Bellview, CO – “Wanona & The Last Gig Before the Road” – Mishawaka – July 1, 2001

“That’s one v e g g i e b u r g e r,” wrote the heavily tatted waitress with the bull ring through her septum, “and f o u r b u f f a l o b u r g e r s,” she continued, “Just so you know, we’re changing the kitchen over from breakfast to lunch so it might be a while,” she smiled cheerfully, chucking a blond dreadlock over her shoulder like a errant snake.
“How long’s a while?” asked Dino (our new drummer).
“’bout 45 minutes to an hour or so,” She said noncommittally. I was starving and I said we’d eat anything they had on hand. She said she’d bring us some chips.

A basket full of red, blue, and gold corn chips arrived ten minutes later. No salsa, no dip, no guac. just some yellow-grey mustard in a squeeze bottle. We passed the mustard around the table like a chip condiment — not disgusting, but not good either. That’s when we noticed the birds — Two huge, white tropical cockatoos, one of which was perched dangerously close to my chip. I didn’t see it until it pooped on my shoulder and everyone laughed and pointed with glee at my misfortune.

“Oh, really cool,” I said sarcastically, wiping away the gooey mess from my overalls. From there on out ‘Wanona’ and I were not friends. Our relationship didn’t improve any when the food finally came. She dive-bombed my veggie burger. Missing, she fell directly into my lap along with the branch she failed to release before attacking me. A bouquet of leaves were still clutched in her tinny talons as she stared up at me like a crying baby doll. When I screamed and jumped to my feet the still-determined, Wanona, waddled aggressively toward me and the burger I held in my hand. Again, the restaurant lit up with hysterical laughter at my bad luck.

We’d just finished eating when Soucy’s tummy started to rumble, and an hour later, when Delucchi came with his familiar, “Five minutes folks. Five minutes,” we found a not-so-fresh Soucy, his face white, framed by the loud pink of the green room toilet bowl. Soucy’s poor little knees had raspberries on them from where they rested against the unwashed linoleum floor, and his eyes were bloodshot from dry heaving long after he’d evacuated the buffalo burger.

But Soucy is a pro. He rallied and, though a song late, made it to the stage, with a new shirt and newfound determination. Mishawaka is a great place to play. The stage is outside and it’s back hangs over a raging river. Kayakers and rafters stopped by, treading water to catch a verse or two before flowing the rest of the way down the cold, white frothing water. It couldn’t have been a nicer day for a show and I basked in the sunshine that filtered through the lazy trees until Wanona found me and dive bombed me again, this time going for the tea I was sipping between songs. “This bird hates me!” I said into the mic, as the audience roared and I picked a feather out of my drink.

At set break, Soucy headed back to the bathroom, but after a his second tour ‘driving the porcelain bus,’ he played again and even played well despite the sour and pinched expression on his face. What a champ! Dino once again proved himself to be the skilled drummer we’d been praying for and a formidable friend and we feel prepared to finally take Shotgun on the road.