More Road Stories.

I've got nuthin. I'm in St. Paul today and just got back from having lunch with my uncle and cousins. That was fun. We went to an Italian deli of sorts near the arena and I had a very nice Italian sandwich.

Aside from that, I couldn't think of anything to write. Not much has happened since I returned from my all to short vacation back home. So I thought I'd regale you all with some old road stories. Three, in fact. All revolving around the same theme, Dan climbing in the rig to fix lights and getting stuck.

The first story features me in 1996, on tour with Santana. This was a small tour, before his revival. There was only two of us on the lighting crew and not many lights. But they still broke occasionally, and seeing as I was the "lighting tech" I would have to climb into the rig and fix the lights. San Diego was one such day. We had a light out on the front truss and I harnessed up to go fix it. Now remember, this was 1996, my second year of touring, and long before OSHA got heavily involved in climbing safety. This was my first time having to climb and then hang by my harness under the truss to fix the lights. I got to the light, I secured my safety line to the truss and lowered myself under the truss and proceeded to fix the light. I replaced a couple of parts, lowered in the broken bits on my rope and then attempted to climb back onto the truss. ATTEMPTED is the operative word in the last sentence. You see, I've always been a little weak in upper body strength. Not to mention I've always been a little over weight. I was hanging low enough below the truss that I couldn't swing my leg up and catch my ankle and then pull myself up. So I was dangling there swinging like a monkey on a vine trying to catch the tree above me. The other lighting guy stood on stage watching me, and instead of helping, he called the rest of the crew over and the all stood on stage and laughed at me. Finally, after struggling for about 15 minutes, the other lighting guy brought the truss to the ground so I could get off. Everyone applauded when I hit the deck and unhooked my harness. "Next time, take an eterier with you," said the other lighting guy. Needless to say, the next time I was at REI, I bought and eterier.

In case you are wondering what and eterier is... It's basically a soft webbing ladder. Rock climbers and spelunkers use them as foot holds when they are climbing. As a tech, it's like putting a 6 step ladder off the bottom of the truss. Now you can step down to the light and climb back up. Someone should have told me that beforehand.

...

Later that same year (1996) I was on tour with the Further Fest. Basically, the Grateful Dead still trying to make money without Jerry Garcia. That tour had a lot of twirling hippies and patchoulli stink.

But I digress... Seeing as it was a festival, we had bands starting to play at noon, so we'd load the show in first thing in the morning, and between acts we'd fix and test the lights. The lighting designer had a creative bug in her bonnet and decided that it would be cool to hang the truss at 45 degree angles instead of the standard flat. For us techs who had to climb, this was sort of a mixed blessing. An angled truss made it easier to climb, because it was like going up a ladder, and the lights were hung in such a way that you could just poke your head through the truss to work on them and never have to hang by your harness. The downfall was, if you ever had to swap a light out, you'd have a heck of a time maneuvering the rope and pulley to a point where you could lower and raise the lights.

After the opening act finished, and before the next one came on, I had to climb up and fix one of the lights. By this time, OSHA had become partly involved and there were now life lines attached to all the trusses, so you had to wear your harness and clip your safety line to the lifeline. I pulled on my harness and climbed up. I walked halfway up the truss and shimmied my body through the angled truss and began working on the light. I had finished the repair, lowered in the broken part and then proceeded to back my way out of the truss. And that's when I got stuck. I was pushing up with my arms but I couldn't move, my waist was wedged between two bars on the truss. I started flailing and wriggling trying to free myself but to no avail.

By this time, the truss itself began to swing. which caused members of the audience to start looking up at me and pointing. Which also caused the crew to start gathering on side stage to watch my solo circus act in the sky. I was struggling for a while, I couldn't figure out what was caught. The next thing I know the moving lights are panning and tilting into a cue, and I look down and the next act, Sherri Jackson, is out on stage and starting her first song. I started to struggle harder pushing and twisting trying to free my waist. At one point, Sherri Jackson must have wondered what the audience was looking at, and mid song, turned around and looked at the pudgy guy wiggling back and forth, legs kicking wildly in the open air.

I finally lowered myself back into the truss and noticed that when I push out, my harness was getting caught on the bar. So I sucked my stomach in, pushed with one arm and used the other to push my harness into my belly and I freed myself. Everyone applauded when I hit the deck and unhooked my harness.

...

My final story involves me again, being stuck under the truss. This time however I wasn't fixing a light, but rather trying to return to earth.

The year is 1997. I'm on tour with Luther Vandross and OSHA has become very involved in climbing safety and now requires that all trusses have life lines along them as well as all ladders have fall arrestors. OSHA also makes it a requirement to wear a full body harness as opposed to the standard climbing "sit" harness I've been wearing.

