Peter, the Twins, and Irene

Apparently Peter and the Twins played a show in New Jersey on Friday, because that's where we came to Saturday morning. The plan for the day was to drive four hours west to play in Waterville, Pennsylvania, but one by one things went awry.

At the break of day (around noon), Peter stirred first. He sleepily sniffed the air; the dewpoint was high and the barometric pressure was low. Sensing danger, he peered out the window. "Just as I suspected," he said. "Cumulo nimbus clouds; the storm is upon us."

 

Moments later Hurricane Irene began pounding on the door of their eastern New Jersey local. He roused the others. Their plan of waking up early to escape the fray had predictably fallen through.

According to some, Peter and the Twins tore off their shirts and charged out into the gale-force winds to load their trailer, while uprooted trees fell around them and detached road signs whizzed by like Chinese throwing stars. Roger's chest hair stood on end as he bellowed and beat his chest like a crazed gorilla. Detached roofs orbited hundreds of feet over his head, and power lines lashed the open air like giant electrified whips of the Gods.

Andy fought his way back into the house where the road dogs had been cowering and crying, and soon emerged with both Ben and Jerahn slung over his shoulders like children. He staggered forward to the tour bus like a Titan, and laid them down on the soft carpet. They cuddled together, pouting in fear.

Peter had went on ahead to drag the fallen trees from the road, clearing a path for the wind-stricken RV.

Some say the hurricane continued to plague them for the entire day. Others claim they never encountered more than a gentle drizzle of rain. It's not important. In any case, they soon had other problems to deal with.

Down the road, one of the rear left wheels on the motor-home began making a horrible noise. They feared a tour-ending breakdown. Soon, the sound became too intense for the band to continue driving. Ben shouldered the vehicle and once again, they began wrenching on their battered ride. This time it wasn't the broken auto-park break, or the transmission leak, nor was it another flat tire, or even the highly flammable propane that had blasted out the side of their vehicle for miles. It wasn't more blown fuses, the malfunctioning trailer lights, the smoking brakes, the oil leak, or even the coolant problem. These issues had already been dealt with.

 

Andy and Ben became irate as they realized that the mechanic who had changed their tire in Boston had not even tightened the lug-nuts, nearly causing the wheel to fall off as we crossed the Apalachian mountains.

Things were bad. Even our rations were running low.

Peanut Butter/Dorito Sandwhich

Between the storm and the breakdown, the band was over an hour behind schedule, but they navigated the forested roads to their destination. Just as things were beginning to look up, the bottom fell out.

When they arrived at the Waterville Tavern the bar was empty. The owners told Peter they didn't want the band to play, and wouldn't pay any of the promised $300. Not ready to give up yet, Peter returned with Ben, and Andy for intimidation. They gave them $50 dollars to leave.

It wasn't a complete failure, but they weren't ready to give up yet; they had come to Pennsylvania to rock.

Down the road there was another bar. "Why not check it out?" we asked ourselves.

Roger and Peter went inside for a few minutes, and came out with the impression that admittance was limited to angry AARP members. 

As Roger and Peter were leaving the old dive, a star seemed to glimmer in the sky up ahead. Then it moved a bit, as if to beckon them forward. "A sign from the Rock Gods!" Roger exclaimed.

They re-boarded the bus and shared the good news with the others.

For many miles we followed the star, until it settled over a manger. But this was not an ordinary manger, there was a bar inside of it. Wide eyed, we walked towards the light. Outside we were greeted by a man who called himself Gabriel. Then, as if choreographed, an entire bar staff of beautiful, scantily clad angels appeared before our eyes. The band broke down and wept as they gave thanks to the Rock Gods.

Like Job himself, the young band had been tested; struck by a storm, broken down on the side of the road and cheated by a bar, but they were rewarded doubly for their faith in the power of Rock. 

Cars then filled the parking lot, the music began, and the generous patrons rained down tips upon the pious musicians.
 

During a particularly rightious guitar solo, Peter was struck by the fabled Rock Stigmata, causing him to bleed the wounds of Jengo Riehnhart. The band played until all had had their fill, and all who witnessed the Rock saw that it was good.

Rock Stigmata