Day two: Fort Collins, CO

The first stop on Day Two finds our group at a place called Taco John’s, an eating experience so far removed from the native cuisine of the country responsible for the taco as to be mystifying (or sickening, depending on how much you ate while there). The free Wi-Fi provides some diversion from the mushrooming effects of the gut bomb, and Nick introduces everyone to a creepy walking robot and later adamantly maintains that the cop in a hilarious Reno 911 skit has been digitally inserted into footage of a real DUI stop. Whatever, Nick.

Leaving behind the friendly people of Omaha and their fair city, His Mischief and friends hit the highway once again. At a gas stop somewhere in Nebraska, Fox earns the ire of the lady behind the counter when he seizes a couple of pieces of most un-beef-like beef jerky and demonstrates their fashion potential.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Jerky Sash:


The discovery that the van has been burning oil at a surprising rate leads to a stop at Ogallala’s local Pamida, the chain store which someone explains is “like Target, but for hicks.” Take that, rural America. After a quick run through the Dairy Queen drive-thru, all is set for a straight shot into Wyoming and then down to Colorado.

The Surfside Seven is a cool little bar and pizza parlor with brick walls and a small stage wedged into the corner next to the plate-glass windows facing College Avenue, Fort Collins’ main drag. The band enjoys some free pizza and beer while waiting for the town’s own Harvey Knuckles to play first. When HK take the stage, two things are immediately apparent: 1. these guys are ready to rock, and 2. the lead singer is already pretty fucking drunk. Whatever number 2’s later consequences might be, numbers 1 and 2 combine for a stellar, high-energy set for the enjoyment of the assembled crowd.

His Mis then takes the stage, immediately getting the Seven’s patrons moving:


But then, tragedy: problems with Fox’s equipment disable his distortion pedals. What to do? Turning lemons into Bacardi Limon, our band soldiers on, putting on a show that is arguably more entertaining than the previous night’s, including a stellar rendition of Rock Song (Hyperopia). As Brown misses toss after toss of his sticks (but never misses a beat), Fox embarks on a tour of the joint’s furniture, leaving scarcely a chair or booth un-mounted, all the while manhandling his guitar. And then, to the surprise and delight of many, Fox mounts his guitar, directing it with rhythmic pelvic thrusts in the direction of a particularly delighted Brown. Such jokesters, these guys!

The post-show wind down includes more beer, watching Nick sling some incredible game at a local mother and teacher, and seeing a combination of awe and elation in Brown’s face as Karl Alvarez, bassist for The Descendents and idol of a teenage Brown, tells Fox, “Your drummer is a gift from God, you know that, don’t you?”

Here is the fodder for a number of Brown’s future jerk-off fantasies:


Our group ends the night at the house of John, Harvey Knuckles’ drummer, drinking an 18-pack of PBR, watching Action Jackson, and petting Kaanu, the so-chill Siberian Husky mix, before settling down for sleep on whatever sofas, love seats, recliners and empty floor space that can be had.

-Miles