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.

Day 20 Pt. 2– Canadian Indie Invasion - or - Arizoned Out - or - Lost (and found) Leaf

The ride across the New Mexico/Arizona border was dreamlike. We sailed quietly through hills and across canyon floors. We even passed the way cool and slightly eerie Very Large Array (VLA), which is a desert plain populated by numerous three story tall radio telescopes.

In Arizona we blew through the Salt River Canyon in Tonto National Forest. We were treated to sights of snow capped mountains and miles of desert hills studded with saguaro cactus. The sky remained a sparkling blue through our whole trip.

When we rolled in to Phoenix, we awed at the glittering skyscrapers and endless green landscaping, complete with palm trees. Soon we were in the neighborhood of the Lost Leaf, our venue for the evening.

We hung out a Jobot, a small coffee house next door, and hi-jacked WiFi for awhile. When the bar opened we met Tato, who booked us, and Mikey, who was running the bar that night. We loaded in and kicked back to wait for show time. We had a lovely pear cider and ran over some new tunes.

Before long the other bands began to arrive. We met all the members of Hot Panda and Said The Whale. It was shaping up to be a great night. By the time we started, the staged was packed with all sorts of equipment, pressing us right up to the crowd. We played a quick and tight set to a very appreciative crowd.

Hot Panda came up next, and crushed a set full of loud psycadelic synth-pop with kickin’ bass and drums. Their show was loose and wild. We like Hot Panda. Next up was Said The Whale, with composed tunes and slick transitions, stuffed to the gills with polish and class. Said The Whale’s music nodded to the Beatles and Paul Simon along with the most current trends in Indie music.

After a few too many beers, we very lamely bailed before Hooves, a local group, took the stage. We were running on 3 hours of sleep and still hadn’t found a place to sleep this night. We said our goodbyes and slid into the night. With a short stop at a Wal-Mart (where else) we munched on sandwiches while we thumbed through our camp guides and tapped on our GPS. We were sitting in the van, with the heater on, when the radiator made the decision for us.

Steam started pouring out of the hood. I popped it up to take a look, but my inexperience left me with little knowledge as to what to do. We take a room at the nearest cheap motel, and bedded down with the plan to hit a repair shop first thing in the morning. With frayed nerves, and to the quiet song of late night cable TV, we drifted off.

Thanks to the Lost Leaf for having us, Tato for booking us, Eric for running a great place, Hot Panda and Said The Whale for a great night of music, Matt for the kind words, and Emmerson, guy in the corner, Debbie and Joel for the interest and conversation.

Tomorrow… Cactus Auto Repair, Joshua Trees, The Freakin Frog, and Vegas BABY!

Day 13 through 19 – On the Road Again -or- Phoenix Rises From the Ashes of Food and Sleep

New Mexico, for us, is always an easy time. It’s a parade of good food and strange sights. No New Mexico trip is complete for us without the following:

New Mexican food – usually a pile of slow cooked meats smothered in chile (red or green) all wrapped in a fresh tortilla. Vegetables? Maybe.

Trips with the family to Wal-Mart – Blythe’s family is incredibly generous, and every time they see us, they remember that they saw something the other day that they just have to get for us. So, we pile in a car and hit the big store. We usually end up with mounds of food and a bunch of gadgets.

The Casino – New Mexico is full of Indian reservations, and nearly every one of them has a casino. We’re no high rollers. You won’t find us at the table games, dropping chips on roulette or black jack. No, you’ll find us at the buffet or penny slots. This week we ate mountains of fresh salad and listened to some traditional Mariachis. They were so good. Though the experience did remind me of “The Meaning of Life” when the tourist couple have an expensive Polynesian dinner in an authentic medieval dungeon.

A hike in a really weird place – This time we hit El Morro, a rock bluff that explodes skyward from a flat desert floor. Under a natural stone canopy sits a quiet green-blue pool, 12 feet deep. This is the only water for miles, so everyone has been though here. Many of them carved intricate signatures into the soft sandstone. There are native petroglyphs, Spanish conquistadors (dating back to 1605), American Calvary men, and surveyors from nearly 200 years ago.

A visit to Coco – Blythe’s schoolyard chum has provided hours of entertainment for us. This time we watched a marathon of Walking Dead, then the live action Super Mario Brothers movie. Pure gold.

Petting Emmitt – Blythe’s Aunt Connie has a piece of land where she raises donkeys and mules, and cuts alfalfa. We often stop by to drink light beer, eat some New Mexican dishes, and chat with Rick (who knows everything there is to know about New Mexico). Rick and Connie have three rambunctious dogs. By far my favorite is Emmitt, a giant Redbone hound, complete with huge paws, flappy ears, and a big dumb head. Besides being friendly and energetic, he knows a trick. If you mime shooting him with a shotgun, he’ll fall over and play dead.

Cards, Dice, and Soda – Blythe’s grandparents pass time like pros. We’ll usually spend an evening or two playing card games and dice and drinking too much soda and eating too many snacks. These sessions are usually followed by strange stories of rural Virginia, and years traveling in RV’s.

