Chapter Sixty Four:     Indy 500 & Indianapolis

It wasn't just a coincidence that we scheduled our "Chrome Squatch Concert Tour" so that we would happen to be in Indianapolis for the last Sunday of May, which this year just so happens to be Memorial Day. And what big event is held in the city of Indianapolis every Memorial Day? That's right, the Indy 500. And who insisted that our managers got us the gig so that we could get into the infield scene for the race? Well, that was me, Charlie Madison.

Because I'm not just some extremely talented bass player singer/songwriter in some fabulous and famous rock band, I'm also a race-car freak, and I've always wanted to go see the Indy 500, since there's almost nothing bigger, America-wise. Actually, their own hype sells it as "the largest single-day spectator sporting event in the world".

As for me, I've been to just about every different racing discipline there is: sports cars, drag races, Formula One, NASCAR, Formula A, and now at last, Indy Cars.

Originally, I tried to get us into performing at the Snake Pit, the infield scene near Turn 3 of the Speedway oval, but we were the wrong kind of band. They only wanted EDM bands --Electronic Dance Music-- in other words, techno crap, and we don't do that, we sing songs with melodies, telling stories meant to be listened to. They wanted noise with a beat you could get drunk to. And even if we did get in, we'd have to perform while the race was running and miss the actual event, which for me was the whole point of being there at that time.

There was no problem getting our Imdianapolis concert booked for the day after the race, at The Hilbert Circle Theater, downtown Indianapolis, which our manager took care of. But I still wanted to get us INTO the Indy 500 race the day before, and be a part of it. Of course, we could just BUY tickets ($40 each) and go in as paying customers, but we are 20 people who are used to the VIP treatment as rock stars, so that goes against the grain. I was determined to find a way. So I thought: hey, couldn't we sing the National Anthem?

Every year they hire some currently hot vocalist to do just that, like Kelly Clarksen or Bebe Rexha, it's a tradition. A solo 2-minute number and you're done. Could Scott and I do it? Yeah, maybe... but soaring vocals are not our forté. Then I figured maybe Adam was special enough to pull it off. I mean a Bigfoot pop star singing the Star Spangled Banner? Come on, wouldn't that fly?

I suggested the idea to him back in March, when we visited Squatch & Friends at "the Hacienda" in Monroe to discuss doing this tour we're on now. But he was more or less against it, as in totally, at that time. Which was, yeah, kind of a hurdle, so I asked "why not?"

"Personal principles," Adam argued, "the Indianapolis 500 is a high-octane redneck event of macho aggression about being the fastest, being the best --and that particular song is a political statement about the glory of war, which generally makes my toes curl. And then a formation of M-16 fighter jets will rip across the sky to drive the point home."

Thing is, Adam's expert at debating things. Any idea you got about Sasquatches being hairy slobs way dumber than us "white guys" gets quickly blasted away when you hear him discuss just about any academic subject. The guy's a walking encyclopedia, rattles off facts, statistics, historical data. Seems he's got this "phonographic memory", remembers words and sounds verbatim. He's getting a doctorate in anthropology at the University of Washington. Oh, and did I mention that he's gigantic and muscular? So yeah, I admit it; I'm kind of intimidated by him.

But then again, I have a secret weapon: my well-educated buddy Scott. Who says, "Actually, the Star Spangled Banner is about surviving a battle, our flag still waving at the dawn's early light, after everything seemed about to go belly up. It's a message of hope, not aggression."

"Perhaps so, but it's still part and parcel of a very nationalistic ideology, all the military bombast about fighting wars, to which I do not wish to contribute. And if you're going to ask me if I am patriotic, I'm going to quote Bob Dylan and say: Patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings."

So my buddy Scott raises his finger and pontificates, "Actually, Dylan stole that line..."

Adam nods and counters, "Well, he did modify the concept from a speech by Samuel Johnson in 1775. But I like Bob's version better, it's more melodic."

It seemed Adam's mind was pretty much made up. But I didn't give up, I made some calls to the Indianapolis Speedway's Office to see what they thought of the idea. Someone among them did argue that a Bigfoot had no right to be singing the National Anthem, since he wasn't even an American, which was untrue in Adam's case, of course. I mean, he's got a Social Security number, driver's license, US Passport, all that stuff. Got to remember that there's a lot of rednecks, racists and white supremists among racing enthusiasts who have their own version of "America".

