Gather ‘round children as I tell you the story of three brave musicians and their quest to return home from yonder lands in the valley of the Mississippi. (just kidding) So after playing two really awesome shows in Louisiana, eating some really bomb Cajun food, volunteering, and groovin’ with the Rebirth Brass Band we left New Orleans and headed back to Austin. Charlie was driving again and Jordan and I were more or less napping in the back of the bus. The Ho Bus doesn’t have a gas gauge, but we estimated that we had around 150 miles left on the veggie oil tank and a full tank of diesel. Jordan told Charlie that he should switch over to diesel from veggie-oil after 150 miles. We were cruising nicely a little past Lafayette when Charlie exclaimed that the bus was slowing down. I told him to switch to diesel and fast! But, alas, it was too late, again. We had run out of gas, veggie oil this time, and this time even though we had a full tank of diesel we didn’t switch over fast enough to keep the engine running. Let me tell you how ecstatic I was! So Jordan called AAA and we waited by the side of the road, again.

This time it took about an hour and a half, but we were greeted by a familiar face…it was Richie the tow-truck driver from outside of Lafayette that had picked us up a few days earlier. I thought it was pretty fucking-funny to see him again. He just smiled at us and laughed a little at our precarious situation. He probably thought we were nuts for even taking the bus on the road. At the same time this was all happening Charlie had decided he was going to walk to the nearest gas station to wait (why I can’t really say). So after we got the bus hooked up to the back of Richie’s truck we made our way to meet him. I estimate Charlie walked about 3 miles through mosquito infested country, down the highway, over a bridge and into some backwoods neighborhood that even our tow-truck driver thought looked sketchy. Worse than that, the one gas station Charlie could find, which had a restaurant inside the store, closed about one minute before Charlie got there. He even had time to ask a clerk if there was anything near by and she told him “yes, in the next parish there was a restaurant that was open, about three miles down the road.” Charlie looked pretty defeated when we met up with him, and I can imagine his face was priceless when she told him that.

The day was far from over, though. We managed to get the bus started again at the gas station by using the regular-unleaded-soaked-rag method that we had picked up a few days before in New Orleans and got back on the road. Charlie started driving and made the observation that there was low power in the bus, like he could tell the battery was low. We made a quick stop about 40 miles later and I took over driving. It was getting dark by then and I noticed that the lights on the bus were extremely dim. Driving was about to get a whole lot more fun! We made it through Louisiana to Orange, Texas and I started to really notice how little power we had. The blinkers didn’t work, the cabin lights didn’t work, and it was dark as shit in front of me. The bus is a very wide van and just before Beaumont the lanes start getting very narrow. That coupled with the darkness and the extremely poor suspension on the bus, had me weaving in my lane. I had to concentrate on the taillights ahead of me to get any idea of how the lane was curving. I thought we would get pulled over but Jordan was insisting that we try to make it to Houston to my parent’s house for the night. Sure enough I saw the red and blue lights behind me. You have got to imagine this hulking-yellow short school bus flying down the highway in the dark, swerving in the lane to get the true picture of what this cop saw. He thought I was drunk. We are all putting our hands out the bus to indicate we are going to pull over (because duh, the blinkers don’t work!) and he finally takes off his siren. We pull over and I have to get out and talk to this hayseed sheriff from Vidor, Texas (which Charlie later informs me has won the distinction of most racist town in America (high-five!)). So as he explains to me why I can’t be on the road he is constantly spitting sunflower seeds on my feet. I was a tad irritated but after he realized that this was a new development for our bus he instructed us to park in a near-by truck stop and stay there until it was light out so that we could drive and be seen by other drivers. He didn’t give me a ticket either, for which I was thankful.

The night wasn’t over yet. We called AAA again to get a tow from Vidor to my folk’s house in Houston. They told us it would be an hour and it turned out to be two, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The guy got there and refused to tow us. He tried to convince us it was too tall to be towed on his truck, that it would surpass the legal limit of 12’6”. We tried to get this guy to understand that it was not going to be nearly that tall (Jordan can touch the top of the bus without jumping) and we even offered to measure it to prove its height would be fine. This was to no avail, and when Jordan and I were discussing what to do, the motherfucker drove off without a word. At this point I was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes on the bus, as we all were, and dirty as hell from sweating all day. Jordan some how became convinced he could tape light and plastic coverings to the bus and we could get it jump started to get home that night. Charlie and I looked at him like anyone would who heard his plan—like he was a fucking crazy person. We convinced him to call his folks after he brazenly tried to tell us “I don’t even think that it’s illegal [to tape lights to your car].” His parents managed to convince him otherwise (thankfully).

