Day 1

Well, here I am. Day 2 of touring. This means two things.

One: I have survived Day 1.

Two: The events of Day 1 must have be very significant, or else I wouldn't have been inspired to start a tour journal.

So let's recap.

Woke up with girl yesterday morning. Didn't get any packing, laundry, errands, or the like done the night before, but this was expected. I was told by Ryan that we wouldn't be leaving until noon or 1, and then received a text message from him saying that it wouldn't be until 1:30 that I would be picked up. I was under the assumption that we were playing Portland that night, so I was a little bewildered on how we could possibly make the 9+ hour drive in time to play, but I was the newbie here, and if I'm going to make it on this tour I should learn to put some faith in those that have more experience than me (I later learned that we were headed to Medford instead, a short ways into Oregon and completely reachable in the time that we had).

I only got one load of laundry done, which was socks, which seemed to be the most essential. From a Day 2 standpoint, this is dead on. Walked the girl to BART, said our goodbyes and I hurried off to Guitar Center to make some last minute grabs. Typical nightmare as always, they didn't have the tuner pedal that I wanted, but I got the pricier pedal at the cheaper pedal price. Then they couldn't even find the pedal, and after 10 minutes of the sales guy searching, I walked behind the counter and shuffled through the pedals myself. Before the cashier could begin to protest, I located the pedal and handed it to the sales guy, who stammered a little bit while apologizing. I had to swipe my card 3 times for it to work, and finally got the hell out of there.

I made my way home a little worried that I wouldn't be packed in time or that I would be rushed and would forget something. Everything was fine though, and the only thing that I seem to have forgotten was my camera charger, which I don't think that I'll need. All in all I had my duffel bag full of clothes, my backpack full of books and electronics, sleeping bag, pillow, air mattress, and (of course) my bass. I didn't have a hard shell case, but Peter is letting me use his which is really a life saver; my stock fender gig bag is paper thin and does little more than provide a way to carry my bass as a backpack. The band arrived, and Ryan smirked at me as I waddled down my driveway, loaded down and arms full of what I perceived to be the essentials, but may have come across as overpacking at first glance. Surveying the back of the van, I concluded that I was on par with everyone else. Cool. I hopped in the van and we headed out to pick up John.

We parked in the lot of John's Jack In The Box (both his workplace and his nextdoor neighbor), and he loaded in. The first thing that we all noticed was that John was wearing a headband that made his hair smooth until midway towards the back of his head, and the a curly mess from thereon back. I called it a "tiara" and that immediately stuck and he didn't hear the end of it all day. I didn't like everyone ganging up on the guy, so I told him that I didn't have a problem with it, but everyone else's constant comments were getting him pretty pissed.

We got on the 5 and headed North. It appears that no matter what happens in my life, I am DESTINED to travel this road several times a year in its entirety or at least major segments. It was a little strange (being the new guy) that I was pointing out things along the way, telling them about the Ashland Shakespeare festival or correcting Ryan on the time it takes to get from Portland to Seattle, but it did help make the whole "first long drive of tour" experience feel a little less like I was venturing out completely blind and eased me enough to argue with Ryan and Peter about whether Johnny Thunders was a rock legend or a idiot drug addict, or whether Blink182 was a rip off of traditional pop punk or if they were different enough to deserve their fame. The van is a gas guzzling giant with a small tank. This caused us to stop 3 times on our way up at about $40 a pop, each time warranting a comment about how we would make back some of the gas money at tonight's show.

When we reached Oregon, Ryan started on a lengthy list on the reasons why he hated the state. Mostly about the hipster population of Portland, and about the speeding ticket he got from the "fucking lesbian redneck highway cop," which he didn't pay and probably caused his license to be suspended in Oregon. Unfortunately, this fact proved to be a major problem later on that night.

We arrived in Medford, and made our way to the bar where we were scheduled to play. Ryan issued me "Venue Recon" guy, but I was accompanied by Brendan into the bar which was either closed or had just opened. Either way, there wasn't a soul inside. We walked around the place trying to find somebody, and eventually the owner came out of the back room. We introduced ourselves and asked what time we should begin loading in. He said that anytime was fine, because we were the only band playing tonight, and then asked if any of us were over 21. Brendan answered truthfully that Ryan and I were the only ones who were (an admission that he was later yelled at by Ryan for) and the owner told us that anyone under 21 would have to either be on stage or outside the bar. This seemed reasonable, even though this rule was completely ignored for the rest of the night by both us and the owner.

The venue was a really cool bar, with rock n roll posters and memorabilia everywhere, and a shotty pool table in the back where I beat Peter and John in a game each. The owned told us that the reason there were no available local bands to play was that there were TWO SHOWS being played within just a few blocks distance from the bar. Fucking fantastic. We left the empty bar to go grab some food at the band’s fast food restaurant of choice, and vegetarian nightmare, Wendy's. The amount of fast food I might consume on this tour might ruin me, and even though there have been side comments about eating better, stopping at grocery stores doesn't seem like something that will happen without a push. We'll see if I make one.

