Dustin came in and roused us in the morning. Too early for my tired body but that’s how it goes some days. We packed up and said goodbye to Robbie. He gave us hugs and told us where the nearest Starbucks was. We’re spoiled in many ways, one of them being that living in Portland affords the average person access to extraordinary coffee at a reasonable price. On the road such luxuries are inconsistent at best. Usually it’s Holocaust coffee at gas stations. Dean always gets the Badgerfield size…giant! You should see him slam coffee. He’s out of control. Anyway, we drank and ate some goodies basking in front of a giant and beautiful desert mountain. Whoever built the Vons at the base of this miraculous piece of geology sure had the right idea. We headed back to Bakersfield, land of oil wells and lost children.
    We pulled into Kay’s again and settled in for a little while before we had to leave for the venue. Showers, food and naps, then it was time to get our asses back into downtown and dodge all the drunken douchebags and whores. Ok, they’re not all whores. We were playing at Riley’s which is a rather strange venue. I’ll explain; one half of the bar is basically a nightclub on the weekends, complete with loud dance music, laser lights and Joey’s galore. The other half is the rock venue. We had the same situation we had at Sandrini’s where one of us had to man the door and take the cover charge. I played door man again and pulled up a seat with one of the best vantage points in the entire club where I could watch all the debauchery happen on the club side and hear and see the rock side. Very interesting juxtaposition to say the least. There was a bachelor and a bachelorette party happening simultaneously, which seemed rather odd. The bride to be started freak dancing with various other dudes on the floor. It was amazing. Lots of high heels and excessive make up and bloated man chests and testosterone dancing to obnoxious house music. Dean used to bartend there when he lived in town. His stories about the fights and stabbings that took place in there are over the top. Oh Bako.
     The Volume opened the show. It was good to see those guys again, nice chaps they are. Then, lucky us, Biblical Proof of UFO’s played their second and final show with Black Pussy. Dustin went on stage for a minute to sing during one of their songs. Pretty sweet. They are some of the nicest dudes ever. We talked about doing more shows in the future, possibly even a tour. Hopefully the Gods are with us on that one. During our set and when the band was playing at a softer dynamic I could hear the bass thumping from the other side, which threw me at first. “What the fuck is feeding back,” I thought to myself trying to troubleshoot onstage. Then I realized it wasn’t us. It was Moby. After we played and started loading up our gear, Chief walked out back with 4 bottles of beer, 2 in each hand. One of the security guards, a stout man with a shaved head, asked him where he was going with said beer. “Oh, it’s cool,” Chief said drunkenly smooth like. Only it wasn’t cool like at all. “If you don’t go get the bartender who gave you those, we’re gonna have a problem.” Chief went back in, minus the beers that he stashed in the van. The girl that gave him the bottles had already left and he was dodging the security and their questions. Dean was made aware of the situation by someone who told him that if shit wasn’t made right, there was going to be an ass kicking. It became the drama of the moment with a slew of giant dudes looking for blood. Dean helped calm the situation but he said there must have been a guardian angel who also helped diffuse the time bomb. Dean grabbed the beers in the van and returned them. All was back to normal and Chief escaped a Bakersfield spanking. Maybe it was because it was his birthday. Or maybe it was because the beers were returned. I’m going to guess it was the latter.
     We had the next day off so we naturally spent it hanging around Mom’s house. Peter and I vacuumed out the van and washed it and the trailer. Just two weeks in and it was a fucking mess, inside and out. It doesn’t help when I eat a whole can of Pringles drunkenly in the middle of the night. Or rolling tobacco, that shit goes everywhere. Dean saw family, visited Lauren, and bought copious amounts of malt liquor for his night cap. Honeybadger don’t give a shit! We ate pot roast and fell asleep watching movies.
     The next morning some of us went out to see Lauren one last time before we left town. We made breakfast with homegrown chicken and duck eggs. It was glorious! Egg, backyard tomatoes and avocado sandwiches. It was one of the best meals I’ve had all tour. We hung out watching Pawn Stars, a reality show about a pawn shop in Vegas. It’s addicting and they just kept playing episode after episode, sort of like feeding a crack addict a new hit every 3o minutes. Before we got in too deep and got so high that we would start feeling withdrawal sickness, we said our goodbye’s and went back to Kay’s to chill out a little before we left for AZ. We drove the 6 or 7 hours to Blythe, our home for the night. Motel Burritos were served by master chef Aaron and we fell asleep to Louie.
     So far so good. No one hates anybody yet. No one’s gotten into a fight with a band member or drunken asshole. We might even be in the black. Minus the laptop setback in Oakland, we’re playing well and feeling good. But maybe I should knock on wood. We’re always dancing with the uncertainty principle by sticking our necks out to do what we love so much; ROCK! This whirlwind adventure should provide some good stories for the grandkids later on. Thankfully I’m trying to write it all down ’cause most of us probably wouldn’t remember.

‘Till next time!

- ryan | No Comments