Day 23 - Highway 1 is #1 -or- BBQ’ed in Atascadero

We felt pretty good waking up. This was because we had slept an hour longer than planned and were late for breakfast with Lindsay. AHHH! We left as fast as we could, then rode the highway into Venice. The neighborhood is beautiful. It’s like taking everything nice out of Brooklyn, and putting it in the sun and next to the beach, and adding lots of green landscaping and palm trees.

Talking to Lindsay is always easy. We chatted about how busy Ryan is, his new project, her experience teaching Karate to VERY young kids, and the story of them moving out to LA. She made us a lovely breakfast and we ate and talked too long. When we looked up, it was time for her to go to work, and time for us to book it up to Atascadero.

With a little research we discovered that with a little extra time we could take highway 1 for a good distance. This was the right choice. In minutes we were cruising through Malibu with green mountains studded with palms and cactus on one side, and the surging blue Pacific on the other.

The highway twisted along the coast and flew up and down mountains, each curve delivering a new landscape of desert hills or emerald green mountains. Enormous mansions clung to the rocks, reaching out to the sea with balconies and shining windows. Blythe drove fast, eyeing the radar detector and blasting past leisurely paced European luxury cars.

(the cops had stopped traffic to let a movie crew leave their location, which we sadly didn't get a pic of)

A departure from the highway brought us to a country road, speeding us through grassy mountains and offering views of enormous green valleys. The road was cut into cliff sides, and it twisted into the small town of Atascadero.

We almost blew right by Last Stage West. It’s tucked between hills that are heavily forested. We stepped inside and met Tom and Aaron. Tom set us up fast with food while we loaded in. This set was broadcast on LastStageWest.net, and recorded for all of you fine folks to watch again and again. We played for 3 hours. Tom stepped up to play drums with us for a few tunes. It was pretty nice. Unfortunately the place was mostly empty all night. But we had a good time playing into the vast reaches of cyber space.

At the end we sat with Lia, our bartender for the evening, and chatted over beers. She told us all about her experience living in small town CA and about collecting band t-shirts and about a whole valley of people in Italy with her last name.

We stepped out into the mild night, forest mist hanging all around, and quietly set up our tent on a muddy piece of ground. We crawled in and Blythe dozed off while I read Craig Ferguson’s book, which Blythe got for a dollar at a thrift store in NM.

Thanks to Tom at Last Stage West for the show, the food, and the place to sleep. Thanks to Aaron, Lia, and Zach for the fine conversation, and of course, Lindsay for breakfast.

Tomorrow… Waking up in a pool, Homestead Motel, and The Frog and Peach Pub.

Day 22 - Leaving Las Vegas… Sober - or - Pasadena it to the Left.

We woke up blearily in our cheap Vegas motel room. Our heads ached from the stiff beers and my ankle was still tender. Blythe went to Walgreens to get me an ankle brace while I packed up. We still weren’t sure what to do with ourselves. We had a little free time, but not much. When we checked out of the room, we didn’t have a place to park for free, and my ankle would keep us from walking very far.

When Blythe returned, I strapped my ankle up and we were in the van and on the strip in minutes. If you know us, you can guess where we chose to stop. We climbed out of the van at the largest souvenir shop we could find. Limping a bit, we looked over aisle after aisle of lighters and key chains and Elvis wall clocks. Afterwards, we took a ride down the strip and took pictures.

The desert highway took us quickly out of the city and rolled us past truck stop towns and out of the way casinos. We even stopped for some $4 breakfast in Primm, a collection of large and cheesy hotel/casinos. We dropped $10 bucks in the slots, but really just won our money back.

The drive through the Mojave is busier than one would think. The highway is populated with countless young people ready to drop cash. The desert landscape had become pretty standard to us, as we’ve been in the southwest for a week and a half, but the Mojave is a little peculiar. With its lake bed style sand pits and rocky hills, it stands out as some of the most deserty desert we had been through.

A single curve through a mountain pass brought us suddenly in a brilliant green valley. Rolling rain clouds seethed over head while the hills jutted up violently from the verdant valley floor. Snow caps and huge boulders accented the mountains, and the road wound through them, guiding us smoothly through the dramatic landscape.

The land flattened out a little as we approached the LA metro area. The highway curved and dipped into a jade green suburb, and a quick exit dropped us onto the streets of Pasadena. Initially we were a little worried, as Pasadena’s streets are lined with Prada, Tiffany’s, and Restoration Hardware stores. Those sorts of places don’t usually bode well for our type of music. We were relieved when we found our venue tucked away in a brick lined alley, hidden away from the glitter of the main thoroughfare.

The Old Towne Pub is a Galt Line type of place. Eddy, a gravel voiced bouncer, welcomed us at the door. Inside Aaron the bartender set us up with some drinks. We loaded in right along side of Sunshine Factory, our partners on the bill. Corey, Jordan, John, and Tony were friendly and open right away.

While setting up, a familiar face stepped in. Callie Rogers, a fine young lady we both knew in high school, was kind enough to come out to our show. Her boyfriend, Eron joined her for the evening, and later amused us with tales of his work as a photographer.

Sunshine Factory started off the night with some slick, pop-oriented indie music. Tight harmonies, cool grooves, and slick songwriting characterized their set along with some of the best stage etiquette we’ve ever seen. They thanked the bar, introduced themselves, thanked everyone who came out, and asked the crowd to stay for us.

We played a quick and tight hour long set. The room seemed to like us a lot. Steve Martin (pronounced Marteen), host of radio show “My Side of the City”, and friend of Sunshine Factory offered to have us on his show. Unfortunately our schedule didn’t allow, but it was very flattering. We like Steve.