But there were also some progressive-minded people on the committee who really liked the idea. Especially those who were aware of Adam's career as a singer/songwriter. They really wanted him to be this year's performer, enough to call him and talk him into it. So my next step was to get Adam to talk to them, even though he was uninterested.

I can't say Adam is stubborn, actually, he's pretty easy-going and can be talked into changing his mind, but you really do have to have some pretty valid arguments ready. So I look to Scott to come up with something. What he finally says is: "The reason Charlie wants you to do this is so that we can all get into the Indy 500."

So Adam says: "Oh. Okay, I'll do it for Charlie." Easy as that. It was arranged that he'd sing the National Anthem solo. We could only get 8 pit-passes, but not everyone is as passionate about race cars as I am, so the others could just take a day off.

RACE DAY

It was an easy 3-hour drive from Chicago to Indianapolis. Once again we knew a campground where we could park together and use the facilities, just outside of town. Although we had no favorite tavern here, like in Chicago, we could still party at camp. Which we did, no sweat, bought some beers. Relaxed. I wanted to save my energy for the next day, all hyped that I was going to see the Indianoplis 500 at last!

The day of the race was as it is supposed to be: sunny and hot.

Incredibly hot, which seems to be another tradition. Kind of weird that we'd been driving through deep snow less than a week before. The eight of us going to the race loaded into the Chrome Pie bus and Gene drove us to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and dropped us off, since we couldn't park anywhere nearby. We were: Ewan, Benny Joe, Adam, Melly, Lissandra, Pokey, Sunny and myself. We could only get 8 pit passes so we had to draw straws for those who wanted to see the race. Luckily not everyone was into it and most would rather do something else, probably downtown Indianapolis, so nobody went away mad.

Adam wasn't especially into racing, but he had to be there to do his bit. I wasn't too surprised that the two sasquatch chicks would rather avoid a race track-- I get that there's an inbred cultural dislike of technology among Nokhons, which makes sense. Forbidden and all that. They'd probably get scared being near fast cars at dangerous velocities, painfully loud noises, the stink of racing fuel, crowds of people getting drunk and rowdy-- all the stuff I'm really into. In fact, I'm used to a milder version of disinterest with my other band members. Neither Scott nor Mike have ever been into car racing, although Benny Joe and Ewan are pretty enthusiastic. But I'm kind of crazy about it: the shriek of all those high-revving motors make me tingle all over.

I'd been following the speed trials on the Internet over the preceding week, so I knew that new Brazilian guy Raul Estobar had won the pole position with his Honda-powered Indy car. And that New Zealander Gladis Swittson, something so rare as a very fast woman driver, was tight behind him, also Honda-powered. That was maybe the most interesting element of the lineup, otherwise it was mostly experienced and well-known drivers with well-sponsored cars and professional teams, so you never know how it's going to work out in the actual race

I'm contributing this chapter of our USA concert-tourné to give it my personal slant, knowing that whoever reads this may not be a devout racing aficionado like myself, but this is today's adventure, so just let me fill in some detail for anyone who doesn't even know what the Indy 500 IS. It's a one-way oval race track, spanning 2.5 miles, for what they call "Indy cars", specialized open-wheeled open-cockpit format, and since 200 laps equals 500 miles they call this race the... well, you get it. The cars are powered either by a Honda or a Chevrolet motor, dual-turbocharged and fuel-injected 2.2 liter V-6's designed to produce 500-700 horsepower at 12,000 RPM, and the cars weigh almost nothing, so they're pretty fast.

This race has been running every Memorial Day since 1911, one of the many traditions that have developed over time, like the 33-car lineup, pre-race celebrations, singing of "Back Home in Indiana" and of course, the "Star Spangled Banner".

Which Adam was to sing at noon. We were inside the oval by 11:00, along with thousands of other people, mostly in a party mood. The Snake Pit was already sold out and filled up and the drinking had begun. On the speedway, previous winners were lazily driving symbolic victory laps in old Indy cars, making that sound, warming up the track.

