Postcards from the Road: the goodbye to 2005 essay

I know I kept promising an end-of-the-year essay, but I just couldn’t bring myself to write it. I just didn’t want to say goodbye to 2005. I still don’t. But now that the new year has dawned (in my calendar, Saturday night was New Year’s Eve and Sunday was New Year’s Day – without the Rose Parade), so here comes the official end of 2005 at the Virtual Cooktruck. I call it Postcards from the Road.

Things back home that make me miss tour: My sandal tan. I still can see it every morning when I climb out of bed and look down at my feet.

Postcard 1: The photo is at night in a stadium in Saydel, Iowa. Lights streaming down. Bugs bouncing off gazillion-watt bulbs. A sarcastic voice from the pressbox: “Great brass line. You beat the drum line to the end. You win.”

Things back home that make me miss tour: Walking across nearly deserted grocery store/Wal-Mart parking lots late at night. Sometimes I look for tour buses instead of my car.

Postcard 2: A rainy Fourth of July afternoon in a Chicago suburb. A blanket spread out on the grass in the hell strip between the street and sidewalk. A friendly Midwestern family sitting in lawn chairs nearby. “Where ya’ from?” the Dad asks. “We’re from West Des Moines, Iowa,” was the reply. “You came all that way for our crappy little parade? Cool.”

Things back home that make me miss tour: Discount T-shirt racks. It doesn’t have to be the 3-for-$10 rack at the Flying-J truckstop, but it helps.

Postcard 3: Pitch black night in Marlborough, Mass. Flashlight beams crisscrossing in the dark while we try to find a different place to plug in the cooktruck, since we’ve blown another breaker and can’t find the switchbox right away. A voice from inside the cooktruck, “It’s OK. We’re cooking by cell phone.” Huh? The ever resourceful Colts cooks had whipped out their cell phones, flipped them open so the lights came on, and were continuing to prepare snack.

Things back home that make me miss tour: Tour buses. Being on them. Seeing them. Any time. Any place.

Postcard 4: Which brings me to another tour picture. The parking lot of the Meadowlands stadium. Night, of course. “Hey, Jim. Let’s go look at the Marines' tour buses. I wonder if they travel on Van Hools.” A puzzled look from Jim. “Van Hools. They’re really cool tour buses made in Belgium. Top of the line.” Jim gives me a look mixed with admiration and disbelief: “You are a drum corps geek.”

Heard in the food line, about midseason (early days in the losing battle with the postcards and their supports): “By the Columbus Day show those props are going to kick ass.”

Things back home that make me miss tour: The Kool-Aid/powdered Gatorade aisle at the grocery store. “If you mix that and that, you’ll get….”

Postcard 5: Closeup of a striking pink flower, growing everywhere in the lowlands of Massachusetts. At the back of the school’s parking lot. Along the highway. In the swales next to the Gilette Stadium parking lot. We’re making the long walk back from the stadium, while equipment vehicles from the Santa Clara Vanguard stream by going in the opposite direction. Our parade and theirs stops at the same time. One guy on the SCV equipment cart looks at the other and says: “What’s the pretty pink flower?” I can’t resist jumping in with both feet: “It’s not a pretty pink flower. It’s purple loosestrife. It’s an invasive weed that’s taking over the wetlands of America.” The two SCV guys just look at me with their mouths sort of hanging open. Jim J. says, “Trust him. He’s from Better Homes and Gardens” and we start walking again.

Things back home that make me miss tour: Expiration dates on cereal boxes.

The final postcard: The scene is the far upper deck of Gillette Stadium on finals night, nearly down to the endzone. You know, the seats you can find if you have a wristband but no real ticket. Sebastian and I are sitting there watching and discussing each corps after their show. Real drum corps geek stuff. The guy in front of us is on his cell phone between each corps performance, doing pretty much the same thing we are except he’s using the latest technology and using up his monthly minutes. It’s after the thunderstorm break, and we’re pretty much settled with this routine. But after the Blue Devils show, the guy doesn’t pull out his cell phone. He turns to his wife and says, “ Honey, when it’s my time to die and you’ve made the decision to turn off the life support, say goodbye and then give me 22 more minutes before you pull the plug.” Well, his wife gives him this “What the hell are you taking about?” look and Seb and I give each other the same kind of look. “I’ve now seen this show twice. I want the 22 minutes back that I wasted watching the Blue Devils in 2005.”