The lighting rig was designed by a very artsy fellow who didn't have a single straight line drawn. If you were sitting in the audience, the front truss looked like an "S" lying on it's side. Because of this shape, the ladder that was attached to it would hang too far out in the audience. So everyday, before the audience came in, one of the crew would have to climb up into the truss, lower in the ladder and then hook themselves into one of the hanging points (motors) and rappel in.

It was my turn, so when I got up into the truss and off the ladder. I hooked my 6 foot safety line onto the life line attached to the truss, then unhooked and lowered the ladder. I then climbed to the top of the sidewards "S" of truss and hooked into the hanging point and lowered in my rappelling rope. I carefully wrapped the double rope around my figure 8 rappelling device and slowly lowered myself off the truss and into a seated rappel position. I began my slow decent back to earth, when 6 feet later, I felt a tug on the back of my harness. I had stopped moving. I looked up and shook my head. I had forgotten to unhook my safety line from the life line, and now I was stuck, 6 feet below the truss, both hands holding onto the rope.

The crew began to gather on stage and laugh at me. Thankfully, I was rappelling from the top of the sidewards "S" so there was truss to my left and right. So I started to kick my legs back and forth and started to swing. Eventually I was in a big enough swing that I was able to grab a hold of the truss and pull myself back onto it. I climbed back up to the hanging point and prepared to rappel again. This time I remembered to unhook my safety line from the life line and this time was able to rappel safely back to the deck. Everyone applauded when I hit the deck and unhooked my harness.

...

It's a good thing I don't climb trusses anymore.

...

Cancellation, Rebook, Good Karma, Green Bay.

Sorry Jade. I was ultimately lazy for three days at home. I didn't even look at my own blog to see if the counter has been going up. Here's a post just for you, seeing as I haven't got much to report.

I flew home on Sunday and Nicole picked me up and took me straight to her office. For those who don't know, Jam (the company she works for) decided to close the physical office in Westwood, and keep Nicole employed but working from home. So it's mostly a win win for us. Nicole keeps her job and no longer has to commute the hard way through L.A. (West to East and vise versa). Now she sits in the office at home and telecommutes. We went to her office and got the last of her stuff moved out. She's keeping the phone number and mailing address, so every now and again, she'll have to go to Westwood to pick up the mail. We then returned home where I spent the next two days on the couch facing the often on television.

And that's about it for the next two days. I moved occasionally to go the the loo and to sleep on the bed, but otherwise I was immobile. Oh, we did go to REI to get me new socks, and I did have really bad allergy attacks, but for the most part, immobile.

I guess I was just saving all the fun for yesterday. I had a flight to Green Bay to start this leg of the tour on American Airlines. As I'm sure most of you heard, American grounded most of their MD-80 fleet yesterday to inspect a possible wiring flaw. 200 flights were canceled. But not to worry, most of the flights that were canceled were originating out of their two hubs Chicago and Dallas, said the morning news. Only two flights were canceled in L.A. One of them was of course, mine.

Once we found out, I got on the phone to our Tour Manager to see what was, if anything, being done. She tells me that the travel agent was aware of the cancellations, but didn't think it affected any of our flights. The TM would call me back.

They sorted it out. Got me a flight on United that left around the same time. We tried to check in on line, but for some reason, could not. So we just left for the airport. We got to United and again attempted to check in. The "Easy Check-in" kiosk was not being easy, "Please pick up the phone" it kept telling me, so I did. The agent on the other end tells me the ticket has not been paid for so it won't issue, but she'll work it out. So after holding for about 5 minutes she asked me to try it again, and this time it went through.

The next screen offered me to "upgrade to Economy Plus for $44", I chose yes, what the heck right? A little more leg room. But alas, all that was left was middle seats, so I canceled the upgrade request and attempted to check in to standard economy. But they wouldn't assign me a seat in economy. So I canceled that and went back to Economy Plus, because at least I was going to get a seat. I would have had a middle seat either way I assumed, may as well have some leg room.

SSSS. The four letters of death you could see at the bottom of your boarding pass. It means, you aren't sashaying through TSA security. I got to security walked through the metal detector and handed the TSA agent my boarding pass. "You know what the 4 S's on your boading pass mean?" He asked me sternly. I replied, "Super Special Secondary Screening." He remained unimpressed and sent me to the addtional screening line. Why did I get the SSSS? Simple. My ticket was booked only moments before the flight. Let that be a lesson to you terrorists! Book your ticket well in advance!

