disaster

That New Orleans Voodoo: Rolling an ankle

Friday at the Frat House in New Orleans we played a great show, with one exception. I rolled my ankle. Really hard.

Achachay and New Orleans have a rich and storied history. On our first tour, the Ho Bus’ transmission failed as we tried to cross the Slidell Bridge heading out of town (see this post, and this one). The second time through, we had to get towed 190 miles just to arrive (also see this post). Hell before the band was even formed Ryan rode out the devastating Hurricane Katrina in a nearby hotel where he was marooned for days. I suppose it wasn’t a surprise when that New Orleans voodoo funked up our performance yet again.

I was jumping like crazy when I landed on a large, black, and unfortunately positioned power supply square. I crumpled to the floor, barely managing to keep the song going. The pain throbbed with intensity. Thomas and the other owners were pretty liberal with their shots, so the combination of adrenaline and liquor kept me going through the next two sets.

By the time we finished, all I could feel was the pain of my ankle. Nothing else entered my consciousness as I squinted and tensed all my muscles in a feeble attempt to … i don’t know feel something else I guess. “Hey man you know that couch is pretty dirty? Vanilla Ice literally had sex on it a couple weeks ago” Randall let me know. “Sure man. I guess I’m already on it so …” I couldn’t muster up much more of a response.

Julie and her crew-cheif friends, who energized us by dancing at the stage during the entirety of our three hour set, stopped backstage to congratulate me on a good show and say their goodbyes. I wanted to thank them for coming, for enjoying it and getting into the show, thank Kenny for getting me ice earlier, to hang out a bit but mostly my ankle screamed that I shut the fuck up and pay attention to its demands. It was huge, swollen to what seemed the size of a baseball.

That first night was dark one, but in the past few days I’ve been recovering fairly well. I focus on RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. The Ryans are really helpful, picking up the slack in loading up equipment and driving. I mostly hop because it’s a lot faster than hobbling, and for the first time ever sat on a stool on stage. Of course that didn’t last long because I couldn’t STAND it (hehe), so ended up imitating a flamingo-rocker. Only less pink.

After the show, which really went over quite well, we got to chill a bit and really enjoy the company of Frat House owners and staff. They’re good people. Good show, good fans, good venue – with or without the New Orleans voodoo interfering with our best laid plans, we’ll be back.

Volunteering in New Orleans

It is amazing to see the destruction still ravaging the city of New Orleans. Mansions rest peacefully next to tattered shacks, and spray painted body counts still adorn boarded over windows. Some neighborhoods remain reduced to concrete steps and slabs, surrounded by empty streets and six foot grasses.

Who is going to move back into a devasted neighborhood when they don’t have a car and no grocery stores nearby? What grocery store is moving back into a neighborhood without neighbors to buy things? The situation is quite complicated, much more complicated than I could possibly detail here. Unfortunately it’s not just free market forces that are keeping these houses from being refilled or flipped. Corruption is rampant. Some say even basic services can’t be counted on. Much to my chagrin, no one recycles.

Needless to say there is a lot of opportunity to make the city a better place. Which is why Achachay!, a band known more for staying up until sunrise than rising with it, donned our work boots at 7AM after our fantastic show at THE FRAT HOUSE (we’ll be back there December 4th). Three young men can hardly scratch the surface of rebuilding demand in such a tragically beautiful city, but hell if enough three person teams join together and keep coming, shit gets done.

In the seven hours we spent at Mr. H’s house, we personally sheetrocked the ceiling of one room. Between the twenty something volunteers present, the entire house went from frames to walls and ceilings, so that by the end we were stuffing insulation in the attic. It was hard work; it was fun.

*For more on rebuilding neighborhoods and communities, please see the Neighborhood Story Project.

The 120 Mile Rule

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

This image came up with the google search "Vidor TX," (granted it's from Hurricane Rita)

Marooned in the land of the Ragin’ Cajuns

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.

Charlie reflects the causeway over Lake Pontchartrain, the longest bridge in the world

- 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.

The glorious sunrises of arriving in metarie

- 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.

Days 23-24: How Losing a Key Became a 3 Day Ordeal

Jen, Jane, and Ryan loving that coffee

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?

Ryan in the new rental van. Where did that Obi Wan tie come from?

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?

Jane and Sasha with the new van

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.

There are so many freaking Dunkin' Donuts in the NE (and Chicago) it's ridiculous

Ho bus gets a lift

The sense of joy and pride I felt watching our Ho Bus get lifted on the back of Sayiid’s massive tow truck was matched only by the bitter cold stinging my fingers for the past two hours and the sinking sensation that I had just spent all of last night’s money to get this baby moved two miles.

The day had started out so promising. My mom drops me off at Diesel Green Fuels and the ole Ho rolls without a hitch. Shivering as I drive (someone forgot to close the window on our New Year’s Eve joyride), I plan to take it over to the old Phillip’s 66 at 2222 and Keonig to get it inspected. Then I’ll take it to the mechanic to get the alternator fixed since we keep having battery issues. Sitting at the light under Mopac, minutes away from my destination, a terrible shudder shakes the bus and its eager driver to their bones.

Must be the gas, I think to myself with chagrin, and I pray that she’ll make it to the station. She doesn’t.

I’m in the turning lane, so close to the gas station that I can smell the fumes dancing out in the frigid air. She’s stops running, and I lose power steering. Oh God, I’m on an uphill. Waiting for a break in traffic, I slam it into reverse and with all my might crank the wheel to the left. I make it half way into the parking lot of Jack Brown Cleaners but it’s also uphill and I’m still jutting a yard out in the road. Good thing the xanthous vehicle is so easy to spot at high speeds. Next break in traffic and I slam that baby into neutral. Fortunately for me Griffith Small Animal Hospital’s parking lot is flat, and there’s a spot in front of the steps labeled “No Parking in front of the steps” which allows me to collapse without double parking anyone.

Thirty minutes and thirteen bucks later her tank is filled but she won’t start. I spray the requisite Starter Fluid into the Carburator but its a no go. I beg one of the ladies running the front desk (an awkward encounter) to crank the engine while I spray but it’s still not working. I can tell the battery has died. And to think, the mechanic was the next stop . . .

I call Ryan to give me a jump and he graciously arrives in minutes. Ten minutes, one cable, 7 bucks and two attempts later and she’s not budging. I’m shivering and my fingers are itching and Ryan’s asking me what happened to the weather two days ago. It’s time to call AAA. We wait.

One Starbucks, one Subway, and one tow truck refuses to do it because well we’re just too big. This is where Sayiid comes in at the buzzer. All the vets and staff, the women (mostly) and their little dogs and cats weren’t exactly amused at the short bus burning their eyes at the entryway. I steer and brake and he pulls the lever, that big baby slides up on the bed and we head to James Ferguson’s Diesel paradise across the street from Murcheson. It’s too bad Monte Becker didn’t answer his phone because I wanted someone to be able to check out the Veggie Oil System. But you know if they can get it to start on command, I’ll be happy. As much as I already love that bus, when I envisioned this day it was mostly centered on music and less on waiting, problem solving, and money spending. At least I had a companion in Ryan.

It’s outta our hands. We now play the waiting game.