Blake started up the van at 6:30 AM while the rest of us slept in the loft and on the bench.

Wells, Nevada. I stole a Timex watch intent on making good on Blake's idea of this being more a crime spree than a tour.

Breakfast At the Salt Flats Cafe at the Utah border.

Salt Lake City, Utah. I stole a Fuji camera from a grocery store. It even came with batteries and a roll of film. Salt Lake smelled strange. A local cracked, "Don't swim in it." I was reminded of Carnival of Souls.

Paralyzing heat. Brad from Raunch Records directed us to the nearest dollar movie house around the corner from the shop. We saw Basic Instinct. Sharon Stone was great and San Francisco never looked so good.

We unloaded at the Bar and Grill. Natalie the promoter had broken her wrist and couldn't make it. We were primed for a debacle - no promoter, skinhead presence, weeknight turnout. But it was a fun and we got our $150 as promised.

I coined a new term. When we take off to the next town after the show, we're "getting the Dodge out of Hell." We stopped at 7-Eleven on the way out of town. A Praying Mantis jumped on Blake's leg. He screamed like a man about to die. When I stooped down to get a closer look, the popsicle in my hand dripped on my leg and I thought the little beast had jumped on me, too. We both scattered as if running from a fire. Blake and I stayed up through Utah and into Wyoming on I-80. They drive by night.