Charlie and I decided to get a room at the motel attached to the truck stop and Jordan decided to sleep in the bus. I just wanted some A/C. This place was classy. Shiiiiiit. The doors didn’t even have door knobs, just a bolted in handle and key for a dead-bolt. The room was spacious, but very dirty and the cable did not work. I was so tired and frustrated though that I fell asleep fairly soon after we got into the room.

The next morning we got the bus jumped and slowly drove back to Austin. We stopped every 120 miles for gas as a precaution and we never turned off the engine so that the battery wouldn’t die again. I think everyone in the band agrees that the bus will not suffice for the next tour and maybe not even for traveling outside of Texas. I was very grateful to be back in Austin. Thank you for reading this extremely long post.

- RYAN

Ho Bus pt 1

Ho Bus Part 2

The resolution

The basics of this story, our night in Lafayette:

- Get to the Artmosphere, turn around to park and the car stalls. I realize immediately that we’re out of gas

- Listen to some kick ass music from Teddy Lamson and Leo DeJesus (his first solo show, clearly an old hand on the stage though)

- Play a great show

- 1AM: Get gas, but it won’t start. Run down the battery trying to get it to start.

- Get more gas, get the manager Chantel to jump us. Still won’t start

- Call AAA to get a jump. They send Pop-A-Lock. Still won’t start.

- Call AAA to get towed from Lafayette to New Orleans. 130 mile tow (free, thank goodness for the AAA Premier + RV card).

- The Tow truck tried to jump it, still won’t start. It is now 5AM and we’ve been at this for 4 hours.

- Get towed to Metarie (Don’t tell the tow guy that Charlie was sleeping in the back of the bus cause it’s technically illegal)

- 730AM: Sleep.

- Call AAA again, they send an automotive God who knows everything about Diesels and what happens when you run out of gas.  Hooks up to a commercial battery charger and does a little trick with a rag soaked in unleaded (regular gas) pressed against the air intake.  Tells everyone to back off in case of an explosion.

- The trick works, we’re back in business.

- Oh the Ho Bus. This time, it was our fault. Granted we don’t have a gas gage. At least it makes for some good stories and video.

One fine evening at our great friends the Sortes, we decided to relax in a a hot tub.  Out of nowhere GASP! bubbles formed before our very eyes. Within minutes there were feet of bubbles covering the surface of the tub and spilling over into the pool like a shallow soapy waterfall. Insanity ensued!

The pictures say it all. Check back for more pictures as they surface and dodge all the dodgy bubbles.

Also check back for updates on our calendar. We’re working hard to book shows in and around Austin, and will likely head out East on I-10 again in early September.

I have no idea how I lost the key – that’s the nature of something being lost isn’t it? I went to the van to get my running shoes, and then played some frisbee with Suzanne (Jane’s sister) and Michael. Innocent enough, right? Next thing I know the band and the whole Sundermann family is tearing up the house, the street and the park, looking for some scintillating grey metal.

OoooKKK. We can still make it to the show with all our equipment by borrowing two cars. The next morning if we haven’t located the missing key we’ll get Enterprise to make us a new one. Easy enough, right?

We play the show at Felix’s (which was badass, by the way). Tons of fans, almost all friends of Jane, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves, and a hazy “afterparty” in a STL basement with the booking agent, sound guy, and some of their friends. Great night, ready to rock our last show in Chicago. Call Enterprise the next morning and they send over AAA to make a new key. Simple enough, right?

This AAA guy tells me that you can’t just make a new key, despite the fact that the van doesn’t even have power locks or power windows. There’s a little chip in the key that sync’s up with the van’s computer, and it takes 30 minutes to do so. Intended to reduce theft, it apparently has just increased the number of straight up car jackings. Anyway Mr. AAA locksmith can’t get it to work. Chicago is 5 1/2 hours away and our show isn’t until 1130 so I’m not worried. Time enough, right?

After two and a half hours he tells me he can’t do it and peaces out. That’s it. No word of help, no advice. So I call Enterprise and they say no prob, tow it to a dealership and they’ll be able to make a new key. Fine. But now it’s 3 and I’m starting to realize that if it takes the alloted 75 minutes for the tow-truck, 20 minutes to get towed, and another 30 to get a key made, we’re cutting it really close. And that’s assuming everything is copacetic. As you can imagine, it wasn’t. Fortunately Joanie, Jane’s mom, had the brilliant idea of getting a loaner van from Enterprise. So I called.

Next thing I know I’m coordinating SIX separate entities

which have little to do with each other and little regard for how quickly this issue gets resolved. I have nothing but gratitude towards Enterprise – they really helped us out and were very kind. The scene was just hilarious – six disparate companies.