10E was my seat. With the new fangled way they board planes, I was in Group 4. By the time Group 4 was called, there was no over head room. This was shaping up to be a bad flight. Middle seat, with my bag stuffed at my feet. At least I had leg room. I got to row 10 and pointed at the middle seat between to skinny German boys. "Would you like to seeet on ze aizle? I will seeet in ze middle," Said the nice German boy. Good Karma for Dan! I got an aisle seat in Economy Plus.

But that was about it for the really good karma. In Chicago where I had to change planes, I had a choice, go out to the curb and catch the tram from terminal 1 to terminal 3, or walk from terminal 1 to terminal 3. I chose walk. Why? Because I wouldn't have to go through security again. I didn't need the secondary screening again.

Needless to say, I got to Green Bay, one puddle jumper from Chicago to here and we're already back in the grind. Wayne's back so the shooting quartet is complete. Next day of shooting, Monday in Peoria. Stay tuned.

...

Break Time.

Cleveland today, then a 6:30AM flight to return to Los Angeles to see my wife. That probably means I won't be posting again until Thursday when I'm back on the road in lovely Green Bay, Wisconsin.

27 degrees here. It will be around 80 tomorrow in L.A.. Yeah.

Without My Soap Box, Where Do I Stand?

Yes, I can't get off my soap box. I was good for a few weeks, but now, the poop has hit the fan. But after this post, I'm done. And here's why.

Yesterday, the ASO, announced the teams for the Tour de France this year, and true to their word, Astana was left out. Continuing their line of reasoning, because of the doping problems for the former Astana teams on the last two tours, was the reason they were not invited this year.

Never mind that Rabobank, Cofidis, and Gerolsteiner, all who had doping troubles in the TdF of the last two years are invited this year. Heck, last year Micheal Rasmussen, while riding for Rabobank, was pulled from the tour for misinforming his team about his whereabouts! And Rabobank is invited to the tour this year.

Johan Bruyneel reacted to the announcement today by saying the decision to leave last years winner Alberto Contador and the entire Astana team out for mistakes of the previous team as, "unfair, illogical, ridiculous and arrogant." You tell them Johan!

Professional cycling is a mess right now. I read a fan letter posted on www.cyclingnews.com that made a whole lot of sense to me. The title of the letter, if you want to look it up is, "Cycling fans must let their voices be heard". It is written by Joan Blomsterberg from Denmark, and I agree with their position.

I'm done. I'm not watching the Tour de France this year. I'm sure Nicole is in shock to hear it, but I don't plan on it. Not only because the non-invite of Astana, that's probably the smallest reason. I'm not watching because I'm tired of the baloney and the controversy. I'm tired of the ASO vs. the UCI. I'm tired of the riders whining, "I just want to ride my bike!" but not putting any effort into making a statement as a whole. The fans want to watch the best racers in the world fight it out for the most prestige. Which says to me, the fans and the cyclist have the power. If the fans don't watch and the cyclist don't race, then no one makes money.

It's called the "International Association of Professional Cycling Teams" (AIGCP) for a reason. They have the power to make decisions for their future, instead of worrying about their jobs. Done with the UCI? Tell them so and figure out a better way to organize all the races. Don't want to bow to the whims of the ASO? Don't do their races. Take a stand and tell them what you want. Without you, they have no race. Worried about the sponsors? A good sponsor should do what's best for the team. I wouldn't want to sponsor a controversial race.

So I'm done. I'm not going to talk about this anymore. I'm gonna stick to Sporting Clays for now. Perhaps join the NSCA and start shooting in tournaments. I'll keep riding my bike, but I'm not gonna imagine I'm racing the best up L'Alpe D'Huez, because I don't know who the best is anymore.

...

New Orleans, Part 2

I’ve been on the road, 13 years, and I have never once, done a good show in New Orleans. I don’t know what it is, but for some reason, New Orleans is a breeding ground for bad shows.

I every time I’m in New Orleans for work, I’m hoping it will be different. But it never is. Even on my very first tour, New Orleans left an impression.

In 1995, I was just a youngish buck who wasn’t planning on touring. But some how, I ended up on tour with Primus that summer. Our show was in an old theater that was now basically used for rock concerts. Most of the floor seating was removed in favor of an open floor, conducive for crowd surfing and mosh pits.

It was a union house, one of the few in New Orleans, so it was populated by many of the “old timers”. Guys who have been stage hand since theater was a popular form of entertainment. Probably got their start in the very building we were loading in. As load-in in progressed, I was assigned two stagehands who were well into their 60’s. I handed one of them 5 female plugs labeled 1 thru 5, and I also handed him the male plugs, labeled 1 thru 5. I told him to plug them in 1 thru 5 and I’ll run the rest of the cable out. He stood there for a moment, looked at the plugs and then dropped them all on the ground. I came up and asked him why he didn’t plug them together and he responded, “It’s not my job.” But you’re assigned to me as an electrician, these are electrical plugs, “It’s not my job, I’m THE electrician, I just tie in the power.” I was a newbie; I had no idea what to do. I just stood there dumbfounded and plugged the plugs in myself.

