El Paso, TX
So you remember the flat, yes? The one we changed in the rain after dark back when we were still in a part of the country that recognized the concept of autumn? Well of course we were responsible and had a new (to us) tire put on and checked. Problem is, wherever Andy had taken it apparently didn't think tightening the lug nuts was much of a priority.
So around oh, middle of nowhere I-10 between San Antonio and El Paso, we decide that maybe it isn't the road that's impossible to drive on after all. Get out to check and sure enough:
Those are lugs that have been half chewed through by the wheel once the wheel got loose enough to ride them. Which, I guess if it's a choice between noticing this in your new definition of the middle of nowhere or noticing it when the tire flies off and kills someone in a Nissan Stanza, we actually lucked out. No idea how long I spent trying to wring some kind of help out of AAA (spoiler alert: it didn't work) but in that time a shop fifty miles back in Ft. Stockton had been GPS'ed and called, who recommended we just tighten the spare on to the half-ruined lugs and piss in God's face for the fifty miles back to them. So we did, and made it.
The guys at tire-place-whose-name-I-done-forgot-already were pretty well awesome, and got us in and out before they closed. Even if one of the mechanics was convinced we were heading into the most dangerous city in North America. Which hell, Al Jourgensen does live there.
A few hours later we were back on the road to Uncle Paulie's Pub and the closest I've ever been to Mexico, with me driving and Master of Puppets trying to get us into the headspace of actually performing for the first time in almost a week. Showed up during the local opener (decent synthpop with a good voice, wish I'd caught the project's name). It still doesn't feel like we actually played "a show" last night to be honest, even with 70+ through the door; I guess it was missing out soundcheck and catching up with tourmates we hadn't seen for days that did it. But the show went over rather well regardless, even as a fine layer of dust began to coat the inside of every major facial orifice. Which I don't imagine is dissipating until Austin at the earliest.
As I type this, Tony is driving and I'm in the front passenger seat. As astounding as the Texas desert had been so far, I woke up just after sunrise about an hour from the Arizona border in what might as well have been another planet. *This* is astounding.
A few minutes ago Tony asked the farthest West I'd ever been, and I realized I had to check the next mile marker to be able to tell him. I should probably get back to paying attention to my surroundings, since we'll be out of Tuscon in a few minutes and back into breathtaking nothing.
(posted from Super 8 Motel, Scottsdale AZ)
So around oh, middle of nowhere I-10 between San Antonio and El Paso, we decide that maybe it isn't the road that's impossible to drive on after all. Get out to check and sure enough:
Those are lugs that have been half chewed through by the wheel once the wheel got loose enough to ride them. Which, I guess if it's a choice between noticing this in your new definition of the middle of nowhere or noticing it when the tire flies off and kills someone in a Nissan Stanza, we actually lucked out. No idea how long I spent trying to wring some kind of help out of AAA (spoiler alert: it didn't work) but in that time a shop fifty miles back in Ft. Stockton had been GPS'ed and called, who recommended we just tighten the spare on to the half-ruined lugs and piss in God's face for the fifty miles back to them. So we did, and made it.
The guys at tire-place-whose-name-I-done-forgot-already were pretty well awesome, and got us in and out before they closed. Even if one of the mechanics was convinced we were heading into the most dangerous city in North America. Which hell, Al Jourgensen does live there.
A few hours later we were back on the road to Uncle Paulie's Pub and the closest I've ever been to Mexico, with me driving and Master of Puppets trying to get us into the headspace of actually performing for the first time in almost a week. Showed up during the local opener (decent synthpop with a good voice, wish I'd caught the project's name). It still doesn't feel like we actually played "a show" last night to be honest, even with 70+ through the door; I guess it was missing out soundcheck and catching up with tourmates we hadn't seen for days that did it. But the show went over rather well regardless, even as a fine layer of dust began to coat the inside of every major facial orifice. Which I don't imagine is dissipating until Austin at the earliest.
As I type this, Tony is driving and I'm in the front passenger seat. As astounding as the Texas desert had been so far, I woke up just after sunrise about an hour from the Arizona border in what might as well have been another planet. *This* is astounding.
A few minutes ago Tony asked the farthest West I'd ever been, and I realized I had to check the next mile marker to be able to tell him. I should probably get back to paying attention to my surroundings, since we'll be out of Tuscon in a few minutes and back into breathtaking nothing.
(posted from Super 8 Motel, Scottsdale AZ)