For breakfast I decide to have a drink in celebration of my completed driving marathon. I don’t know why, but apple juice and rum reminds me of Bundaburg Rum from Australia. Perhaps it’s the sticky, sweet taste. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been awake for 27 hours and I’m having lucid memory dreams.
The hotel we're staying at let's us check in early and they have swanky toilet paper.
We have all afternoon to catch a nap and go guitar shopping.
Then we drive around a bit looking for the club, which turns out to not be where the GPS tells us it is, and I chase down some guys who I decide in my mind are the people dropping off our backline for the tour. I speed them down all Grand Theft Auto style, but they turn out to just be some random guys that now think I’m a lunatic.
Well that was short lived- we were all fired up about how much space we had in our Volkswagon T5. We could stretch out, someone could take a nap in the back, you know, the real perks of touring in a van. But then we show up at the club and meet our back line: instrument after instrument stares us down in steroid bursting cases. Ironic change of circumstance, this time the awesome backline company brought us too much gear. With kindness in their hearts, they left us an extra guitar amp and bass amp just in case we have problems with the ones we ordered. Unfortunately, thanks to the beefed up flight cases, we can’t fit the spare amps in the car. The heavens have a funny sense of humor. Last night our emaciated backline left James playing drums whilst sitting on a bucket and now this. But I rock some mad geometry with T’Nealle and vacuum-pack the back of the van full of gear. So much for being all excited to use the rear view mirror for the German leg of the tour.
The club is volleyball-tastic. You have to walk through a party bus to get to the front door, and the building is surrounded with sand, shade structures, and coconut oil dispensers. RADICAL! There is another party bus in the parking lot that sells drunk food. Charlie of course has to get a pizza-stuck.
After the show, I thought a girl was complimenting me on my beard, but it turns out she was really just totally into my belt. Later she told me that she missed my band but heard we were super awesome and wanted me to sign her dress. Well, I guess that’s what happens when you miss a band- you end up asking their tour manager to sign your dress. I’m sure she’ll still cherish it forever.
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