We head back to the still completely vacant bar, and pace around anxiously. The owner said that there would be some people that he knew that were attending other shows that would head over after they got out, so that was something that we were willing to put some stock into, given that our only other option was an empty room.

Eventually 3 guys wandered in, and asked if the bar was open. That was good enough for us. We loaded in, set up, and took the stage. We tuned and did a quick soundcheck, which took just long enough for those same 3 guys to leave again. Staring at the small, completely empty bar floor, we launched into our first song. It was good practice, to say the least, but the least is really all you can say when you're playing to not even the owner of the bar, who must have been in the back room again. During our third song, those guys came back, and stood semi-drunkenly towards the front of the stage, which was close enough for me to see that one of them had an Iron Maiden shirt on. Sweet. Ryan asked them to introduce themselves and we chatted in between songs. Alex, Bill, and Riley seemed to like us well enough and at the end of our short, uninspired set, John asked if they had any requests. Bill, proudly displaying his Iron Maiden shirt, called out "Ride The Lightning by Metallica!!!" Ryan said "Alright, Ride The Lightning! Here we go! TAKE IT PETER!" who counted off a loud 1-2-3-4 and we launched straight into Blitzkrieg Bop.

The 3 guys stuck around after the set and we learned from them that the bar had listed us on their calendar as "Atomic Age". They checked out "Atomic Age" on MySpace, who are apparently a German techo band. They weren't into that at all, but they came out anyways. They got The Atom Age instead, and they said that next time we came through town they would hand out flyers in advance and that we were a lot better than any of the "bro bands" that were playing down the block, where people drove to see them in their "bro-dozers". They were drunk, but they seemed sincere enough. We loaded the van back up and with the band apologizing that this was "the worst that it gets" we went out to find the nearest Pilot gas station to sleep in the van.

This was not the worst that it gets. Less than 5 blocks away, I hear Ryan, who is driving, scream "FUCK!!!" and a car slams into the van and a massive piece of plastic flies over the front windshield of the car. We pull over, and so does the other car. Out of the other car steps this Mexican guy who barely speaks any English. Thankfully, John speaks Spanish and talks him down because he was freaking out quite a bit. He insists that he hit us, and wants to call the police. Ryan, for some reason, says "OK". The other guy runs into the nearby gentleman's club to make the call. I asked Ryan why the police need to get involved and he says that if he refuses and leaves then it's a hit and run. I don't fully understand this, but I don't drive and don't really know the proper protocol for car accidents, so I shut up. We take a look at both cars, and our beastly tour van is totally fine, while the plastic paneling of his car is across the road and his front passenger side door is bent backwards. Finding out who was responsible was tricky because we were both going straight on the same road and someone must have gotten in someone else's lane or something. I look at his car and from the way that his door was bent backwards towards the rear of his car, and location of the damage, I determine that the only way that this could have happened is if he had accelerated into our van. Ryan doesn't seem too concerned, saying that it's a minor fender bender and that insurance would cover it and there's really no reason for anyone to get worked up. This is true, and we're all way more concerned because of Ryan's SUSPENDED LICENSE in Oregon. The cop shows up, he's a young guy, and appears to be alright. He takes Ryan's and guy's info and talks to them separately and what-not. But, afterwards Ryan is taken aside and I hear the cop mention that his license is suspended. Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck. He talks to him quite awhile, and from around the corner where the cop is talking to Ryan I overhear phrases like "plead not guilty" and other things. Not good. I really hope that we won’t have to bail a band member out of jail on our first night, but this is me getting a little carried away. Ryan eventually comes back and explains that the cop was super cool and that he said that he could have towed the van, but he wasn't going to do that because that would have sucked ROYALY for us. He did fine Ryan for driving with a suspended license and on top of that another fine for driving out of his lane. Giving him a citation without actually having the facts down and not witnessing the incident seemed a little insane to me, but nothing could be done about it now.

We get to the nearest Pilot gas station a city or two away, park in the back of the lot and go inside to grab some food. We are sitting there in the Taco Bell attached to the station, when yet another police officer walks up to us. "Where you guys from?" he asks. "Berkeley, California." "And you guys are just passing through, right?" "Yes." "Uh huh, sure..."

Well great, what the fuck did we do now?

"Did you guys have any altercation with the man in purple that was sitting there a few tables away from you?" "What? No." "That's what I figured, he's totally cranked out and saying that a group of guys is following him and harassing him. Are you sure you didn't say anything to him?" "No, we didn't say one word to him." "Alright then, have a good night."

A pretty minor incident, but after everything else tonight and with our luck, we were pretty much thinking we were all going to get arrested and receive the death penalty in fucking Oregon. Well we don't want to stay at some gas station where a meth head is thinking that we're trying to kill him and will probably be back to chew our faces off while we sleep, so we head a few towns out and park in the parking lot of a Best Western for the night. I slept in the very back of the van, which was totally fine, I could stretch my legs out and it was pretty much just like sleeping in anywhere in a sleeping bag. We fell asleep pretty quickly after only a small bit of griping about today. At about 5:30 in the morning, a Best Western employee makes us leave the parking lot, and we move off to a gravel vacant lot just a few blocks away.