Besides all the hysteria of the race, people were noticing Adam and getting even more excited. One thing though, it can be scary coming into a tight crowd like that if you're famous, some fans can get too excited. Not a problem though, Adam's size kept even the most hysterical fans at a comfortable distance. I was wearing hat and sunglasses (hey, I’m famous too), but I was walking beside a 500-pound Bigfoot so nobody paid any attention to me at all.

We reported to the entertainment center, announced that Adam was here and ready to do his duty. There were speeches going on, so they were pretty busy, but took the time to greet Adam nicely. They even greeted me nicely, since there were some Chrome Pie fans aware that our band was presently touring with Squatch & Friends. We were assigned a contact person, a very professional young lady named Rebecca, who showed Adam where to go and offered him a page of lyrics. Seems sometimes singers get nervous and forget even the text of the National Anthem. Hey, it could happen to me, but not to Adam. She probably didn't know that Adam couldn't forget any words. Or that even if he did, he couldn't read those pages anyway.

I'd like to mention that Adam did some disciplined preparations for this one performance. He wanted to do a good job of it, so he listened to lots of different versions of the Anthem that other singers had done. He kept coming back to one he considered the very best: Whitney Houston at the Superbowl in 1991. He'd searched for a masculine version that could match it in power but couldn't find one. He has an incredible voice and I heard him copy her performance so exactly that it was spooky, but we all agreed that he couldn't just do a copycat version at the race, it was too well known... and too feminine. He decided to perform it solo with just his 12/string guitar, like an American folk song, no military marching band for him.

Of course we dared him to do a Hendrix-Woodstock version, just for kicks. But he said, "You know, I don't really want to piss people off. I'm a representative for the Nokhon Nation and it might not go down too well if I give the impression that the squatches are at odds with America."

"What?" Says Benny Joe, confrontational as always, "You scared of a few fuckin rednecks?"

"I've been invited to sing a song of hope, not stir up conflict."

"Star Spangled Bummer, man." Benny Joe was just kidding, but everyone knows that it's a thankless throw-away song to any hard-core rock'n'roller's resumé. Like doing a Christmas Album. Or evergreens.

But the version Adam came up with was his own and it sounded pretty good. Simple, clean, respectful. He had more vocal volume than Whitney, maybe even more range, but whether his version was better than her famous Superbowl recording is open to debate-- hers still gives me goose-bumps every time I hear it. But we in the band had heard him practicing a bunch of different interpretations, got used to it, so during the actual public performance I just barely listened after making sure he got off to a good start with a powerful baritone "Oh say can you see..." It sounded okay and I was busy with other stuff. Although I did notice that the audience seemed to be paying attention, considering that it's a song that usually offers no surprises.

But I myself was mostly listening for "Gentlemen, start your engines", followed by the roar of 33 Indy cars revving up and getting ready to race. So I sort of missed hearing Adam's performance.

THE RACE

Usually at racing events, I tend to know some of the contestants personally, since I used to race Formula A. Friends of friends, or competitors of friends, but here I knew no one except by reputation via the media. So I wasn't really rooting for any certain driver to win the race, although I knew Brett Mirron had an impressive record and Carl Disnell was not to be ignored, I actually had no emotional investment in who won. I kind of wished it would be Gladys Swinsson just so that a woman would finally win this macho race, but I'm not enough of a feminist to believe it could ever happen.

Mostly I enjoyed the thrill of technology being tested to the max. But after an hour of smooth & very professional (repetitious) driving I began looking at girls: the crowd was full of them, young and less-young, but all in shorts and bare midriff halter tops, cleavage everywhere. Not topless, like in the 60's, but sexy enough to entertain the troops. I was mostly hanging with Ewan, Benny Joe and Sunny, who were intent on getting into the Snake Pit, where the real debauchery was going on. The Pit was sold out and filled to capacity, but as the race progressed lots of bodies got hauled out, some to ambulances for accidents or overdoses of drugs/alcohol and various other indiscretions, making room for those who dared breach the wall. Fortunately I was still somewhat interested in the race and refrained from going into the Snake Pit, which I knew to be a drunken mess, although mainly because I don't really like techno music at top volume.

