Salon Wanderlust | On the road with the Smokejumpers

[Salon Wanderlust: Travel with a passion]

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Wanderlust presents a selective guide to the week's travel-related news.

T A B L E_T A L K
Where would you go if you had one or two months off? Make plans, imaginary or real, in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk

R E C E N T L Y
Savvy tips for holiday travelers
By Dawn MacKeen
When can you actually demand money from an airline? Where can you find low-cost holiday fares? Christopher McGinnis knows
(11/05/98)
The Hollywood tourists never see
By Jeff Greenwald
A travel writer finds life-changing adventure on the sound stage of an NBC sitcom
(11/03/98)
Death on Ios
By Jeffrey Tayler
Could he recapture his youth with a passionate encounter on Greece's most hedonistic island?
(11/01/98)
This week in travel Wanderlust's selective guide to travel-related news
(10/30/98)
Naked and in hot water
By Simon Firth
A proper Brit ventures to a clothing-optional resort and discovers that nudity offers more than meets the eye
(10/29/98)

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ON THE ROAD WITH THE SMOKEJUMPERS | PAGE 1, 2
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
We got the Saturday night show in Denver through the Hillbilly Hellcats, whom we'd opened for in Los Angeles. Local heroes here, they were going to headline, but they had to pull out, and instead we're playing the 15th Street Tavern with a hard-core punk band called Electric Summer, consisting of four Japanese guys who barely speak English. Again, attendance is on the light side, but Big Stick Mick and I have friends here, and it's kind of a fun night.
Until the van won't start after we've loaded the gear back into it. It's 2, then 3 in the morning as Double D works on it desperately with Mick's friend Sean and a good Samaritan passerby. Double D is from Detroit, so he has some sort of inborn knowledge of cars. At least that's how it seems to me, to whom starting a car engine is something like a magic trick.
And now it's 4. Teeth are chattering, tempers are flaring and hangovers are starting as we and our friends wait in the cold for a tow truck. Sean's cousin Jenny and her boyfriend, David, must certainly be regretting by now their decision to let us stay on their living room floor. But they wait it out with the rest of us, starting their car for heat every few minutes until the tow finally shows up.
We always ask and usually succeed in getting someone to let us stay with them. We've only had to resort to a motel a few times. Even a cheap one puts a big dent in our traveling budget. Still, we're always amazed that anyone would let a bunch of smelly musicians they don't know invade their home. It's an act of astonishing generosity.
But it's nothing compared to what this couple will do over the next 12 hours as we try to fix the Big Orange Van. They'll put up with us lounging in and around their house all day, making phone calls, ordering pizzas, swearing at our luck, getting underfoot during the Broncos game. They'll lend us their car for too many trips to count to auto parts stores, hardware stores, home supply stores, even Wal-Mart as we try to find the parts and tools we need to fix the problem, or rather the problems, because each problem fixed reveals a new one: Once the spark plugs are replaced, we find we need a new fuel filter, which reveals that we need a new fuel pump, and somewhere in this process we break the fuel line.
And they'll put up with the stress and tension that are fairly radiating off of us, because we're trying desperately to get this thing fixed in time to make the 11-hour drive to Lawrence for what figures to be the most lucrative show on the tour, a weekly swing-dance night with a built-in crowd, and then the depression that sets in when we realize we won't make it. And through it all, they'll remain cheerful and welcoming. Don't worry about it, they'll keep saying. No problem.
Finally, as darkness crowds us early on the first day of standard time, we say our copious thank yous and leave, the van finally working. We're headed to Iowa City for Monday night's show, and we get as far as Brighton before we break down again, which if you know your Colorado geography is a funny one: To find a mechanic in Brighton, you look in the Denver phone book.
We coast into a Texaco truck stop, which will be our home for the next six hours. Our jury-rigged fuel line has given way, so we have to try to redo it, this time with a proper metal pipe. Double D catches a ride about five miles to an auto parts store with a family that has room for one. Not wanting to leave him out there alone, I try to catch one too to join him, but I quickly find out that I don't have the kind of face that makes people say, "Sure, hop in." If you ever want to feel like a scam artist or a serial killer, try walking up to tourists in a highway truck stop fuel area and saying, "Excuse me, are you driving toward town?"
Double D returns with the part, which we spend five hours trying to bend and twist into place, without anything resembling success. There are temper tantrums, sulks, damn-near nervous breakdowns as three of us (I, feeling particularly useless, stay out of the way) try to get this damn $5 part into place. We finally surrender, freezing, utterly defeated and saturated in grease, and get a tow to a Super 8 Motel that's next to a garage.
In the morning, the mechanic says he can put in a rubber fuel line. No way to get a metal line in there, he laughs. They put that part in first, then build the engine around it. We feel like idiots. But we're getting our van back. We have no chance to make Iowa City. We call and cancel. We've missed two shows in a row now, and playing music is beginning to feel like a distant memory. But all we have to do to make Tuesday's show in Muncie is drive straight through from Denver. The trip, 1,220 miles through five states, shouldn't take more than 23 hours. Then we can feel like musicians again.
*Some names have been changed.
SALON | Nov. 6, 1998
-------------------[GET PARTS TWO AND THREE]
The King Teen sings and plays guitar for the Smokejumpers. He is filing weekly reports from the band's tour.


