ESCAPE FROM THE BAY: MY STORY

It was not as easy for some of us to "Escape From The Bay" as we had hoped. 3/4 of Hazzard's Cure and and a hand (job) picked team of crack super roadies ended up experiencing van trouble by the time we got to Sacramento Saturday afternoon. Despite the most heroic efforts of Spaz, Josh And Shane "Hammertime" Bergman, we could not get the van in working order, and plan B, getting wasted in a Home Depot parking lot, was immediately implemented. It was only through the valiant and insane perseverance of captain Corona, who drove down from Nevada City in his still more functional van, picked us and the additional gear up, and drove us back to Nevada City, just in time to make the gig and avoid the dire wolves that we're nipping at our heels, that we succeeded in any stretch of the definition. I have to say that the performance went rather well: a majority of the proper notes and beats were played!

Now as some of you may recall, one major drawback of Escape From The Bay part one last year, was the necessity of commuting to a remote camping location far outside of town after the gigs, risking life, limb and almost certain incarceration. Shmichael Chappell, the event's indefatigable administrator, cleverly solved this problem by booking a campground much closer to Nevada City this time! Of course, long before the time we arrived Saturday night, the entire mob had been evicted from this campground due to a combination of irrepressible juvenile ejaculations which carried on deep into the wee hours, and the inevitable backlash of other nearby campers, who would not tolerate even the most infinitesimal disturbance of their dainty cunt hairs.

And so it came to pass, in a true nightmare scenario, I found myself well past the witching hour, after the gig, speeding down a dirt road in a jeep driven by an utter maniac, huffing dust from an absurdly dusty dirt road on the way back to the old, shitty campground of yesteryear. The only consolation was that it was surprisingly easy to pass out, wrapped in a blanket in the dirt, the psychedelic and alcoholic grunts of my few fellow campers echoing from across the picnic table. I dreamed myself into a downtown Nevada City hotel and it's menagerie of beautiful, hungover women.
I can't really complain about hanging out at the bar the next morning and being purchased round after round of drinks by that poor, mournful woman (R.I.P.  your husband!), or bathing in the sun splashed pools of the mystical South Fork Yuba River. But any trip that ends with riding home in the cab of a tow truck (even if the tow truck driver is a chill-ass dude who saw Ted Nugent at Day On The Green, 1984) leaves something to be desired.

Thanks to everyone who helped out and partied! My apologies to anyone's band that I missed! Fuck it, let's do it again next year.