I found Adam wandering around with Melly and Lissandra and Pokey. Adam was in anthropologist mode, studying the group behavior of the local tribes at what he called a "skesk orgy", considering the Indy 500 a "worship of technology", which actually sounded about right to me. None of them were interested in getting drunk, and evidently neither was I, having deliberately avoided the Snake Pit. But we did swig a beer each, except for Pokey, because it was so hot.

I asked Adam how he felt about his experience of singing the National Anthem. He shrugged and said, "It went all right, I tried to do my best and there were some compliments afterward so I guess no rednecks will be out to kill me." He was pretty humble about it. Pokey was not, he said "It was the Voice of The Great American Spirit." Melly and Lissandra nodded, "Oh yeah, Voice of God, all right." They didn't seem to be kidding. That's when I realized that I probably should have listened better. Oh well, too late now.

But as we wandered through the crowd I did notice that people were looking at Adam differently than when we'd first arrived. Of course he was still way taller than anyone else in the crowd, still sticking out like a... well, like a Bigfoot, so he was easy to spot. But the crowd had observed him from afar before, with awe and maybe a little fear, unsure if he was a dangerous monster or not. Now they were obviously regarding him with respect and admiration, politely waving to him, nodding, smiling, even bowing, wanting to be friends... all of them. Or maybe the rednecks were just being careful not to piss off the Bigfoot .

A few people approached to compliment Adam on his singing, but most stayed back to allow him his space, hailing with a few friendly words like, "Hey man, you really nailed that ol' Star Spangled Banner, way to go!" "Far out, Dude," etc.

One cute little red-headed freckled girl, maybe 5 years old, dared to come right to him, shy but definitely not afraid and said, "You are Adam Leroy Forest." Adam smiled, a flash of all those big perfectly white teeth, but she didn't flinch a bit as he went down on one knee to talk with her. "Yes, I am. And who are you?" We could see her mother off at a distance, also red-headed, smiling and nodding, proud and excited, but allowing her little girl this moment to herself. The little girl said her name was Harmony so Adam introduced her to Melly, whose actual given name is Melody. "I knew that," little Harmony boasted, then pointed, "Oh, and they are Lissandra and Pokey--you're all together in Squatch'n'Friends." She looked around, "But where are Masnia and Magga?" Adam explained that they didn't want to be around all the noisy race cars.

I had to test Harmony's knowledge of Chrome Pie too, "So do you know who I am?" She looked at me, got shy and shut up, shaking her head. Oh well, our fans were usually about 10-20 years older. I looked over to the mother, standing alone. Now she was just the right age to be a CP fan. Looked like a single mother, quite pretty, definitely a MILF. I waved her over to us. She laughed and came to join her daughter and us.

She was slightly overwhelmed to be meeting Adam, especially after having just heard him singing the National Anthem, but she wasn't really sure of who the rest of us were. Her name was Anne and she was in fact a single mother, my first guess just under 30 years old. Even prettier up close, I couldn't help but be interested, me being a perpetually horny rock star, temporarily single myself. I started working on what could be my newest song-- I'm kind of famous for writing songs based on women's names. "Anne" wasn't a great title, but I'd see what could be done with it-- and with her.

At least she DID know who I was. But not at first, I had to introduce myself by name and casually name-drop Chrome Pie, then mention that we were two bands on tourné, scheduled to play in Indianapolis tomorrow evening at the Hilbert Circle Theater... and then FINALLY she said, "Wait-- Charlie Madison? --OMG you play music with Scott Richter! God, I LOVE his music!" Not exactly the recognition I'd been after, but I'd take what I could get.

"Well, I've written a lot of the songs we play, so maybe you love MY music too." I just had to say that.

"Really? What have you written?"

"Oh, Cruisin Susan, Pain of Elaine, Don't Fail Gail, Whenever Jennifer..."

"Oh yeah, I've heard those, yeah. I think. What about those science-fiction songs? Like, 98 Light Years, Wreck of the Starship Enterprise, Romance of War?"

"Uh, well, no, that's Scott's stuff."

"God, he's BRILLIANT!"

"Yeah, guess he is..."

