A day off on day 12, here's how we spent it:
I woke up on the floor of someone's duplex after sneaking in at 3:30 with the band. I wasn't sure if the owner, Darren, was in the house but all signs pointed to yes: wallet on the counter, jeans and shirt hung over a kitchen chair, shoes behind the couch. Darren had seen the band a few times before and offered us his place to stay in. When we arrived the night before, I was surprised at the tasteful beach house decor. I was under the impression he was a bachelor, and from the brief conversation I had with him last week, he seemed like a hard-working, man's man type of guy. This place had a sort of "Live, Laugh, Love" look to it.
Slept on the floor here. Windows look over some houses to the ocean.
From the wraparound deck.
Our home for the evening.
It seemed clear to me that his place had a woman's touch in its style, but after I woke up, he didn't seem to be around. I took a quick shower, then headed down the street for coffee and a cinnamon roll at nearby Cayucos Coffee. When I got back to the house, Darren and Simon were outside talking. Turns out Darren's parents own the place and he was in the downstairs unit while we crashed outside. I'm guessing his mom must have decorated the place, which solved that mystery.
Miles and Peter were out walking around for a minute, and before long, we hit the road, heading north for San Francisco. We didn't have a gig that night, so it was more of a travel day, with about a 3 hour drive in front of us.
I popped in a podcast eventually and dozed off for a bit while Peter drove us into San Francisco. We got to town around 5 or so, and the plan was to hit Target for Miles to pick up a prescription, then off to the Milk Bar to try to collect our payment from last week's performance.
The Target we hit was in the Moscone area of San Francisco. Last year, when working for Amazon, I spent a week in the exact same area, across the street at the Marriott while I worked an AWS event at the convention center around the corner. I don't remember that area being as grungy as it was yesterday. It was pretty rough, and the inside of Target was no exception. Simon reported a bloody toilet seat in the bathroom and I saw a security guard that looked like he was part of a SWAT team.
Sadly, Miles thought the pharmacy closed at 6, but it actually closed at 5, so our 5:30 arrival time to the Target was not compatible with their times. No joy for Miles. From there, we headed back to the Haight district to the Milk Bar. We parked in the adjacent Whole Foods parking lot, where I stayed with the van while the boys went to collect.
How it started at Whole Foods.
I sat in my home-away-from-home for the next 30 minutes or so before Simon came back and filled me in. Apparently the bar owner was not there and the acting manager (some young kid) didn't have the authority or funds to settle our tab. Peter was pretty frustrated about it, but there wasn't much else we could do.
Our next task was to find a place to stay. Peter tried all his contacts. Miles reached out to some bands he knew and had played with. I put out fliers on TalkBass, some friends on Instagram and Facebook and we all struck out. Peter was also suffering from some gastric distress, so he was gone for long periods of time.
All in all, we spent about 3 hours in that Whole Foods parking lot. Speaking of which, that WF didn't have a loading dock. Instead, they'd block off a whole row of parking next to an apartment building. The semi-truck would back in, and then a woman with a forklift went about her business unloading the truck. She drove that forklift like she was performing in Stars on Ice. Twirling, spinning, reversing, speeding around the small parking lot like she was being judged for it. Simon, a certified forklift driver, was duly impressed.
Whole Food timelapse.
Once Peter returned from his gastric distress event, he was done. He had spent the last 3 hours shmoozing his friends and connections, he was hungry, tired and felt lousy. As a result, he had gone ahead and booked a motel in Eureka, about 5 hours away, which meant driving until about 3am. Miles and I tried to talk some sense into him, talk him away from the ledge. We had thought about booking a place closer, then making the long drive the next day instead.
Peter finally relented and tried to cancel his booking after we pulled into some alley in SF. A few minutes of back and forth, some frustration on his part, a pull from his medicinal stash, and then we were on our way to a Motel 6 a little ways north. The drive through SF was foggy and with poor visibility, and then I fell asleep.
Next thing I knew, we were in a Burger King drive through at 11:30, at which time Peter bought us a family pack of burgers. I blindly grabbed a Whopper and powered through that bad boy, having only ate the cinnamon roll earlier (and a small pasta salad that Peter got us at WF earlier). We got to our room, got cleaned up, I put in my ear plugs, got in my sleeping bag next to Simon, and fell asleep listening to my mates cackling at George Costanza in an old Seinfeld rerun.
My dinner until we hit BK later.
Motel 6 to the rescue.
Quick notes:
I woke up on the floor of someone's duplex after sneaking in at 3:30 with the band. I wasn't sure if the owner, Darren, was in the house but all signs pointed to yes: wallet on the counter, jeans and shirt hung over a kitchen chair, shoes behind the couch. Darren had seen the band a few times before and offered us his place to stay in. When we arrived the night before, I was surprised at the tasteful beach house decor. I was under the impression he was a bachelor, and from the brief conversation I had with him last week, he seemed like a hard-working, man's man type of guy. This place had a sort of "Live, Laugh, Love" look to it.
Slept on the floor here. Windows look over some houses to the ocean.
From the wraparound deck.
Our home for the evening.