I’m on the phone with (1) Enterprise central office, and they have to call (2) Enterprise in New Orleans to OK the van switch. Then, they call (3) Enterprise St. Louis to OK the deal. Next they call (4) AAA to get the tow truck, and AAA calls (5) a local towing company. Finally, there’s (6) the dealership we get the vehicle towed to. At one point I’m on a four way conference call with Enterprise Central, Enterprise New Orleans, and Enterprise St. Louis. Ridic.

Somehow the beauracracy is well oiled and we manage to slip through a pile of paperwork into a loaner van for the Chicago show. We end up making it with about thirty minutes to spare, and play a killer last show. Big shout out to Ryan’s friend Elissa for bringing a crowd. Plus I got to catch up with two amazing people from study abroad, Sasha and Montana, and party balls with old Rice friends Kirby and Darren. Awesome hosts. But I digress.

The next morning we drive back to St. Louis with the intention of a quick pick-up-the-van stop on our way to Arkansas. We’ve got to get back to Austin for a wedding on Saturday and it’s already Thursday at this point. I call Enterprise to find out where the van is. They don’t know.

What? So I start calling Chevy/GMC/Buick dealerships and asking around. No one knows where this van is. What the hell?

Enterprise figures it out and calls me back, so I call back the dealerships I’ve been asking and let them know I found our van. Turns out the tow company just dropped off the van without a word and the service guys at the dealership had no clue who owned the van or what to do with it.

I tell them what’s up and they say it should only take a half hour. Yeah right.

We show up at three hours later at 6 and the service guys have all gone home. No one knows what’s up with the van and they’re trying to jump it because it “won’t start.” That’s because the key doesn’t work.

OK, we’ll show up first thing in the morning. We all wanted to watch “The Hangover” anyway. We’ll just have to drive the 18 hours from STL to Austin all on Friday.

We call Friday morning and they say it should only take a half hour. Sure….

I don’t believe them, but know that we have to be ready anyway. Jane and I head down to the dealership and whaddayaknow, we wait two hours! Finally, the guy comes out and tells us that the key they’ve been trying to program for the past two days, the one made by the original AAA locksmith that couldn’t do it, doesn’t work. I know, gasp in mock surprise. All they have to do is make a new key and it will take a half hour!

This time, that’s all it takes. Three days later, we have a replacement for our lost key.

 

“What is this place?” Amanda asks one of the hosts of the four story warehouse where we partied Saturday night. People danced to live DJs on the second floor while bands played on the fourth. Original artwork decked the frames and studs awaiting sheetrock. “The Rugg,” the host responds with a coy smile. “I mean, what is it during the day?” she retorts. “NOTHING!” He smiles again and walks away. 

Our friend Adam had connected us up with this highly illegal underground warehouse party. Within minutes of arriving he and I both became body canvasses. Michael got in on the live party painting as well, on the artist side of things. Themed elemental, a decent percentage of the party goers represented fire, water, or earth. Not many represented wind, although I suggested some dress only in saran wrap.

The real crux of the party, what enthralled us until sunrise, was the plethora of fantastic live music on the third floor, including the standout Benedict Arnold - jazzed up underground hip hop, highly skilled musicians. Check it out, it’s good shiza. Needless to say, the party was possibly the best way to celebrate Ryan’s birthday in a foreign city, simply because it was so crazy.

 

Pedal Board Fiasco:

Somehow I left my pedal board in Springfield MA. Fortunately, we added a gig in Northampton – only 45 minutes away – for Sunday. Unfortunately the bar wasn’t open and owner Joe had a baptism to go to so he cou

ldn’t let us in. Fortunately he had the bright idea to leave it in a restaurant down the street. Unfortunately when we arrived that restaurant was closed. In fact it doesn’t open on Sundays either. I did my best to find a way to break in without breaking anything, but we eventually had to leave empty handed. Faces red with frustration. Would we have to drive an hour and half out of our way to get it before we headed to the Cape? Joe, why did you leave our pedal board in a closed restaurant?

Note from the future: We added a last minute Worcester gig, only about an hour from Springfield, and grabbed the pedal board without incident.

 

A last minute show in Northampton:

About a week and a half ago we jumped on a last minute bill with Our Mothers Are Gods at “The Elevens” in Northampton. It felt like a couple days ago with the way time flies as we play and drive. Anyway we show up and grab some pizza and calzones down the street from the venue and happen to run into a bunch of Canadians wearing matching Tibetan shi

rt-smocks (They had just bought them at the local flea market-mall). Naturally they were in a band (Oman Ra) playing at the Elevens with us, so we made friends. Bunch of nice guys. 

The show was short and solid. We jammed out the end of existential funk with a new take on an old part, and the other, non Canadian bands were friendly and supportive.

 

RIP HO BUS

It pains me to write this, but we will not be touring in the Ho Bus. 

We spent a day at the mechanics and $300 only to be told that they had no clue what was wrong with it and have no idea how much money we’d have to spend to fix it, much less how much time. And we still had 15 gigs to get to.