Years pass, it’s now 1997, and I find myself in New Orleans again, this time at the arena on the campus of the University of New Orleans. This too, is a union house. But this one is populated by a younger generation of stagehands. For me, at any other venue in any other city (including overseas) if you have a job that is repeated, say, hanging 20 lights the same way, I would simply take my stagehands, show them how to hang it the first time, and then have them do the next 19 the same way while I went and started another project. Not in New Orleans. In New Orleans you have to stand there and watch them hang each light and then follow behind them fixing what ever it is they do wrong. It’s almost easier to hang everything yourself.

On this same tour during load out, I was pushing cases to the truck to be loaded, all the while, the stagehands were standing there smoking cigarettes and watching me. It wasn’t until one of them yelled at me, “Hurry up, I want to go home!” That’s when I lost it. I’m a pretty patient guy, and I have a long fuse, but after that comment, I started yelling at them, “THIS IS NOT MY F**KING JOB, IT’S YOURS. YOU WANT TO GO HOME? START PUSHING F**ING CASES AND LOAD THAT F**KING TRUCK!” My stage manager, who was in complete shock, because he’d never heard me yell before, had to pull me aside and send me to the showers.

I’ve done many shows in New Orleans, and never have I had a good one. Often, stagehands show up drunk or smelling of booze.

I was working for Luther Vandross when we did the Essence Festival in the Superdome. It was a festival, so I didn’t have to program or run any lighting, but I did have to call followspots, and Luther was a stickler about his followspots. I was in the middle of his set, when one of the followspot operators, who was obviously drunk, tells me on headset, “I gotta go pee,” and walks away from his followspot. I’m screaming into the headset for him to come back, but one of his compatriots tells me, he’s already out the door. And there’s Luther, on stage walking back and forth, while one spot sits there, center stage, unmoving. How do you explain to Luther that the operator, “Had to go pee”? Thankfully his manager came out to ask me what was going on and I told him, so he delivered the news.

Yesterday’s show was no different. I spent the morning listening on the radio as my crew people would tell each other, “I’m sending you 2 stagehands, they need EXTRA attention.” Before the show started we had one followspot that was very dim. Thankfully, they replaced it, but told no one, so when it came time to change colour, the colours weren’t there! They were in the followspot they had removed! Two Blue Men in a lavender followspot, and one in bright white, good times.

In the New Orleans Arena, where we were yesterday, there is a video panel that surrounds the balcony edge. Prior to the show, they run advertisements on the panels for the crowd to see. I told the video panel operator, to turn the advertisements off on my command and to leave them off for our short intermission.

Intermission comes and he turns the advertisements back on! I get on headset and tell him to turn them off and he tells me the contract says to turn them back on. “Not my contract, not my problem,” I respond, “Turn them off now.”

“I can’t it’s in the contract.”

“I’m about to run video clips and I need them off now.”

“Just tell me when you are about to run the video and I’ll turn them off then.”

ARRRRGH! I called my production manager who called the house manager to get the advertisements turned off. And he called her, and called her and called her. No answer for the longest time, very typical of the day. When she finally answered she told my production manager, “It’s in the contract,” At which time he laid into her with more force then I’m capable off.

Needless to say, the advertisements were soon turned off.

I have never done a good show in New Orleans, and I suspect I never will.

New Orleans, LA

Katrina may have devastated most of the surrounding areas of New Orleans, but the heart of the city, the French Quarter, beats on.
Beignets at Cafe du Monde

Hurricanes at Pat O'Briens

Jambalaya also at Pat O'Briens

Steaks at Dickie Brennan's

Pecan chocolate mousse, also at Dickie Brennan's (although the coconut cake is recommended).


Mechanical bull riding at the Bourbon Cowboy bar.

Drunken Cowboys.


Irish pride parade on Bourbon Street. 9PM, not the best time.




-fin-


...

Why Yes, We Are Bored. Thanks For Asking!

As another sign that we've all been on this tour too long, there is a growing hobby among the crew. I couldn't tell you when it started, but it's become quite a spectacle for the odd afternoon.

One of those afternoons was our first day in Ft. Myers. There was a large parking lot on one side of the building next to a lake. There was a slight breeze blowing west to east, so conditions were perfect. After the afternoon sound check, the crew gathered. People were roused from their afternoon nap, and the parade moved out to the parking lot.