	A L S O__T O D A Y This week in Travel Wanderlust presents a selective guide to the week's travel-related news. T A B L E_T A L K Where would you go if you had one or two months off? Make plans, imaginary or real, in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Savvy tips for holiday travelers By Dawn MacKeen When can you actually demand money from an airline? Where can you find low-cost holiday fares? Christopher McGinnis knows (11/05/98) The Hollywood tourists never see By Jeff Greenwald A travel writer finds life-changing adventure on the sound stage of an NBC sitcom (11/03/98) Death on Ios By Jeffrey Tayler Could he recapture his youth with a passionate encounter on Greece's most hedonistic island? (11/01/98) This week in travel Wanderlust's selective guide to travel-related news (10/30/98) Naked and in hot water By Simon Firth A proper Brit ventures to a clothing-optional resort and discovers that nudity offers more than meets the eye (10/29/98) Browse the Wanderlust Postmark archives S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		ON THE ROAD WITH THE SMOKEJUMPERS \| PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - We got the Saturday night show in Denver through the Hillbilly Hellcats, whom we'd opened for in Los Angeles. Local heroes here, they were going to headline, but they had to pull out, and instead we're playing the 15th Street Tavern with a hard-core punk band called Electric Summer, consisting of four Japanese guys who barely speak English. Again, attendance is on the light side, but Big Stick Mick and I have friends here, and it's kind of a fun night. Until the van won't start after we've loaded the gear back into it. It's 2, then 3 in the morning as Double D works on it desperately with Mick's friend Sean and a good Samaritan passerby. Double D is from Detroit, so he has some sort of inborn knowledge of cars. At least that's how it seems to me, to whom starting a car engine is something like a magic trick. And now it's 4. Teeth are chattering, tempers are flaring and hangovers are starting as we and our friends wait in the cold for a tow truck. Sean's cousin Jenny and her boyfriend, David, must certainly be regretting by now their decision to let us stay on their living room floor. But they wait it out with the rest of us, starting their car for heat every few minutes until the tow finally shows up. We always ask and usually succeed in getting someone to let us stay with them. We've only had to resort to a motel a few times. Even a cheap one puts a big dent in our traveling budget. Still, we're always amazed that anyone would let a bunch of smelly musicians they don't know invade their home. It's an act of astonishing generosity. But it's nothing compared to what this couple will do over the next 12 hours as we try to fix the Big Orange Van. They'll put up with us lounging in and around their house all day, making phone calls, ordering pizzas, swearing at our luck, getting underfoot during the Broncos game. They'll lend us their car for too many trips to count to auto parts stores, hardware stores, home supply stores, even Wal-Mart as we try to find the parts and tools we need to fix the problem, or rather the problems, because each problem fixed reveals a new one: Once the spark plugs are replaced, we find we need a new fuel filter, which reveals that we need a new fuel pump, and somewhere in this process we break the fuel line. And they'll put up with the stress and tension that are fairly radiating off of us, because we're trying desperately to get this thing fixed in time to make the 11-hour drive to Lawrence for what figures to be the most lucrative show on the tour, a weekly swing-dance night with a built-in crowd, and then the depression that sets in when we realize we won't make it. And through it all, they'll remain cheerful and welcoming. Don't worry about it, they'll keep saying. No problem. Finally, as darkness crowds us early on the first day of standard time, we say our copious thank yous and leave, the van finally working. We're headed to Iowa City for Monday night's show, and we get as far as Brighton before we break down again, which if you know your Colorado geography is a funny one: To find a mechanic in Brighton, you look in the Denver phone book. We coast into a Texaco truck stop, which will be our home for the next six hours. Our jury-rigged fuel line has given way, so we have to try to redo it, this time with a proper metal pipe. Double D catches a ride about five miles to an auto parts store with a family that has room for one. Not wanting to leave him out there alone, I try to catch one too to join him, but I quickly find out that I don't have the kind of face that makes people say, "Sure, hop in." If you ever want to feel like a scam artist or a serial killer, try walking up to tourists in a highway truck stop fuel area and saying, "Excuse me, are you driving toward town?" Double D returns with the part, which we spend five hours trying to bend and twist into place, without anything resembling success. There are temper tantrums, sulks, damn-near nervous breakdowns as three of us (I, feeling particularly useless, stay out of the way) try to get this damn $5 part into place. We finally surrender, freezing, utterly defeated and saturated in grease, and get a tow to a Super 8 Motel that's next to a garage. In the morning, the mechanic says he can put in a rubber fuel line. No way to get a metal line in there, he laughs. They put that part in first, then build the engine around it. We feel like idiots. But we're getting our van back. We have no chance to make Iowa City. We call and cancel. We've missed two shows in a row now, and playing music is beginning to feel like a distant memory. But all we have to do to make Tuesday's show in Muncie is drive straight through from Denver. The trip, 1,220 miles through five states, shouldn't take more than 23 hours. Then we can feel like musicians again. Some names have been changed. SALON \| Nov. 6, 1998* -------------------[GET PARTS TWO AND THREE] The King Teen sings and plays guitar for the Smokejumpers. He is filing weekly reports from the band's tour.