30/07/98 - Intersection. Grand Rapids, MI.

Grand rapids is a weird place. It's Thursday afternoon and everything is closed. I guess people here don't get hungry on Thursdays. Me? I'm bloody starving and I've been confined to consuming the despair of a Subway. Lord have mercy.
So tonight I get the full story about Sam the drummer from Cold. Last night their driver pulled over to re-fuel while everyone was asleep. Sam got out to take a dump, and the driver, who thought everyone was still asleep (and didn't get a note from Sam) left after filling up. So there our boy is, no shoes, no T-shirt, wearing only shorts, sitting at a truckstop in Iowa. One dollar in his pocket, 500 miles from the rest of his band. He had to beg for cash to eat and someone gave him a pair of boots. Cowboy boots. The band didn't realise he was gone until they got to the gig. Our boy had to hitch hike in shorts and cowboy boots with no socks or T-shirt. A trucker took him most of the way. The trucker had his delivery to make at the steel mill and so our boy had to sit there and wait somewhere in Iowa while the trucker strapped steel girders to the wagon. It took Sam 23 hours to get back with his crew. The poor bastard. He looks visibly weakened.

My arm hurts like hell from the burn (see pic) but he gig is great. I have a great gig simply because I can clearly hear my voice perfectly clearly in the monitors. A rare occurrence. The tone is perfect and the level is great. It might have sounded awful out front, but on stage it sounded amazing.

"I went to see Pitchshifter last night."
"Yeah? What were they like?"
"They sounded great on stage."

After the show we have to drive to Buffalo. We have to get to the Canadian embassy. We didn't find out that we were going to play the Canadian gig until four weeks ago. It takes six weeks to process an entry request to play in Canada. We couldn't obviously couldn't get it done in the allotted time. Now we have to physically bring our passports to the nearest Canadian embassy, which happens to be in Buffalo. It's 500 miles from Grand Rapids to Buffalo. They embassy gave us a window from 8.30 am to 11.30 am to get there and process the passports. The lady said it would probably take a few hours and so it's best for us to get there at 8.30 am. We pack up fast and leave the gig at 1.30 am. That's gives us 7 hours to drive 500 miles. By my calculation we have to drive at 71 miles an hour continually for seven hours to get there. One mile over the speed limit all the way for seven hours. It doesn't look good does it? I'll let you know what happens tomorrow. If we miss the Canadian embassy we can't play in Canada. Wish us luck.

Just before I crash out in my bunk I hear Bo the driver calling me from the front seat.

"Jon! Jon c'mere!"
"What?"
"I'm sick of listening to these assholes talk shit on the CB. Give 'em some of that crazy stuff you talk. I wanna make their heads hurt."

I take charge of the CB, my best late Fifties English newsreader voice in full force:

"ROLL UP, ROLL UP: SINGLE CELL ORGANISMS TO THE FRONT! HORSES TO THE WALL! YOUR SNICKERS AND COKE WILL LANCE THE KAISER'S CYST AS THE WEASEL OF THE APOCALYPSE STALKS US IN THIS FIELD OF DESPAIR! THROW YOURSELVES INTO THE AFFRAY! THE FINAL HARVEST IS COMINGGGGGG!"
"Thanks Jon that should do it."
"Good night Bo."
"G'night Jon."