Chapter 6: Exodus(Part 1)

Every musician, whether poised at the brink of getting signed or rocking out in the bedroom with a tennis racket and strobe light, dreams of going on tour. The Revival is no different, and we want it so badly that we're not waiting for the record label(which quite honestly, in our case, would be a long wait) - we're doing it ourselves. Now obviously, we don't have the budget of a big label, so some things will have to be scaled down. The tour bus will be a 12 passenger Ford van(generic white) courtesy of Avis and piloted by us; catering provided by Jayson's wife Amy(Rice Crispy Treats and Oreos) and various convenience stores and burger joints along the way; exotic destinations will be limited to the western part of the country(which can be frighteningly exotic, in some cases) and accommodations will be one room with two beds, queen size if we're lucky. Not exactly first rate, but it's really about taking our music across the country and enjoying the somewhat claustrophobic camaraderie of the road. After almost two weeks, you can well imagine that we've had some adventures and amassed some stories. Here are some of the highlights:

The Yosemite 500. It's Thursday, the third day of very uneventful travel. We left Dallas late Tuesday afternoon and drove to a crappy little town northwest of Amarillo. Day two was driving all day to another crappy little town outside of Las Vegas. So here we are now, just this side of crappy, severely road worn and we have to make it to Sebastopol, CA by 4:00 this afternoon for our first show with The Trailer Park Rangers. No problem, according to the Navi-Jayson Directional Computer and to ensure our timely arrival, he elects to traverse through Yosemite National Park; it's the shortest route(as the crow flies... and therein lies the rub) and we get to witness some of the nation's most beautiful country - double bonus. Shortly after entering the park however, it becomes horribly evident that we've made a grave error: the road is narrow, winding, mountainous and full of vacationing tourists puttering along at 25 mph... plus, my stomach doesn't feel so hot, due mostly to hours of sitting in a crowded van and eating questionable food. I have become a living testament to the philosophy that the human body is designed for motion and a lack thereof can severely slow one's inner workings, if you get my drift. Anyway, the chance of us making the show on time is shrinking by the second. At this point, if it was up to me, I would bail; a short phone call to the venue to explain our impossible situation would meet with understanding and sympathy, especially since we're the opening act. But Jayson Bales never met a hopeless situation he wouldn't risk life and limb(his own and others) to overcome; the surest way to get him to do something is tell him he can't, and since he's in the driver's seat, here we go. My only regret is that no one is keeping official time because I am quite convinced we are setting a record, if not for fastest trip through a national park then surely for scaring the piss out of the most people in a national park(including ourselves). You've probably witnessed a stuntman wannabe motorcyclist flying down a highway at 100 mph, slaloming in and out of traffic within inches of other vehicles with little or no regard for his own life, let alone anyone else's. If you replace the motorcycle with a big-ass van full of equipment and the highway with a snaking scenic trail, you've got a pretty good picture of us... I think we actually "get air" a few times. Capt. Ahab is mad with obsession, glazed eyes glued to the road, rigor mortis hands locked to the wheel, lead foot stomping the accelerator and laser-honed mind blind to all reason - "Come on lads, full speed ahead to Sebastopol, the Great White Whale!" I'm finding it hard to look out at the blurred scenery flying past, because it's blurry... and the exaggerated motion effect isn't helping my lack of digestion issues. I fear that the breathtaking beauty of Yosemite will be somewhat diminished in our haste.

"Hey, there's El Capitan!"

"Where?"

"Back there about a mile... 2 miles... 3 miles... "

Sadly, the high point of this little excursion(for me) is finding the one and only rest stop in the whole park, because we know we're about halfway through and we all need to deliquefy... urgently. As I'm falling out of the van, I'm instantly defeated by the realization that there is only one small bathroom for about 300 people... many of which are currently engaged or recently adjourned from eating greasy fast food. As I stare vacantly at the hopeless situation before me, the thought of taking a number in this potentially aromatic herd engages my survival instinct - I throw social etiquette to the wind and determinedly set off into the wilderness. Some may see this act as a vile disrespect of nature; I like to look at it as paying my respects in that most natural of ways - the circle of life, if you will, returning to the land that which came from the land. It's also my pathetically weak attempt to wreak some ill-conceived vengeance on the national park that's ruining my day, and at this point, peeing on Jayson or the van is out of the question.

The good news(for everyone except Yosemite tourists) is that we do make it to our show in Sebastopol, albeit late; but as the saying goes, "Better late than bear food, pinned in a crashed van somewhere in the California wild." Just happy to be alive, we rush on stage, do our thing(or a very close approximation), proceed directly to getting hammered on Ace Pear Cider and narrowly avert WWIII between exausted Jayson and grumpy(still intestinally challenged) me. Special thanks go out to The Trailer Park Rangers and the Ace in the Hole Pub for their latitude and tolerance... and liberal dispensing of cider.