All the while she's getting all turned on about Scott and my ego is getting shredded I'm seeing more and more just what a beautiful lady she is. Big bush of red hair, a freckled face that reminds me of all bonny Irish lasses, a body like... well, like a healthy female athlete, toned and desirable. I find myself yearning. "Yearning For Anne, learning, by damn..." Okay, I'll need some time to work out some better lyrics.

Little Harmony was deep in 5-year-old conversation with Melly and Lissandra, who thought she was just so cute, so it was natural enough for me to invite mother & daughter to wander around the speedway with us... because I thought the mother was just so cute. I talked with her enough to establish that she had no current husband or boy friend, although she did mention that "it's complicated," but that is such a standard that it was easy to accept.

To add some drama, there was an accident about halfway through the race: Mark Johnson's Chevy crashed into the wall and went spinning into 3 other cars, among them Brazilian Raul Estobar, who was so far in the lead that he was coming through the field again. So he crashed too, along with Gladys and Brett Mirron. Nobody died or got hurt, but the race changed completely, ending up with Carl Disnell winning almost by default.

Adam asked me if people came to races because they want to see the accidents, if they were horny to see death? I told him "no", but then had to qualify that, "Well... maybe some people do. Everyone likes the scare, but not the tragedy." Anne pitched in, "Okay, of course it's exciting to see a spectacular wreck, but nobody really wants to have it end badly." I said, " As a sometimes driver myself, I sure don't." Which led to Anne asking me, "Oh, are you a race driver?" With genuine interest for the first time. Jackpot!

That led into an enthusiastic chat with Anne, who was a racing nerd like myself. She lived nearby and came to the Indy 500 just about every year. By the time the race was over and people were starting to go home it was natural enough to invite her and Harmony to come along with us for dinner, but she had another commitment and had to go home. So of course I offered stage passes to Anne and her daughter for our concert in town tomorrow night. Little Harmony got all excited about seeing Squatch & Friends, "and Masnia and Magga!" So Anne couldn't say no. I gave her my number so she could let me know if they came and I could get them backstage.

"Oh, that would be fun!" she said, "maybe I'll even get to meet Scott Richter!"

"I'll introduce you to him myself," I said, trying not to blurt out that Scott was married. I didn't want to seem jealous.

We were back at our camp by 6:00 o'clock. Most of our entourage were still in downtown Indianapolis, only Osmond and Freddy at camp to keep watch over our vehicles and equipment. As far as I knew Benny Joe, Ewan and Sunny were still getting drunker at the Snake Pit. I hoped Sunny was all right, but assumed Ewan would take care of her. Lee and Bunny were off on their own, maybe with Don and Marcie, everyone was spread out.

I got Scott on his cell phone and arranged to meet him and Mike at a downtown restaurant. Melly, Lissandra and Maki wanted in on that, so I went into town with all the lovely ladies. Adam and Pokey had had enough of big crowds after a day at the races, they decided to hang out at camp and practice some music.

We took a taxi from our campground to Monument Circle, the very center of town and exactly where we would be doing our concert the following evening, at the Hilbert Circle Theater. We took a quick look at it, decided it was acceptable, then walked a half-block to meet Scott and Mike, who were already waiting for us. It was fun to arrive with those three beautiful girls in tow, but as soon as they saw Mike they latched onto him, kissing and cuddling and I was suddenly on my own. Well, Scott too, but he's married. I definitely got the impression that Mike had some Latin Lover thing going on with all of them, although that can't be. I mean, can it?

Anyway, since we were all just plain old humans out on the town without any vegetarian Sasquatches to coddle, we were free to eat MEAT! The restaurant we chose was a steak house, the food was great. I had a t-bone with baked potato. So did the girls, but they all admitted to feeling a little bit guilty for sneaking off to eat unclean flesh, even though none of them were actually declared vegetarians or vegans. Oh well, chase it down with some wine, you'll be fine in the morning.

Going on the town with those three beauties was a bit of an experience, in several ways. For one thing, they were each so sexually attractive that it HURT, but no guy could decide which girl was the most desirable. It was confusing. They weren't even trying to be sexy, they behaved like tomboys. But it was really powerful, almost like witchcraft, casting seduction spells.