Ryan hid behind his dark sunglasses in deep depression all day. Michael on the other hand, had a blast walking around the French Quarter and getting more of a feel for his first time in New Orleans. I was both dejected and determined to make the most of the day anyway, and spent my time making copies for the CD inserts and continuously brainstormed alternative solutions. 

After considering the direst alternatives including getting my Prius from Austin and attempting to borrow a drum set at EVERY SINGLE GIG (Ryan flat out refused) we settled on renting a cargo van from Enterprise for three weeks. Even after a 5% AAA discount and 10% Corporate discount (we are a business after all), the rental and the lack of veggie oil savings are going to take deep cuts into our profit margins.

Ho Bus (cons) vs. Rental Van (pros)

CONS:

- No veggie oil

- Not nearly as much room

- Can’t invite everyone to come with us

- Not nearly as flashy

- Isn’t called the Ho Bus

- Can’t be painted to advertise the band

- As ryan says “basically we’ve been forced into exactly what we were trying to avoid”

PROS:

- A/C

- No worries of breakdowns

- A/C

- Full speed all the time

- Better handling

- Can talk on the phone while riding/driving

Despite the fact that our T-shirts feature the HO Bus, despite the fact that we and all of our fans were emotionally attached, despite the fact the the veggie oil makes a social and economic statement, we had to figure out the best way for the tour to continue.

 

THE KINDNESS OF LEA AND TESSA

Achachay! stays with Lea and Tessa

 

Lea and I studied abroad together in Ghana during the summer of 2006. I’ve since seen her once since then, in Lou-A-Vull KY for about three hours. She’s an awesome person – and by the way check out http://www.neighborhoodstoryproject.org/ her organization which is badass – they preserve New Orleans history and rebuild the vitality of communities while empowering disenfranchised citizens through publishing their stories, and letting them sell the books.

ANYWAY she saved the day. Even after we realized we needed to rent a van, none were available for that night. Without me even asking she and her girlfriend Tessa offered to drive the band and all of our equipment up to Hattiesburg and back for our gig, to let us crash in a bed and on futons, and to cook us delectable free range sausage and pancakes in the morning. It was so fun to really get some time to catch up on life, and to make it to Nick’s.

We are so grateful to Lea, Tessa, and people who open their homes for us, embrace the spontaneity and impossibility of having a plan that sticks. That is our life – embracing the moment while working towards to best future.

 

Nick’s Ice House:

So very fun. If you’re in Hattiesburg you’ve got to stop by. I’ll have to come back and write more about the show in a bit because it’s dinner time. Suffice it say that instead of bar stools you sit on old toilets, and I set up the PA on an old washing machine. The names and phrases etched in the bars look like they have been there since the fifties, and the bartender Ralph is the life of the party. He got out and danced on a stripper pole, even swinging upside down at one point. 

Things I’ll have to come back to: Nick’s enthusiast Bill came through in the clutch with a microphone when I had forgotten mine on the bus – and then just gave it to us! Thanks Bill! 

He and someone else whose name I am loathe to forget also paid for us to play that night. Thanks guys; we will be back.

Finally although we didn’t get to end up couchsurfing, our would-be hosts came to the show with a bunch of friends and were awesome people. Matt and crew – we will be back and we’ll stay with you.

 

Morale was at an all time low at 6:15 P this afternoon. We were initially scheduled to play in Starkville for a happy hour set at 630, and again from 10 – midnight, but instead we were at a diesel mechanic shop 45 minutes outside of New Orleans in Slidell. Something went terrible awry with the Ho Bus. She won’t accelerate faster than 45 mph and almost didn’t make it across Lake Pontchartrain. 

 

The mechanic we worked with had already finished a 32 oz. Miller Light when his buddy brought him a tallboy. In the hour or so we worked with him I think he drank the equivalent of five beers. Which might help explain why we couldn’t get our bus fixed quick enough to make it to Starkville. The nice thing was that he didn’t charge us. Pay it forward, what goes around comes around he said.

The venue was quite surprisingly understanding when we had to cancel the show, but we were all bummed. Dejected. Ryan was pissed. We were all sweating. My right arm itched slightly from burning it on mysterious car parts. What was supposed to be an acoustic gig had gotten upgraded to the main stage – where small but recognized bands like Papa Grows Funk and Groupo Fantasma play. I had blackened my hands with oil taking apart the radiator hose, only to be told by the mechanic that the HO BUS has been riding dirty without a thermostat, and later to uncover via Howstuffworks.com that he probably didn’t know what he was talking about.

Touring is the musician’s life skills classroom. We learn to be mechanics and electricians, promoters and salesmen. We learn to be spontaneous, improvise, and seek alternative solutions to immediate problems. Today we learned to cope with disappointment.