A semi circle formed around a small parking berm, where the launcher was set. Boxes were set down and model rockets began to appear. Cars full of people coming for the evening show, slowed to watch the spectacle. Staff members from the arena gathered at a distance. Model rocket enthusiasts (or bored crew people with too much per diem), prepped the motors on their sky bound models. The crowded murmured, quiet in discussion. Was the wind going to be a factor? This is the maiden voyage for the Van Halen rocket, will it survive? Will we loose the rockets in the sun? The anticipation in the air thickened with every passing moment.

And it began. The leads were attached to the engine, the cable run out, and the safety switch turned off. A constant audible whine could be heard. The rocket was in final countdown.



Woosh! off it went into the deep blue sky. Heads all turned skyward as the rocket took off to the west into the wind. The trail of smoke turned into a puff as the rocket split apart and the retrieval parachute opened. All eyes followed the downward path as the rocket floated to earth, bobbing left and right eventually landing 100 yards away.

The spectacle continued. More people gathered, including one sheriff's patrol car to watch as rockets were launched. Some successfully retrieved, others not so much.

The finale for the afternoon approached. A small yellow port-a-john model was fashioned into a rocket. The crowd was 3 people thick waiting for the launch of "Poop 1" into the great beyond. The port-a-john was carefully checked and re-checked, the engine was secure. The leads clamped securely. Angle and wind checked and double checked. The launch pad was ready. Mission control was on line. The safety switch flipped and the low whine permeated the air.


But "Poop 1" was top heavy, and arched no higher than 20 feet before finally coming to rest in front of a parked car. The parachute deployed the moment it hit the ground. The crowd squealed with laughter! People standing in line to pick up their tickets stood there dumb founded at the near miss. "Poop 1" was retrieved and brought back to the launch pad. It was checked for defects. "Poop 1" appears ready for a second launch... But on another day.

...

The Big Shoot.

I've been with my wife too long. How do I know? I'm starting to plan events.
Well, in all fairness, this was an event I wanted to organize.

Our guest shooter program was getting out of hand. Many people were asking to go, and frankly, time is running out. Wayne will be back soon, and once he returns, the quartet is complete. The guest shooter program is closed, thank you all for coming, please proceed to the nearest exit.

So I organized an event at Deer Creek Sporting Clays. Deer Creek is an hour north of Tampa, and as it turned out, we had two days off there. One day I spent hard at work (see previous post) and the other day, I went shooting (of course). It was an event for sure. And I had to do more than just call the place and set up a time. I posted signs around the venues for weeks beforehand and started a sign up sheet. I collected money and told the stoners and drunks not to do either the night before or they will be kicked off the course and their fee was forfeit. I then collected more money to pay for lunch, seeing as it was an all day thing. I got the okay to use one of the tour buses and got extra ice for the cooler.

The morning of the shoot, I was the first one on the bus, I cleaned, I filled the coolers with ice and beer. I divided the money I collected into envelopes for the team captains (I organized that too), and got out the waiver forms and instructions for the captains.

17 of us shot that day, including a professional from New Hampshire. I didn't take pictures the one day we shot the 5-Stand in New Hampshire, but our trapper for the day, Ed Fallon, happens to be on vacation down in Florida. Well, his wife is on vacation, he's been out shooting. He was actually in a two day tournament the weekend before he shot with us. That's three whole days of shooting! Sounds like heaven.

We also had one parent shooting with us. The father of one of the lighting crew had flown in that morning, a red eye flight from Seattle, and he shot with us too.

At 10:00 AM we piled on the bus and headed for Deer Creek. Cathy and Roger, the owners of Deer Creek met us at the club house. What great people. After lunch, Cathy gave us a speech about the rules and regulations for the club as well as a brief history of Sporting Clays. She said something during her speech I will never forget. She compared her club to Disney World in Orlando. "We are both in the entertainment field," She said. Sporting Clays is a fun enjoyable time, it just happens to be done with a shotgun. Neat.

After the speech we broke up into our four teams and headed onto the course. I won't bore you with details. Best to say it was a really great day. And I think Cathy thought so too. We were supposed to only shoot 100 rounds on the "White" course, which is the easiest of the three sporting clay courses they have. But Cathy saw how much fun we were having, that she offered to open up part of the "Blue" course which is the mid level course for anyone who wanted to try something a little harder. Of course my team took the offer, as did the team with our resident pro, Ed Fallon. So by the end of the day, most of us shot 150 rounds.

Everyone had fun, even today, people are still talking about it. Almost everyone thanked me for putting it together. And unfortunately, it did nothing to assuage the guest shooter program. As Cathy, the owner of Deer Creek told me at the end of the day, "I think you created a bunch of Sporting Clays addicts!". Great.

