After opening for the NOLA-funk of Big Sam's Funky Nation on Thursday in Denver, Frogs Gone Fishin' headed out on the road yesterday. The band woke up around 6:30a and shook off a great night jamming with the band from New Orleans, and headed out. Tour never stands still, and nothing was proof like our adventures in getting to Flagstaff for our first gig last night.
Everything was going smoothly on our 11-hour journey south, cruising at 65 mph, the plains and mountains rushing by on either side of the Tourmobile. Everything gets flatter as one heads into New Mexico from Colorado, and by the time we reached the Arizona border, we were confident about making the night's gig.
Shortly after crossing the AZ border, we stopped at Exit 333 (1/2 of 666, the devil's digits), so Mark (drums) and I could switch places. Jumping in the driver's seat, I turned the key of the Suburban... and nothing happened. The ignition wouldn't turn. We were stranded 130 miles from our gig, 4 hours before it was to begin.
The band jumped into action. After calling AAA we grabbed only the necessary items, the bare essentials to play the show and replaced the back seat in the car with our equipment. Leaving the trailer locked and out of sight, we commenced a cramped two-hour ride with our tow truck driver, Mike, and marvelled at his overpowering and wholly unnecessary use of A/C.
We emerged freezing, but somehow on-time in Flagstaff and played to one of the more enthusiastic audiences we've had since our last tour ended a couple weeks ago. Flagstaff is really an awesome scene and town, and the boys in FGF sincerely thank The Green Room for their hospitality and accommodating staff, especially in our time of hunger and stress about our ongoing transportation dilemma that is Leslie, the '94 Suburban.
Today we travel back to the devil's exit, to rescue our trailer.
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