It seemed clear to me that his place had a woman's touch in its style, but after I woke up, he didn't seem to be around. I took a quick shower, then headed down the street for coffee and a cinnamon roll at nearby Cayucos Coffee. When I got back to the house, Darren and Simon were outside talking. Turns out Darren's parents own the place and he was in the downstairs unit while we crashed outside. I'm guessing his mom must have decorated the place, which solved that mystery.
Miles and Peter were out walking around for a minute, and before long, we hit the road, heading north for San Francisco. We didn't have a gig that night, so it was more of a travel day, with about a 3 hour drive in front of us.
I popped in a podcast eventually and dozed off for a bit while Peter drove us into San Francisco. We got to town around 5 or so, and the plan was to hit Target for Miles to pick up a prescription, then off to the Milk Bar to try to collect our payment from last week's performance.
The Target we hit was in the Moscone area of San Francisco. Last year, when working for Amazon, I spent a week in the exact same area, across the street at the Marriott while I worked an AWS event at the convention center around the corner. I don't remember that area being as grungy as it was yesterday. It was pretty rough, and the inside of Target was no exception. Simon reported a bloody toilet seat in the bathroom and I saw a security guard that looked like he was part of a SWAT team.
Sadly, Miles thought the pharmacy closed at 6, but it actually closed at 5, so our 5:30 arrival time to the Target was not compatible with their times. No joy for Miles. From there, we headed back to the Haight district to the Milk Bar. We parked in the adjacent Whole Foods parking lot, where I stayed with the van while the boys went to collect.
How it started at Whole Foods.
I sat in my home-away-from-home for the next 30 minutes or so before Simon came back and filled me in. Apparently the bar owner was not there and the acting manager (some young kid) didn't have the authority or funds to settle our tab. Peter was pretty frustrated about it, but there wasn't much else we could do.
Our next task was to find a place to stay. Peter tried all his contacts. Miles reached out to some bands he knew and had played with. I put out fliers on TalkBass, some friends on Instagram and Facebook and we all struck out. Peter was also suffering from some gastric distress, so he was gone for long periods of time.
All in all, we spent about 3 hours in that Whole Foods parking lot. Speaking of which, that WF didn't have a loading dock. Instead, they'd block off a whole row of parking next to an apartment building. The semi-truck would back in, and then a woman with a forklift went about her business unloading the truck. She drove that forklift like she was performing in Stars on Ice. Twirling, spinning, reversing, speeding around the small parking lot like she was being judged for it. Simon, a certified forklift driver, was duly impressed.
Whole Food timelapse.
Once Peter returned from his gastric distress event, he was done. He had spent the last 3 hours shmoozing his friends and connections, he was hungry, tired and felt lousy. As a result, he had gone ahead and booked a motel in Eureka, about 5 hours away, which meant driving until about 3am. Miles and I tried to talk some sense into him, talk him away from the ledge. We had thought about booking a place closer, then making the long drive the next day instead.
Peter finally relented and tried to cancel his booking after we pulled into some alley in SF. A few minutes of back and forth, some frustration on his part, a pull from his medicinal stash, and then we were on our way to a Motel 6 a little ways north. The drive through SF was foggy and with poor visibility, and then I fell asleep.
Next thing I knew, we were in a Burger King drive through at 11:30, at which time Peter bought us a family pack of burgers. I blindly grabbed a Whopper and powered through that bad boy, having only ate the cinnamon roll earlier (and a small pasta salad that Peter got us at WF earlier). We got to our room, got cleaned up, I put in my ear plugs, got in my sleeping bag next to Simon, and fell asleep listening to my mates cackling at George Costanza in an old Seinfeld rerun.
My dinner until we hit BK later.
Motel 6 to the rescue.
Quick notes:
- The consecutive nights of gigs and scrambling for places to stay is challenging. But trying to think of it strategically, it makes sense. If we did a 13 day, 10 gig tour, that leaves at least 3 days where we are just existing. Maybe traveling, maybe finding places to stay, but not generating money, even if it's just the bare minimum. Maybe if Planets does a 3 city in 5 day tour, where it's closer to home and we have better funding (as 50 year olds, we have a little more leeway with lodging and funds), it would make sense.
- I asked Simon if he'd ever seen Peter lose it while on tour, he said he hadn't. Not that Peter lost it last night, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did. He does have some anxiety issues that he's been pretty transparent with me about. I've talked about my experiences second hand with people with anxiety, so he could relate. I can only imaging how the stress of not making money, not having anywhere to stay, not eating, having stomach issues all adds up to more stress that exacerbates everything. Where the only real remedy is rest and reduction of stress. He perpetuates it, but it's also what he loves.
- I had an opportunity to weigh myself for the second time on this trip. Yesterday, I clocked in at 159.3, which is pretty much where I've been for the past month or so. I was hoping to drop a little bit as I've been eating less, but couple the less food with less activity and I guess the net is no change. Looking forward to running when I get home.
- Speaking of home, I can't wait to get back. Not that I hate being on the road; I think it's been overwhelmingly positive and fun. It's the uncertainty that gets me, but I'm also realizing that as long as I have a floor and a roof, I'm good. Which a few weeks ago, I don't know if I would have said that.
