Day four: Scottsdale

The band of a century awakes where we left them a few hours before: at a highway rest stop, the bright New Mexico sun now beating down on the gray van of glory. They are not alone, however, as a number of trucks, cars and vans surround them in the parking lot. After a round of bum’s showers in the bathroom and a peek at what the walls have to offer in the way of graffiti—highlight: “419 BJ in last stall”—it’s off to Scottsdale for their show at Rogue Bar.

Hunger strikes somewhere around Gallup, NM and, humming the tune to “Get Your Kicks on Route 66,” they pull off and eat at Earl’s Restaurant. Green chili, Indian fry bread and Mexican staples are among the offerings, as well as all the Indian folk art and handicrafts one could ever want, and the band leaves fed and happy. A Goodwill pings Fox’s deal-o-meter and the van swerves to make an impromptu thrifting stop. Only then, once clothes have been rifled through and records exhaustively examined, can our boys re-board the van of vans and continue on into that land of sun-desiccated old age: Arizona.

A few hours later, the men of mystery arrive, horrendously early, in Scottsdale. Marveling at the beauty of the surrounding mountains and the number of expensive cars, His Mis makes their way to Rogue Bar, where, not surprisingly (given that it’s 8 o’clock, latest, on a Sunday), there are all of two people there. A taqueria down the street solves the dinner problem and a massage parlor next door offers a happy ending for another sort of problem, but instead it’s back to the bar and free wireless (yes!) before they go on at eleven.

Rogue Bar, though cursed with shitty acoustics, is a cool place. There is a pool table where Miles displays his dazzling pool skills, much to Brown’s dismay. Our sonic pioneers drink for free, and even get treated to tequila shots in the middle of their set. Shalom! Shalom! sounds particularly great tonight.

Some artistic photographs of everyone’s best friends:




After the set, the drinking continues. A creepy, shoeless guy with shaved head and camo hat proves the old adage “going without shoes in a bar will creep people out.” A jovial brother-and-sister duo—he with ginormous hands and she with a 4-year-old sleeping at home—chat with the band. A desperate middle-aged man goes from group to group, offering $20 for a condom. At some point, a Dutch fellow storms out of the bar, yelling over his shoulder, “The Navajos and the Mormons ruined my life!”

Just as the now-tired boys are about to sack up and head to a rest stop for the night, the bartender offers to let them crash at her place. They wait while she closes up shop and then follow her on a half-hour drive through the desert to the stucco-bland housing development where she lives with her sister. An 18-pack and shots of Jaegermeister later, the sun is up and it’s time for bed.

-Miles