We sat and talked with Callie and Eron for a while, then with Aaron for a moment, then made our way out. We had planned to camp nearby, but when we stepped out we saw that the rain was steadily drenching the streets. Rain in an LA suburb. Who would think it? With a few calls we found a very cheap motel nearby (The Island Inn), and got ourselves set up comfortably in bed, dozing off while watching “Big Trouble in Little China.”

Thanks so much to Old Towne Pub for having us, Sunshine factory for being so cool, Aaron for helping us get set up, and Callie and Eron for hanging out and listening. And a big thanks for Antonio for Dancing.

Tomorrow… Lindsey Giauque, a little LA, Southern California driving, Last Stage West, and camping in a parking lot.

Day 21 - Lost Vegas - or - What to Do in Vegas in the Rain with No Money and a Twisted Ankle

The alarm clock woke us in our just barely too expensive motel room in Phoenix. We had to get to Vegas today with time enough to look around, and that meant getting the car fixed as fast as possible. With news of Elizabeth Taylor’s death ringing shrilly from the cheap TV, we packed up and showered fast.  We even had to skip the pool.

The night before I found a nearby repair shop called Cactus Auto Repair. I called them to see if they could take care of us right away. When we sheepishly crept into the windowless office, Dave got us taken in right away. In minutes, they were peering under our hood. In about two hours they had us squared away. A new radiator hose was the prescription, and we got away for cheap.  Dave was nice enough to buy a CD and give it a listen.  If you're ever broken down in Phoenix- go there.

It was now just past noon, and the day was wearing on fast. We hit the highway and booked it toward Vegas. We figured we’d get there in time to check in with the venue, and take some time to walk the strip. It was a pipedream really, considering the drive time.

Going through Arizona, we began to see crazy, Dr. Seuss-like trees. These Joshua Trees multiplied again and again. Soon the desert was filled with them. They are weird looking, but provide little in the way of shade or other creature comforts associated with trees. The Galt Line doesn’t care for Joshua Trees.

After some time rolling through dry hills, we took a curve and were greeted with enormous red mountains that stretched to the horizon in every direction. These peaks were surreal, as they seemed completely lifeless. There wasn’t a blade of grass on them. A sudden dip brought us to the exit for the Hoover dam. With a quick jerk of the wheel, we hopped off the highway and softly motored across the top, gliding through all of the tourists on foot.

In 45 minutes, we were descending the hills into Las Vegas. It is a sight, with shining buildings stretched across a sprawling valley floor. It sparkles from a distance. We pulled in to The Freakin’ Frog parking lot with some time to spare. Jack, our big and bearded bartender, greeted us, and when we established that we were playing that evening he set us up with beers and burgers. The Freakin’ Frog is a comfortable spot with a spacious bar and many private booths lining the walls. They have a thousand beers, and 6 hundred whiskeys. We made ourselves right at home with a Lucifer burger and a Teriyaki burger, a Coco Brown Ale and a Red Tail Amber Ale.

We were told to wait for Howard the owner/manager before we set up, so we opted to stay rather than walk to the strip for fear of missing him when he walked in. We waited a while. It was kind of a long while. Howard finally arrived, and sat with us to explain his business, Freakin’ Music, which is essentially a promotional company that helps bands without labels to tour.

We also found out, a little too late, that The Vernell Brown Trio was also playing with us. They have a residency every Wednesday. Howard decided to let them play first, looking to increase our crowd later in the night. We’re easy, so we acquiesced. We went to the stage to pull our gear back to the wall. Somewhere in this process I twisted my ankle. I didn’t even notice until about 10 minutes later when we were watching the trio set up. It started throbbing while I was sitting on a bar stool, downing another free beer.

The trio started up, pumping out experimental jazz jams. Vernell pounded the keys in rhythmic bursts, and experimented with tambourines on the strings and vocal recordings played back from his phone recorder. In about 30 minutes, he began ranting into the mic, explaining about the format of jazz (melody, solo, melody kinda thing). He then openly insulted his drummer. He music stopped shortly after, and he mumbled into the mic “We’re gonna take a short break or whatever, and we’ll be back”.

The drummer began angrily packing up. This was strange behavior for a Wednesday night residence spot, from a band playing to about 11 people. We gathered from several details that the trio had just recently been nominated for a Grammy. Something strange was happening. We watched Howard run toward the stage and have urgent looking conversations with everyone around.

The crowd began filtering out as they grew bored. Howard came up to us, apologies all over his face. He asked us if there was space in our schedule in the next few days. There isn’t. He asked us when we’d be back. “November maybe?” Howard visibly deflated and asked us to come back as soon as possible and to please not say anything bad about Freakin’ Frog.

We didn’t play. We came all the way to Vegas for some free beer and two burgers. I limped a lot as we packed out. My ankle was getting worse. Also an icy wind kicked up, and it began to rain (IN THE DESERT!). I guessed that we wouldn’t be walking down the strip. One pleasing detail rears its head. Jack took us up to the Whiskey attic, and showed us the beautiful collection of Bourbons, Scotches, and Irish Blends.

Soon we found ourselves in the Holiday House Motel, down near the end of the strip. We crawled into bed with a little cider and talked over the night’s debacle. “ At least we didn’t play to nobody. Whatever that means.”

Thanks to the Freakin’ Frog for the burgers and beer. Jack and Howard made the best of a very strange situation for us, and we can't wait to get back to the Freakin' Frog to play our show.  Also, Vernell Brown is a douche. We did get to talk to him a bit. He walked away in the middle of our sentences.  He wasn’t aware that we were the other band, told us about 5 times that he was involved in the Grammys, and made his mother collect our email for his mailing list, all while being openly rude.

Tomorrow… Pimm’s Valley, California, and a Little Old Lady from somewhere.