Berkeley Co-op Groupies. Not what you think... unfortunately. The Revival is playing in Berkeley tonight, at a little place called Beckett's Irish Pub. We're slightly annoyed because we have to bring our own P.A. and play quietly for 3 sets - they normally just have acoustic acts, so Jayson will play several songs solo and then the band will join him... quietly. However, it soon becomes clear that someone has failed to inform the rather boisterous clientele of the "quiet policy", and we're pretty much rocking full throttle before it's over. The crowd loves us, which makes tearing down and loading all that equipment somewhat more bearable, and while Travis and I are patting ourselves on the back, the usually reserved and ready-to-call-it-a-night Greg sidles up with a rather shocking request. Apparently, a small group of young, mostly female UC Berkeley students think we're the cat's pajamas and are insisting that we further imbibe with them. At the mention of young and female, my inner B.S. Alarm goes off - there's got to be an angle. I take a look-see for myself and indeed, Jayson is surrounded by 4 slightly inebriated girls that look more the high school variety(but at my age, anyone under 30 looks like a child to me) that immediately begin introducing themselves and raving about our awesome sound. They know a great place to go, but being poor college students, they lack transportation and require a ride. Now despite what you might believe, I'm against the idea right off; I cannot carry on a conversation with a 21 year old, sober girl for more than about 15 minutes, and I cannot carry on anything else because I know my limits... oh yea, and I'm married(I meant to say that first). Jayson(so he says) is on the fence about it and Travis also seems a little lukewarm. But the G-Spot is adamant that as the objects of their worship, it's the least we can do... just one drink(famous last words). So, with my better judgement laughing its ass off, we all load up in the already crowded van to cruise with the kids... I mean coeds. After twisting and turning through the dark backstreets of Berkeley with two giggly girls navigating(a different but equally unreliable directional system), we pull up in front of what looks like a condemned apartment complex, but in reality is a co-op at UC Berkeley. Now for those of you who don't know what a co-op is, it's a type of cheap dorm where all the residents share the chores - cooking, cleaning, etc. Needless to say, they attract certain... we'll call them liberal minded, communist type of individuals and if this place is any measure, are complete dumps. I'm afraid to touch anything, let alone sit down and wonder why on earth I didn't listen to my better judgement - I immediately start forming an escape plan. We all head out to the patio(loose term), pull up rickety chairs around a wobbly table and are served an assortment of (bargain size)cheap tequila, warm gin(I guess whoever had ice-tray duty fell down on the job) and flat soda water... oh, and limes(classy)... in old coffee cups. Tempted as I am by this bounty, I plead designated driver and abstain; when offered water instead, I just assure them I'll go stick my head under the kitchen faucet if I get thirsty. I'm failing miserably at keeping up my party spirit and try to just maintain my sanity long enough to qualify for tolerant bandmate. The other guys have adapted the "when in Rome" philosophy and are actually engaging these girls in deep discussions about nothing. I haven't seen Greg this giddy on the whole trip and Jayson, leg crossed and thoughtfully pulling on a cigarette(he doesn't normally smoke), presides at the head of the table like a 60's psychology T.A. over a rap session. I feel myself slipping and once the clove cigarettes come out, I am out! Greg gives me the "relax dude, everything's groovy" look in between puffs, but it's too late - Adult Johnny has assumed control. I storm quickly out to the van before I start lecturing students about putting their studies first, or bringing strange men home... or cigarettes stunting their growth. Travis is the next to follow, but not before being accosted by Commie Co-ed #1 as he's attempting to use the facilities - apparently these gals take the concept of sharing very seriously. Fortunately, Travis is able to foil the attempt(politely, I'm sure) and makes it to the safety of the van unscathed(physically, at least). I am now starting to (briefly)reconsider my stance on leaving immediately as Greg and Jayson amble out reluctantly, amused at the situation and inwardly wondering why the bass player is getting all the action, despite their hip smoking display. I now have to play the dad character, making an untimely appearance at an unauthorized party to collect my prodigal sons, who must endure a long, tense drive home while I fume over their irresponsibility and decide what punishment to dole out - Karma will have its day.

The sad thing is, somewhere out there, a young college girl will probably be forever scarred by having her innocent, though admittedly amorous advances rejected by a musician of all things... on tour, no less! Just more destruction in our ever-widening wake... and another devastating blow to our waning coolness rating.