I'll end with some pictures of the day. Because we were divided into teams so I was unable to get pictures of everyone shooting. I had to stick with my team or we'd slow the process down. I was able to snap off a few of the other teams.

Here's Chad "Dead Eye" lining one up. He was one of 4 of us (Chad, Willy, Ed and myself) who shot at least one perfect 10 on the course. Ed, our resident pro shot three 10s! I wish I was in his group to see that!Here's Willy shooting. Mark is trapping and Lyle (back to the camera) he's just being sexy in his shooting vest.Deer Creek had many very easy targets that floated in. Here's a shot of Sean Kelly with a nice high incomer. The White course was definitely the easiest.OBSERVE AND LEARN PEOPLE. Here's our resident pro Ed preparing to shoot. Note, he does not have the gun mounted to his shoulder, looking very relaxed and cool.PULL! Ed identifies the target and brings the shotgun to his should and leads the target. What a pro!Not so pro, here's Jason. If you click on the picture and look at it larger, you'll see the target dead center and lost in the trees. Lots of foliage on the course.Here's Don shooting one of the extra stations on the Blue course. This was a tough one. If you blow the picture up, you can see the clay coming in from his right and skimming the top of the brush. You can also see the tree in front of him where people have been trying to get an early jump on the target and just put the lead into the trunk.

THE RESULTS OF THE BIG SHOOT:
(All totals are from 100 targets. Any person with two numbers, the second number is the total from 150 targets)

Ed Fallon (Resident pro) - 81/121
Dan Boland (hey that's me!) - 73/106
Lyle Harris (The Big Winner!) - 63
Willy Williams - 62
Larry Brownlee (Resident parent) - 60/88
Don Livingston - 60/82
Chad "Dead Eye" Zaemisch - 58/82
Maddi Schieferstein - 57/83
Rick McCollam - 52
Mel Dorough - 49/68
Rick Berger - 48
Drew Welker - 43
Frank Schweitzer - 42/64
Jason Bowman - 40/65
Mark Haynes - 40
Sean Kelley - 40
Dave Lopriore - 36
Wayne Boehning - 0/0 (geez)

Standing (l to r) - Rick M., Dave L., Jason B., Dead Eye, Willy W., Mark H., Mrs. Lyle, Lyle H., Maddi S., Mel D., Ed Fallon (pro)

Kneeling (l to r) - Larry B., Sean K., Rick B., Drew W., Frank S., Don L.

Squatting like and idiot - Dan (that's me).

...

The Tough Touring Life.

But before I get into that, I feel I must address the comment left on the last blog by Jade...

Wigs on tour you ask? Obviously, you've never seen the Blue Man Group.

...

And now back to "The Tough Touring Life".

There's not much I can say to make you really understand how hard it is to tour, so I figured the best way is to show you in pictures. We were just in St. Petersburg, Florida for the last few days. How do I do this?

I should also mention that yesterday, I was attacked by a great white shark. Seriously. It wasn't a very big one, but my friends and I were out at sunset walking the beach, the time when sharks usually feed, when out of now where this small great white fell out of the sky! Damn near hit me in the head! Figured I should just take him to dinner if he's that hungry.

...

Ask... And You Shall Receive...

You asked for it, so here it is, in all it's glory, my new haircut...











Alright, that was just a wig. Here's my new haircut...










Okay, that was me before 1998... Now for my really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really short hair.

...

Head Trauma and Shotguns.

Last show in Greenville, one of our crew members met a "cosmetologist" on the day off, and invited her to come to the load in to cut hair for tips. Now, how can you beat that? A haircut for what ever you want to pay! I'm in. I had to wait my turn, many of us cheapskates out here took advantage of the situation.

But something was not right. Each person who got their haircut, had to make a return trip get a "touch up". I got the call on the radio that it was my turn, but when I showed up, I still had to wait behind two people getting "touch ups". And it was easy haircuts she had to fix too. Not like a "style", no, these two fellows just had their haircut to an even length all around. A trim, if you will. That's all I wanted too. I was a little concerned but figured, everyone else will go back for a touch up, so can I.

I plopped down in the chair, and said, "Just take a number 4 and trim it evenly all the way around". She mumbled something and blended it with a thick southern accent, so I said, "Yes, number 4 all the way around." And that's what she did, she took a number 4 trimmer and cut all the way around... The back and sides of my head. The top, however, she decided to style. she didn't cut it as short, but that's okay, I've had this type of haircut before, a little longer on the top, no big deal. 10 minutes later, she threw off the cape, said, "all done," and I handed her 10 bucks. I ran my hand through my hair and it felt fine. Short like a like it.

