68
We got a couple of hours of sleep on the way to Hope, where we stopped to top up the fuel and grab some breaky. Pro tip: always top up the fuel, even if you have more than ¾ of a tank.
I won’t naMe the place we got breakfast from, but the best way I can describe it is “damp”. Damp English muffins, damp slabs of deep-fried hashbrowns. Still, we’d all eaten worse. By the time Oliver pulled back onto the highway we were full and Itch was asleep again.
The toll booths for the Coquihalla were a few kilometres out of town. It felt like you weren’t just paying to enter the Coquihalla, you were also paying to leave everything behind. The toll booth was the gateway to the rest of the tour. The scenery through the mountains was spectacular, but we’d driven through it so often going to the prairies and back that we were all asleep within a few minutes.
Another pit stop in Merritt. Fuel, coffee, joints, stretches, and farts. We arrived in Kamloops at about noon, and pulled into the loading bay of the Riverside Coliseum. It could hold about 5000 people, but Boink couldn’t draw that many, so it was set up in a concert bowl configuration that held about 2500. The PA rental company had been in the day before and set everything up. We just had to take care of our own stuff, do soundcheck, and we had the rest of the afternoon to walk around and get some fresh air.
The Boink boys weren’t interested. They spent their time in the air-conditioned bar watching the Lions/Bombers game and playing pool.
“You guys’ll be back in fifteen minutes. It’s 33 degrees out there,” said Anton.
“Maybe,” said Dean, “but I’m sick of being inside. I’m going to the park where there’s grass and trees. Anyone up for some Hacky Sack?”
“Yup!” said Hair Straight Back.
“Nope!” said Boink.
“I wouldn’t come either, if I were you guys,” said Itch, “You might throw your back out or break your hip. What’s it like being in your 80s? Does it suck?” said Itch.
“Fifteen minutes,” said Anton, as he sank the 8-ball. He took a Coffee Crisp off the rail of the pool table and said, “Warren, you wanna go double-or-nothing with the Coffee Crisp and a bag of ketchup chips?”
“Yup,” said Warren.
“You guys gamble with snack food?” I asked.
“Yup,” said Warren.
“Everybody gets mad when they lose money. Nobody gets mad when they lose a chocolate bar. We’re going to be together a LOT for the next two months. We don’t need any hard feelings on the bus,” said Anton. As he turned his back on us to chalk up, he said, “Fifteen minutes. I’ll bet you a Coffee Crisp.”
“See you in a couple of hours, Grampy,” Nigel said. “Make sure our chocolate bars are here when we get back.”
Riverside Park was right across the street from the Coliseum. We found a shady spot under a tree that looked like it needed a hug, lit a doob, and had a great afternoon kicking sack. It was about 6 p.m. when we headed back across the street to the coliseum for dinner.
The show had sold out on the day it was announced, so the promoter upgraded our hospitality rider. There was a proper buffet with real plates and metal cutlery. It probably only cost him a couple of hundred bucks over our normal rider requirements. He’d figured out what Randa had figured out years ago: happy band = smooth show.
Guess who knew him already. I wondered how far east we’d need to be in order for Sanchez not to know anybody.
The show went fine. Some people knew us from Uncle Charlie’s. Boink went over really well, as you’d expect from a one-day sellout. Lots of people with salt-and-pepper hair had a good time.
Tuesday was an off day. There was a laundromat a couple of blocks away, so we took advantage of that because who knew when we might get to do it next. We might as well not have put our clothes in the dryer. It was 35 degrees, and everything would have been dry by the time we’d walked back to the hotel.
Now that the fiddly bits—the Island and Vancouver—were over with, Spencer wanted to get in a routine, since he was doing double duty as sound engineer and bus driver. Most nights, we’d leave right after load out and drive all night. Spencer and Oliver would sleep from about 5 or 6 a.m. until 1-ish. They’d come eat lunch at the venue, and then spend a few hours tinkering and experimenting. Everybody else would have to work their time around that schedule.
Nigel and Dean were opposed.
“When are we supposed to get blowjobs and stuff?” they said, perfectly in sync.
“Pre-show and/or while we’re doing our set,” said Anton.
“There aren’t girls around pre-show,” whined Dean.
“You guys have girlfriends,” Spencer said.
“Yeah…girlfriends, not wives,” Nigel pointed out.
“Do not get any ideas. Do not,” said my brother-in-law Sanchez, pointing at me in what I thought was an overly aggressive manner.
“Are you kidding me? You’ve met Stef, right? The most perfect human?”
“I have, and I love her. She’s my little sister.”
“Well I love her too and fuck you for thinking I’d cheat on her.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Don’t get any ideas from those guys.”
“Fuck you Sanchez.”
“Fuck me? You’d never go back to Stef.”
“Dusty joke, daddio. Pick up the pace,” said Itch.
“Everybody shut the fuck up and get in their vehicles,” Spencer said. “Next stop, Prince George.”
Or is the question, what is Boink?
Who is Boink?