trucks for hours and hours... all told
we have a group of fourteen people traveling west...
Around 2:15a we hit the road... I took first shift at the wheel of the Touring
Vessel, with Scott, Ahmer, and Beau... we like this grouping because we all
have the same flare for raunchy defamation of any and all things sacred...
The one distinguishing feature Iowa has at this time of year over all other
states, seemingly, is the plethora of it's roadkills... instead of seeing UFOs
this time in the great corn state we saw carcasses, an' PLENTY of 'em... large
and small, all of it horrifying at that hour of the morning... it just looms
up out of the dark road and suddenly you're looking at "Texas Chainsaw
Massacre" outtakes...
Around Nebraska the wind really picked up... I noticed because all of a sudden
I'm all over the road, weavin' like Otis the town drunk... Scott took over for
the rest of the state and I watched the country go by for awhile... Nebraska
is not as boring as I remembered it to be... the land was quite varied and I
found that it was much easier to get through... Hell, it wasn't boring at all,
really...
... of course, that's when I woke up and realized I had SLEPT through most of
the state...
When we finally rolled across the Colorado state line a weird thing
happened... for several miles the little green mile marker signs read "DENVER
188 mi."... no, I didn't buy a Lotto ticket... but I swear it happened and I
was totally confused... so I laid off the Mountain Dew for the rest of the
trip...
The clouds and in fact the whole sky seemed to take on a more pronounced 3-D
effect, giving the state an even more expansive feel...
... Note To Self: Lay off the peanut butter cheese crackers too... I think the
orange coloring is causing a flashback... Where's my water, dammit?
We finally caught sight of the mountains and the four of us broke into
spontaneous cheers (well, as spontaneous as one can be after thinking of
nothing else for the last fifteen hours)... WE HAD ARRIVED...
We stopped at a strip mall and got a few things we needed... oh, y'know...
just the little things that make life easier or more secure...... like a LOCK
FOR THE TRAILER...
... yes, you heard me... I'm not going to repeat it...
...hmmmm... "Big Dumb Animal Disease" is catching, m'thinks...
The DSO Flag is planted, approximately 5p, Mountain Time o'course... after a
short drive we hit the campus part of town and get our first glimpse of the Fox
Theater, and it is GOOD... turns out the theater is right up the hill from our
hotel so we pull in to get the rooms straightened out...
Scott loves to make a fool of me at times and I being the good family dog,
play along, because any attention is better than no attention at all... but
now I understand how my dog felt when we dressed her up in my dad's best
trench coat, hat and a cigarette in her mouth followed by sending her through
my dad's business meeting when I was a kid... the guy behind the counter
believing everything Scott said or blamed on or about me... I'm sure the poor
bastard had one hand on a baseball bat underneath the counter...
(Scott raps repeatedly on the little bell on the desk... the attendant,
without looking up, intones:)
"Anybody who hits that thing pays double for their room..."
(Scott, soberly:)
"Cameron! Um... hey... I'm sorry... he gets a little..."
(gives me a sly look)
"... juvenile..."
(The guy eyes me up and down, decides he's glad he doesn't have a daughter)
"...Does he now?"
"Oh, indeed... but he's making wonderful progress..."
(I'm wandering around, sniffing the two day old coffee)
"Progress?"
"Nevermind... so you say you don't have all the rooms we need? (Spies me
messing with the postcards) Stop That! Do I have to put you outside?"
(The guy makes a nervous reach below the counter)
"What's he doin' NOW?"
"Nothing... look, what can we do about this?"
(At this point I back up into a flower arrangement, nearly knocking it off the
counter)
"CAMERON! That's IT! OUTSIDE!!!"
I walked out and stood at the front door, occasionally pawing at the glass on
the door... this guy doesn't know whether to laugh or call the cops... and
we're so tired, this all seems like normal behavior... I feel like Hunter
Thompson, suddenly...
Note To Self: This sleep-deprivation is cool, man...
Scott irons out our reservation errors and gets keys... there are four rooms
spread out all over the compound, with Scott and Ahmer being directly across
the way from my and John's room on the second floor, Hazdra and Corso next
door, and Sprout and Mike's room below and to the east of us...
... this was going to make pranks, highjinks, and good old-fashioned games of
"GrabAss" (as my gym teachers so colorfully called it) difficult...
I Love A Challenge...
Eventually everyone arrived, with the exception of Norm's van, which of course
was hauling 98% of the gear... due to speed limitations, said van does not
arrive until about 9p...
We went to eat at a local microbrewery (which is as common in Colorado as...
um... well, Port-O-Sans at a chili cook-off...) and afterwards we all walk up
to the Fox...
..."UP" is the operative word in Colorado for us Flatlanders, people...
... a couple of beers, a nice meal... after which we decide to go take a look
at the Fox... we then walk up a steep hill with NO OXYGEN WHATSOEVER... to
quote Dennis Miller, "Get an ATMOSPHERE, will ya?"
We're greeted quite warmly by the staff at the theater and we all walk in to
the room like Ma and Pa Kettle gettin' their first gander at th' Big City...
it's absolutely cool... the stage reminds me of the Park West here in Chicago
only a bit smaller, with nice artwork and a very (no other way to describe it)
clean vibe... the PA is perfect, with every toy I had with me and more, and I
got a butterfly in my craw just thinking about mixing there...
I met Dave the house tech, a big lumberjack of a dude with an extremely warm
personality who took my hastily scratched out input list and stage plot and
introduced me to Mom, the production manager... Mom rules, y'all...
He's a guy in his mid to late forties (I assume) who it turns out knows some
of the theater folk here in Chicago, and we swapped stories while the rest of
the band and crew rolled their eyes and left me to be the sound geek that I
am...
When I left the theater I hooked up with a kid (I'm sorry, man... I'm cruddy
with names sometimes but you know who ou are) and he took me around to a few
bars looking for hippies before I split off and headed back to the hotel... I
figured I'd go out and glad-hand a few flyers around town because as of that
evening, only 150 of a projected 600 tickets had been sold... so Beau and
Scott and Corso and Nej and Rob and I went out to enlighten the masses...
...oh, and find a friggin' Golden Tee machine (see previous Road Rash Papers
for the video golf addiction rundown)...
We found both, and a whole lot more...
In a place called The Walrus (which I believe was a microbrewery) we found our
machine and an odd character of some historical note called Two Bears...
Some of you may know about Two Bears, but for those of you who don't, he's a
former Vietnam vet and Rainbow Gathering security chief and internet
celebrity in his own right... Two Bears also has the distinction (to me) of
being the most disgruntled hippie I've met in quite some time...
We met him in a "penalty box"... Boulder slang for the glassed in rooms built
for smokers (the town is "smoke-free"... more on this later)... he was rather
intoxicated and rather antagonistic, so of course I attempted to engage him in
friendly conversation, note pad in hand...
To sum up Two Bears' position that night: We Deadheads had f-ed the scene up,
all we cared about was music and drugs, and just for good measure, f- us in
the... well, you get the idea...
Nej and Rob were a bit put off, but I genuinely liked the guy...
Before we left, I remember some crowding into a booth an some flashes going
off... me, Scott, Beau, and Corso... and bright flashes...
Back at the hotel, we all sat and had a few beers (generously donated by the
one and only Dave Plante before we left) and everyone drifted off to their
respective rooms for some overdue sleep...