Then, I found a mirror. It was bad. She had missed places, the cut was not complementary to the shape of my head. I'm no hair expert, but when the hair sticks straight out right at the crown of my head, that's a bad cut. So I went back to find her.

Gone. She had disappeared. I asked the roadie who invited her of her location. He said she took off to get ready for tonights show.

That'll learn me to get a free haircut.

But the adventure doesn't stop there. Yesterday morning, I went out in search of a place to fix the great wrong on my head. There's not much in downtown Columbia, SC. But I did find a barber shop. I figured, I could just stop in there and get a number 4 all the way around.

This was a barber shop. When I say barber shop, think the movie "Barber Shop" starring Ice Cube. I won't go into anymore detail then that. I plopped down in the chair and said, ""Just take a number 4 and trim it evenly all the way around." And the barber said in a thick southern accent, "You just want a trim? Get your summer hair cut on?" I said, "Sure."

And the next thing I know, they guy has taken a razor to my head.

I'm not bald, but my hair is really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, short.

One bad haircut fixed by another, less bad haircut. But not much I can do. I have to wear a hat to keep my head warm, and I'm worried I will get a sunburn on my scalp down in Florida on Monday. I showed my head to Nicole via video chat, and she screamed a bone chilling scream. OK, she didn't scream but she was less impressed with my haircut than I am.

There are bonuses though. My showers are faster, and I'm saving shampoo and conditioner. It will grow back, and hopefully by the time I'm back in L.A. for Easter, I'll have a haircut resembling a "number 4, trimmed evenly all the way around".

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We also went Sporting Clays yesterday. I found a place called Hermitage Farms Shooting Sports about 30 miles outside of Columbia. Our guest shooter this time was the Tour Manager, Jenn. She says she's shot skeet before, but never sporting clays.

It was a very nice course with presentations out over ponds. And also down into a gully. There were rabbits and other fun targets to shoot at. There was even a great over head shot. Here's Jenn lining it up.

But wait, is that a power line we're shooting at? Yep. There was a power line right in front of station 10. One clay came from behind it and one came from the front. If you shot straight at the power pole, you had a good chance of hitting them. All in all another very fun and challenging course.

I had a good day, shooting 59 out of 105. Normally you only shoot 100, but there were a few stations without "menus" (a list of how many shots and how they are presented), so we guess as to how many to shoot there and came up shooting 4 extra shots. I had one extra shell, so I shot that to make 105.

Everyone else did not have a good day. Well, Mel shot normal for Mel, 14 out of 104, but Maddi had a bad day only hitting 11. Surprisingly Jenn, shot 20. Impressive young Skywalker.



And here's a video of Jenn shooting. Ever wonder if there is any kickback to an over/under shot gun? Watch her ponytail and you tell me.

Hincapie Got it Right.

I like Greenville, SC. I'm not gonna move here, it's to far from Hawai'i. But I'd certainly spend more time here if there was the chance.

This is our second time through Greenville on this tour within a year. Kind of strange for a tour to go back through all the same cities less than a year later. But we sold well here so I guess it makes sense to come back. Other places, not so much.

Both times we've had a day off here. And both days off have been really good. The last time, I went to a minor league baseball game which was a lot of fun. 5 dollar seats right next to the dugout and cheap hot dogs and beer. There's also a triathlon shop where I bought gloves last time and swim goggles this time.

The Reedy River runs through downtown and they have a really nice park surrounding a waterfall. The flowers are starting to bloom and the sun was shining, so I sat out yesterday by the waterfall and did a couple of Sudoku puzzles before meeting up with Maddi for ice cream.

The place was called "Spill the Beans". They had coffee and ice cream and a couple of tables on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day to sit outside and enjoy the sun, but the show was really inside the store. I'm sure it's not a big deal, but Maddi and I were fascinated by how they were preparing the ice cream. There was a whole method to ordering. First you chose either chocolate or vanilla, ice cream or frozen yogurt. Then you could chose from a wide assortment of toppings and fruits, then you chose a size, small, medium or large, cup or cone. After you got through with your order (vanilla ice cream with hot fudge and M&Ms, medium in a cup) They would scoop the ice cream and toppings into a large plastic cone, then stick it under what looked like a large drill with a conic drill bit. They'd turn on the drill and use the drill bit to mush together your ice cream and toppings and then drive it out of the bottom of the plastic cone into your cup. It came out looking like soft sever ice cream from a machine, but tasting way better. I didn't get a picture of the contraption or the gentlemen running it, I had forgotten I had my camera on me, but here's a picture of me smiling after my delicious hot fudge sundae.George Hincapie, who used to ride with Lance Armstrong on the Discovery Channel team, but now rides for Team High Road, lives in Greenville. He's a smart guy.

