It figures that we play Denver when the city experiences a rare spring snowstorm. The weather was frigid and rainy when we arrived. Imagine being pelted with broken icicles. I drove from somewhere in Wyoming to Denver. We encountered snow along the way.
A lot of kids came. We met some reasonably awesome people and enjoyed ourselves beyond the performance aspect of the evening.
As we prepared to leave, a helpful citizen informed us that Denver expected over a foot of snow by morning. We then high-tailed it out of there, despite various members of our party looking forward to an evening with morally dubious females.
As we exited Denver’s city limits, the blizzard enveloped us. Everything became violently white. No street, no lights, just snow. We could have been driving through a cornfield and we would be none the wiser. Eventually the celestial shapes of other autos appeared from the snow void. After an hour or so, the snow eased a bit. We were exhausted, hungry, tired. We yearned for a Denny’s. In Limon, Colorado we found our Denny’s, all of us exalting triumphantly upon seeing her gold, green and red sign flying high in the snowy night like a beacon of hope. A hotel stood barely one hundred feet away. We’ve stayed at a lot of hotels, but on this night such a means of lodging proved crucial.
Greg, Josh, Matt and I lugged our weary frames into the empty Denny’s (Billy was stuck with the LGS van, possibly flipped in a snowy embankment somewhere on that deadly highway). Mark was the sole host/waiter on duty. He emitted a vibe of total outcast. Something about his attire, his demeanor, his diction marked him as a bona fide leper. He wore heavy, ugly glasses and a botched, pseudo-military crew cut to match. I’d say he wasn’t a day under 45. Mark also featured the terminal illness of not being able to close his mouth. He talked to us as if he fired his words in machine gun volleys. The Latino cook- the only other employee or human in the restaurant- merely shook his head in forlorn recognition of our pain, a pain he must endure every shift, all night long. Mark discussed his home life, his friends, his town, how his brother watched it rain in the backyard while Mark saw it sunny out front. After our meal (quickly shoveled down, mine consisting of a plate of seasoned fries and toast- the toast of course dripping with butter though I requested it dry- $1.79 down the shitter), we retired to our $58 hotel room. As we drifted off to sleep, LGS arrived with Billy in tow. They attempted to drive through the night to Lawrence, KS. They stopped for sleep at a rest stop parking lot, and decided a night in our hotel room would prove far more advantageous. We awoke early to find them already gone, meaning no more than three hours of sleep for them. This is not a vacation.
I can’t believe we’ve been at this for almost a month. When we left feels so far away. How do bands tour months on end? I’m at my wit’s end. Driving is driving me crazy. The lack of sleep, the malnutrition, people, the dog shit weather- all of it is debilitating. I yearn to be healthy again. I crave a day alone to cleanse myself of the dead skin cells accumulating on me from the fuckers around me. Do I want to tour like this? Do I want a normal job? Hell no, I guess I stay the course.