At least Maki was clearly Pokey's girl friend (although she was VERY cozy with Mike), but I couldn't tell if Melly or Lissandra were either attached or available (since they were also cozy with Mike). And yet I could see that not even Mike could choose one of them, at least he didn't seem to be making any moves for anyone in particular. Just playing it incredibly cool, I suppose. Maybe I should try that, although I'd thought I already was. But you could also see most of the other men around us reacting the same way to the three of them, even men with (assumed)wives along, it was actually pretty amusing. But it still hurt.

The thing is I was actually most interested in that MILF Anne I'd met today at the Speedway. I'd liked her. I was glad that I'd given her two stage passes for our concert, maybe she'd even show up. Sort of like a date. Except she'll have her 5 year-old daughter with her, but I don't mind, I liked her too. I can't tell you how tired I am of groupie chicks.

We headed back to the camp and our busses, home by 11:30.

CONCERT DAY -- Hilbert Circle Theater -- Indianapolis, IN
Monday, May 24-- still CHARLIE MADISON, sorry.

About noon we could drive into the parking arranged by the Hilbert Circle Theater and begin setting up for the evening's concert. Everything went smoothly and we were ready for a rehearsal by 2:00 pm, which took about an hour, being mostly an equipment check. We'd played the songs often enough during the tour that we each had our parts down and it's not a good thing to rehearse so much that you're tired of it all by the time you need to perform in the evening. So we were free for several hours, planning to come back around 7:00 and to start playing at 8:00. Figured we'd be done about 10:00, pack our gear and be done with Indianapolis.

There was plenty to do around town: taking a long walk along the White River State Park had been recommended, Fountain Square, eating at City Market, all the usual stuff you do when visiting a new city. But after so many cities they all begin to blend together, not that different. At least that was a complaint of the squatch chicks, who were beginning to experience cultural overload. To them all these high-tech cities were just repetitions of preposterously big buildings, crowds of hurrying people, streets packed with intense traffic, noise, the same stores and shops as in the last town, similar inedible food. They were no longer impressed by the modern world of mankind, there was just too much of it.

Everybody gets to feeling that way when on tour to city after city, I certainly did. But I had something to keep me going: couldn't stop thinking about that one and only local woman I'd met: redhead Anne, mother of Harmony. I couldn't help wondering if she would come to our concert this evening. Not that I really believed that anything would come of it-- oh, I wouldn't mind spending a night of passion with her, but I really didn't see that happening since she would have her little girl along, because it was Harmony who was the actual S&F fan. The mother was more of a Scott Richter fan. Besides, after tonight I'd be leaving town, on my way to the next show in Detroit, so I wasn't investing in any plans. I was just thinking of her a lot, that's all.

Anne did call about 3:00 to confirm that she and Harmony were coming to the show. I said "Ok, there will be two tickets waiting for you. After the show you can come backstage."

"And I'll get to meet Scott Richter at last?" she asked with a squeal.

"Oh yes," I responded, a bit heavily, "I'll let him know a beautiful redhead wants to meet him."

She giggled and said, "Hey, I'm just teasing-- making you jealous is kind of fun"

"Who, me, jealous?"

"Yes and I like it. And hey, I listened to some Chrome Pie CD's last night, paid attention to the songs that YOU wrote-- they're pretty good, like parodies of 50´s music, funny. Anyway, see you later."

That made me feel better about meeting her again. In fact, that made me feel better about everything.

We were all busy getting ready to play from 7:00 on, and they arrived at 7:30, half an hour before the show. The Hilbert Circle Theater sits about 1,786 and it was sold out. Coming in so late, the only seats I could actually offer Anne and Harmony were backstage with us, which was a success. Little Harmony was thrilled to meet Masnia and Magga, who were just as fascinated to meet a real-live 5-year-old human girl. Seems children are rare among the squatches. I introduced Anne to Scott, as I said I would, and he started mentioning his wife Shirley, because I'd told him to. Then we had to play.

The concert went fine-- actually, it went great. We were hot, everything on schedule, we did a couple more of my own songs than usual, the guys in the band backing me up. They all knew I was interested in this pretty redhead, so they made me look good. I was playing for her, and the 1,768 other people in the audience seemed to appreciate that, because they made me look good too. Cruisin' Susan even became a sing-along, I was surprised how many people remembered it from our very first album. I even played Betty You Bet for the first time in years-- it was amazing I could even remember that one. I was on a roll, it felt good.