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That Other Sport.

As hard as I try, I can't seem to loose my little camera. In New Mexico on the last leg, I thought it was stolen by one of the stage hands. But as it turns out, I had just stuffed it in the bottom of a road case and forgot about it until the next show. Two days ago, on our day off in Raleigh, NC., I thought I dropped my camera in the taxi, only to have it returned to me by one of my friends whom I was hanging out with. One of these days my karma will run out and it will be gone for good. Which will suck considering how attached I've become to it.

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Something amazing happened to me yesterday, Jade left a comment! I'm so glad she still takes the time to read this silly blog. I was also told (not by Jade, but she may agree) that it's time to get off my soap box and stop talking about the situation in professional cycling.

So for now, I'll talk about the other sport.Clem, Jason and myself went to an NHL hockey game in Raleigh. The Carolina Hurricanes were hosting the New York Rangers and the promoter got us tickets, since we were playing in the same venue the next night. It was a bit of a last minute thing, I found out they had tickets the day before and got on the list. Then it turned out everyone except for Clem dropped out, so we invited Jason. We had six tickets, so we figured we be able to spread out. That wasn't the case. As you can see over my shoulder in the picture above, two women were sitting in our seats, and none of us and the balls enough to ask them to move. So we squished ourselves into the remaining four seats. Which was not easy since Clem is about 6' 6" tall and I'm about the same length, not tall but wide. Jason fit right in the middle. After a period of play we figured out no one was behind us, so Clem moved back and took the above picture.

But that's where the complaining about the game will stop. We had really great seats! As you can see, we were 7 rows from the ice in the corner. Being down that close makes the game so much faster. These kids can skate. We got to see an amazing tic-tac-toe goal scored by the Rangers. Luckily for us we were sitting in the Rangers section so when Clem burst from his seat to applaud the visiting teams goal, he wasn't alone.

I really like watching the goalies. Many of them have rituals and superstitions that repeat every game. Some of them like to tap the pipes of the goal just before face-offs. Some guys take three squirts from their water bottles during breaks. A big superstition is to not step on any of the painted lines. This was a famous one for one of the better goalies of the game, Patrick Roy. I remember reading about him always stepping over the blue line, and one day, during the playoffs, he was stepping over the line and tripped! He fell to his knees and got up quickly and tried to brush it off. He still lost the game, and proceeded to blame the loss on the trip.

I'm sure most of you didn't know that when I was a young lad, I used to play lots of roller hockey. In Hawai'i my friend Calvin and I would organize games every Tuesday and Thursday nights at Puohala elementary school on their basketball court. We start playing at around 7:15 after we closed up The Bike Shop and would play until the lights would turn off at around 10:30. I would always play goal. I loved strapping on the pads pulling on the mask. Most kids would prefer to whack the slap shot and score the goal. I got more pleasure out of snagging a puck out of the air, or making a super stretch toe save. That got me going.

From those days, I gained a few superstitions that I still have today. To this day, I still put on the right thing of everything first. Right sock, right shoe, Right glove, always on first. If I pull the left on first because I'm not paying attention, I always take it back off and put the right one on first. Even my tendinitis bands, right arm first. Once a goalie, always a goalie, I guess.

I have seen the Rangers play once before. Back in 1996, at Madison Square Garden. I paid a pretty penny for the ticket, $125 bucks. But I was 3 rows behind their bench. It was a good time to be a Rangers fan. They had just won the Stanley Cup two years prior, they had traded for the best player the game has ever seen, Wayne Gretsky. Which reunited him with former Oilers teammate, Mark Messier. And got to see "The Great One" skate live, at least once in my life.

Today the Rangers are a good middle of the pack team. They have another one of the best to ever play the game, Jaromir Jagr, number 68. Jagr started his career playing in Pittsburgh with Mario Lemeiux. He has eventually found his way to Rangers, where he remains a goal scoring machine, always at the top at the end of the season with goals and assists. But back in the 1990's a special person in my life though he was "handsome", my mom. I was touring once through Pittsburgh at the "Igloo" where the Penguins play and got a deal on an authentic Penguins jersey with Jagr's name and number sewn on. I gave it to her on Christmas. Though I don't think she ever wore it, I know she was really happy to have it.

And now, I've gotten to see Jagr play too. Although he wasn't much of a factor in the 4-2 win by the Rangers, he was still a joy to watch on the ice, carving and passing, shooting when it was right, and taking the hits like everyone else.

This game was for you Mom.

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