Seeing a movie with Eve – We always make a visit to Blythe’s cousin, Eve. Most of the time we catch a movie. This time, Paul. I know it looks dumb, but if like Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, you’ll like this.

Notice that nowhere in these activities is there any mention of working on the computer or rehearsing (though we did do a little). This time is used solely for family visiting and relaxing. Now we’re on I-25, smoothly sliding through breezy desert landscapes, sailing toward Phoenix, ready for work again.

Thanks to all in the Crawford Clan for your continued support, Coco for hanging out after work, and the Albuquerque metro area for being so damn weird.

Tomorrow… Salt River Canyon, Phoenix (the desert metropolis), The Lost Leaf, and indie sensations “Said The Whale”.

Day 12 - Trek from the Mountains to the Desert - or – A Drink of Courage for a Long Drive.

It took a lot of sun through the window to stir us. We didn’t get to bed until nearly 4 am. Pretty soon we were downing some coffee with Craig and Caroline, talking over the next few days. They were flying out that night for Miami, the first stop on a trip to the Bahamas for a family wedding. Craig was lamenting the timing, the Bahamas being a popular spring break spot. A quiet night on the beach seems to be just what they need.

We took our leave, eager to sit with Dustin and Brooke, some more New York expatriates. We met Dustin while doing the rounds in the New York spots. We love his act. Brooke, his significant other, is in a media studies program. They’ve settled nicely in Boulder. Brooke continues her studies, while Dustin has released a record and is now trying to put a band together.

We ate with them at Mountain Sun Brewery, one of the many illustrious spots to turn us down for this tour. The burgers were good, the beers were great! We had a good time telling stories of the road, describing some of the craziest people we’ve met. We all wish each other well, promised to set up a show together, and parted ways.

From Boulder, we hit I25 HARD. We blasted out of Colorado at 85 mph, watching the snow-capped Rockies roll by as if set pieces in a cheap Victorian operetta. Gradually the bushy landscaping and green lawns gave way to desert brush and dust. To our left was a plain stretching to the horizon, while to our right were continuously sprouting mountains, snow peeking through the scrubby, dry pines.

Just as we passed Trinidad Colorado, and rocketed over the New Mexico border, the sun set over the mountains. The sky exploded in reds and violets, and the hills glowed golden. Soon the night cooled the colors to blues and soft greens while stars winked to life. The highway took us twisting through the Raton pass, and pressed us to the desert floor, speeding into the liquid black desert night. The hills continued to glow orange at their peaks, and street lamps and lights from the windows rolled over the horizon, blanketing the valley with its own array of starlight.

We cruised leisurely through Albuquerque and arrived in the desert village of Belen at about 11:15. Quietly we puttered through the sleepy trailer park and knocked softly on the door. A few steps brought us into the warm glow of Blythe’s Grandparent’s home. Soon we had kicked of our shoes, and all four of us watched “The Gambler” with Kenny Rogers and Reba MacIntire. Blythe wasn’t the first to doze off on this night. I crawled into bed with a book on the adventures of Captain Kidd, and quickly passed out.

Thanks to Craig and Caroline for putting us up, Dustin and Brooke for meeting us for lunch, and Blythe’s Grandparents, Paul and Jeri, for giving us a home away from home.

Tomorrow… Nothing! Unless I think something write worthy happens, we’ll take off until next week when we hit the desert highway again for Phoenix.

Day 11 – Rum of a Reddish Color - or - Free Beer in the Mountains

The mountains peeked through our window as we blinked in the morning sunshine. Yawning, we found our way to the living room and thumbed through magazines until Caroline woke up and made us some french press coffee. Soon Craig, Caroline and your two heroes were sitting pleasantly in the kitchen, making plans for an easy day off.

Before long we were zooming into the mountains, just minutes from their apartment. We were treated to intoxicating views of the Rockies. The kinds of sights that make one want to walk off into the hills, never to be seen again. I was surprised to see many small communities tucked away in the rugged mountains.

We parked at the famous Stanley Hotel. This beautiful set of buildings, and the drive through the mountains to get there, was the inspiration for “The Shining”. The movie however was shot somewhere in Washington. Though, CBS did a TV miniseries that was shot at the actual Stanley. It is an eerie place, lined in dark green wallpaper and trimmed in dark wood.

Next we stopped in on Estes Park Brewery. One of the owners was kind enough to pour us samples of everything they had on tap. Hey had some good stuff, including a great Red Ale, and Blythe’s favorite, the oatmeal stout. They had a beautiful operation. Craig bought a mixed 6-pack with a good selection including a pretty hearty barley wine.

After our free beer, we stopped for some lunch in Nederland, home of the Frozen Dead Guy Festival, and famous for loose marijuana laws that let citizens smoke on the street. When full on burgers and salads, we rode back though Boulder Canyon. It’s an odd experience to roll through this epic landscape, and a few miles later drive through the metropolitan and glittering Boulder downtown.

This is a kid on a car!

Back at their apartment, we spun records, drank beer and cider, and talked until 3 in the morning. It was a good night.

Thanks to Craig and Caroline for putting us up again.

Tomorrow… Lunch with Dustin and Brooke, I25 south, and the desert at night.