That's when I unloaded my new song:

Hey man, I think I can
Fall in love with Anne,
She's just my kind of wo-man,
And they don't come by that of-ten
But I'd have to make some changes
Some life-style rearranges

Hot damn, wonder if I can
Work it out with Anne.
I think she's who I need
To cure me of that greed
For too many women.
But hey, she's only human.
Is it a fan--tasy of Anne?  

Part of our propaganda onslaught was a Todd Snider song called "Joe's Blues", which glorifies the humble bass player (me), to remind a certain someone in the audience that although all the eyes may be looking at the star, the butts are all bouncing to the bass guitar.

So everybody played well, love was in the air, it was all kind of magic and destiny. In the middle of it all Adam was asked to re-perform the National Anthem as he had at the Speedway the day before-- it had been on TV News because it had made such an impression on everyone who'd heard it. So he did, this time with us backing him up. Not that we'd ever rehearsed it together very much-- maybe once --but it went well and I heard that version was also on TV News again next day.

When our concert was done there was the usual commotion: congratulations for the inspiring music, local media wanting short interviews, and of course, young girls interested in partying with us rock stars. I had Anne visiting so I was avoiding the groupies, while Benny Joe and Don and most of the roadies started greedily hooking up, then moving on to our busses/bedrooms, which were parked outside behind the theater. I made sure to associate myself with Lee & Bunny, Pokey & Maki, the established couples, who were more relaxed in their party making, since they didn't need to score. Did I regret missing out on one of the groupies? Not a bit-- but then Benny Joe had already snatched the only girl I might have been interested in, a very pretty blue-eyed blonde. If Anne hadn't been there, that is.

None of that slipped past Anne, who was watching all the interactions between pop musicians and eager fans, all so interesting. Especially with me so obviously lusting after her. But she DID have Harmony with her and they had to go home and to bed, without some horny bass player hanging on. I offered to call her a taxi but she said she only lived a few blocks away-- "Will you walk us home?"

Of course that meant I had to carry Harmony, who was falling asleep on her feet. I volunteered gladly, I like her too and it would allow me to show off my muscles and determination to her mother. We talked all the way, had plenty of time: turned out to be eleven blocks.

She led off with, "I could see how easy it would be for you to pick up one of those groupies."

"Well, yeah-- but I'm sick and tired of that. It's been years since I've had a real love life."

"So why me? I'm not even as pretty as some of those groupies-- that blonde girl was gorgeous, as you noticed."

"You're fucking beautiful," I had to say, then "okay, yeah, so was she, but way too young."

"Yeah, right," she countered, "I forgot that rock stars prefer MILFs." I suspect that was sarcasm.

"Oh, you know that word?"

"All mothers know that word: some even believe it's the last COMPLIMENT they'll ever get from men."

I was ready with the old "Oh oh, sounds like you're a Feminist" defense mechanism, but realized I didn't want to. Instead I said, "Well, you said MILF not me. Besides, I do like that you are mother to this cute little girl, and..."

"...and you'd like to fuck me." She said it without moralizing, a simple statement of fact. Honest.

"Sure! But wouldn't it be weird if I DIDN'T want to have sex with a woman I was hot for?" I wanted to be honest too.

"You don't mind that I have a kid?"

"I've got a kid myself; a son. Willi is 11 years old, lives with my ex-wife during the school year. But I love it when he stays with me."

"Are you on friendly terms with your ex-wife?"

"Yeah, more or less. We've been apart over 10 years, and she's happily remarried to a good guy. I like him, we do barbecues together. How about you?"

"I was never married, George dumped me when I got pregnant, been a single mother ever since. And no, he and I are not friends."

"Ever since? No boy friends in five years?"

"Oh, some flirts, but no one who wanted this little girl in his life."

"Hey, I'd love to have this little girl in my life! Even though she IS getting kind of heavy."

"Oh, be careful what you say! Please. I mean, I live here in Indianapolis and you're from Los Angeles, right?"

Eleven blocks and up four flights of stairs, before I could set little Harmony down in a well-kept turn-of-century building. They lived in a nice cozy apartment with lots of books, signs of academia, comfortable messiness, a child's drawings here and there, an old-fashioned TV, a modern computer. A school teacher's home, flowers, political posters, an intelligent woman lived here. I laid Harmony in her bed, fast asleep.

I was offered coffee but I could see that Anne was at the end of her day and had to work tomorrow. So I didn't want to hang and be a pest. But I did want her telephone number and e-mail so I waited for her to finish putting Harmony to bed. She wrote them out for me.

"I don't mean to kick you out, but..."

"You're not, I was leaving anyway. But I do hope to see you again."

"Well, that could be arranged," she said, "you've got my numbers." Then she stepped forward and kissed me nicely. I forced myself to be a gentleman and not get greedy.

So I was turning to go when she said, "Wait Charlie. I'm a mother and a school teacher, so I'm sort of required to avoid promiscuous relationships, but I'm going to admit that you've actually made me feel horny again."

"Ah, my work here is done." Glad to know that it wasn't quite done at all.

"So if you want to go on a date next time, maybe I could throw in some sex to make it worth your while."

I had to laugh, "Oh, be careful what you say! Please." And she laughed too.

Epilogue: the mad ramblings of a car enthusiast.

Adam says that although he doesn't really get excited about cars in general, he can understand how I might. Says he too can get a thrill out of driving his 1998 Camaro 327 V-8 fast out on the open road sometimes, but that he doesn't really get off on risking his or other people's lives. Well, neither do I, although I often did get pretty crazy when I was younger. Younger as in stupid. But I don't do that anymore, not on public roads, anyway.

Once Chrome Pie started making money I just had to get me a hot car. My first was also a Chevy Camaro, almost the same model as Adam has now, just 4 years newer: a 2002 Z28, 350 hp 327 5-speed stick. Man did I get in trouble with the State Patrol, lucky thing I grew up before I did a James Dean. Now my current everyday car is a Porsche Boxster, but my fun car is a street-legal McClaren MP4-12C, which I only use on special occasions because it scares even me (592 hp).

But I don't want to brag about my cars (I do that a little too much) so I'd rather rant about Adam's car: his 20+ year-old Chevy Camaro, sprayed primer-grey for maximum ugly, I almost get into arguments with him about it. He needs to update, that beater is an embarrassment for us rock stars.

Okay, I get it, Adam is a non-materialistic guy who doesn't get caught up in shiny possessions. Cooler than me. And because he's too damn HUGE for any normal car, he's had to do modifications just to be able to SIT in one. So a Camaro convertible is a great starting point, I've had a few myself, it's got a solid frame, lots of power (he weighs 535 pounds, the same as dumping another small-block Chevy motor into the driver's seat) and unlimited headroom. So he tosses the front buckets and sits in the back seat to get leg room. Good thing it's got an automatic tranny because stick shift linkage and clutch pedal room for his Big Feet would be problematic, as he can just barely squeeze those big toes in to the gas and brake pedals. He lays all the way back, so he can even put up the convertible top and drive around almost incognito. The setup works pretty good for him, so he's been happy with it. He even keeps it tuned and makes sure the brakes work. I'm sure he's grateful to be able to drive a car at all. Most cars he can't even fit into sideways.

But the thing is General Motors has offered to GIVE him a brand-new factory modified Camaro... for FREE! They just want him to be seen driving it, as an endorsement, an ad, PR stunt, whatever. Adam says he wouldn't feel right about it, since cars pollute the environment and that as a representative of the Nokhon Nation he shouldn't be advertising for them (never mind that he's already driving a Camero anyway). But GM has also offered ANY motor configuration Adam might want-- electric, hybrid, hydrogen, or just a gasoline small-block v-4 tuned for maximum mileage-- anything. I can understand he's not interested in profiling a gas-guzzling muscle car, but this could be a chance to develop a more efficient car. Actually, Adam agrees with that, but says he's waiting to see what the ideal environmentally friendly motor might be, since it hasn't appeared yet. So he considers his old beater good enough for now.

There: Yeah, I know this had nothing to do with our concert tour, but just had to get that off my chest.