I winced as the van hitched. I was already approaching my stress limit from the night before- we had to pull over and camp because the van was overheating. We missed the gig; one of only a few decent paying gigs on this 10-day tour of California. We could ill afford to miss any other money opportunities.

My nervousness got the better of me, and we pulled into Ukiah, California and found a lube center. The tech had the 15-year-old van up on a lift and was peering into the backend. I didn't like his frown. His report- you need an entirely new backend, it will take a few days, and you'll have to find one in a local junkyard.

I quickly did the calculations. Without the gig in Palo Alto, we were definitely going to be screwed cash wise for the tour. "Crummy Up!" The signal for everyone to jump in the van.

The band had six members, I was their agent, and they had a crew guy. It was a Ford Econoline van in which we had constructed a wall halfway back in the cargo space of plywood. The back half was loaded to the gills with equipment- full PA, two drum sets, 2 guitar stacks, and a bass stack. The front half was tiered up a few feet so that you could stash gear underneath. The result- five guys in the cargo space- every part of your body was touching someone else- and the two people up front. If you peered into the front through the windshield, it looked like a clown car. People were packed floor to ceiling, and this is how we took tours- thousands of miles.

Pulling out of Ukiah and heading South, there are a few miles of winding uphill. The hitching that had sickened me before had pretty much stopped, and I was hoping that our problems were magically over. We topped the rise, and entered a straightaway that looked to be flat for about 2 miles. Not a minute later, the hitching returned and it was much worse; the van was rocked by the shock of a seized backend. The noise was horrifying.

It took all of my strength to maneuver the van toward the side of the road. Thankfully I was only doing 50 M.P.H. when the rear driver's side wheel left the axle. The screams of everyone in the van were muted as I concentrated, wrestling the van to the shoulder. I finally got it stopped when I saw a white truck approaching in the northbound lane flashing his brights and leaning out the window. I looked at him and saw as he mouthed the word, "F I R E! ! ! ! !"

I looked into the rearview to see flames leaping out of the wheel well. My memory of this event is imprinted on my brain. Slow motion- I turned and yelled, " EVERYONE GET OUT OF THE VAN- IT'S ON FIRE!"

You have never seen 7 guys move so quickly. We jumped out of the van, and the guy in the white truck (we later started referring to him as an Angel) jumped out of his cab, grabbed a fire extinguisher from the bed, and thoroughly sprayed the wheel well with retardant. Visions of exploding gas tanks dissipated as the flames were dampened. We breathed a collective sigh and were surveying the scene.

Jason, the bass player, pointed up the road about a quarter of a mile where there was some smoke in the field beside the road. Angel in the white truck saw it too, and said, "Debris must have started the field, I'll go check it out." He raced up the road and we started to walk.

He came back not a minute later saying that he had called it in, but he was out of here. We saw that the flames were now 20 feet high, 200 feet wide, and racing across this empty field. Before this had a chance to set in, however, we could hear the sirens. Within minutes, there appeared a convoy of fire-fighting vehicles. Fire trucks, the fire marshal's car, 2 planes, and a helicopter circling overhead.

I was freaking out in my head- Was I going to be held responsible for the fire-fighting bill? I knew that we were looking at thousands of dollars worth of action, being played out before us, as we stood shocked on the road. I had heard that drivers whose vehicles started wildfires were sometimes held responsible. I was 23 years old, and was making my income from a garage band, surviving on $500 a month. I couldn't handle a ten thousand-dollar bill.

The Ukiah Fire Army extinguished the fire in a few minutes, and we were standing alone on the side of the road, scratching our heads. Then, the fire marshal pulled up. He got out of the patrol car, and visions of rural police and the things that befell travelers poisoned my optimism.

The normal volley of questions followed- Who owns the van? Who was driving? My nervousness was getting the better of me, but I was trying to remain calm.

"You know, sir, while I was driving the van, I don't feel responsible for all of this" My gaze swept the fire scorched fields and I was beside myself with fear. I somehow retained my composure.

"Don't worry about it son. It was bound to happen."

I couldn't believe it. "It was bound to happen." That phrase would stick with me forever. "It was bound to happen." He jumped into his patrol car and left, tucking his little notebook back into his belt- letting me off the hook, and leaving us stranded on the highway pondering our fate.

We did finish the tour. I got a ride from a CHP into town and fetched a UHaul. We stripped the Crummy of all the gear, and even kept the mirrors as a reminder. The trooper had tipped me off that the state would just tow the car after a time, and that it would be junked if we didn't claim it. At least we knew that we didn't have to worry about the van. Was it salvageable? The wheel (not the tire) had left the van, and the full weight (several tons) fell on the back axle. The road was littered with the remains of the brake and axle. The repair would be far more than the value of the van.

The rest of the tour, which we dubbed the fireball tour, was completed in rented Uhauls, city busses, and begged rides. We depended on the kindness of strangers, which we found in abundance, and the blessing of Fate as we packed all the gear, stacked precariously, with the remaining band members and crew, into the back of the UHaul. The end result- we made the rest of the gigs, including the one that afternoon, and completed the tour. Sure, we were in debt to my VISA to the point where it took six months for the band to come out of it, but we completed the tour. Not bad considering all of us should have been killed when we flipped that thing, and the PA crushed us inside the van.

I have told that story many times. I still can't believe it myself.

Possibly the most important purchase that a band makes in the first several years that they are together is a touring vehicle. It is the most essential piece of the puzzle for most touring bands, and how that decision is made often has a profound effect on the health and future of the band. Our own scene is full of stories relating to band vehicles. I was profoundly saddened by the tragic accident experienced by the band Day by the River. I was nervous when I read the story of the theft of the van and all the gear while Robert Walters toured last year.

Nearly every band that has traveled for any significant time is bound by the mechanical health of their vehicle. The mental health of the band in general is profoundly affected by the conditions in which the crew must travel. When I had Fat Mama on tour in California with the Jive Talkin Robots a few years ago, they were plagued by mechanical failure- resulting in multiple battery and alternator purchases, cancelled gigs, and a dampened mood. The whole purpose of their West Coast trip had been short-circuited by their limping vehicle.

The most important things to consider when contemplating this purchase are:

1. Will it perform the job- can you fit everyone and all of the gear into one vehicle.
2. Gas Mileage- This decision is vital- with the expense of gas these days; this decision may radically affect the profitability of any tour.
3. Price- Kicking in $50 per gig (which trust me is hard for developing bands) it would take 400 gigs to pay off a newish 15 passenger van and trailer.
4. Comfort- Can everyone spend huge amounts of time in this thing without going insane?

Many bands get enamored in the school bus concept, or the converted greyhound. The mechanical failure of these vehicles is so crippling, that unless you have a diesel mechanic in your band, you should not even consider it. If your tourbus goes down on the road, you need a huge wrecker just to get it to town, and you'll be lucky if you find a truck shop willing to work on it. Despite the romance, stay away from the busses!

When I toured with my band in the late 90's, we purchased a short bus by our 10th gig. It was $4,000 and we put about $2,000 more into converting it. It was one of those meals on wheels busses, or a casino bus. We tore out all 22 seats and the handicapped lift, leaving only the drivers' seat. We platformed the front third of the hold 2 feet high and created 8 storage cubbies to house our personal gear and kitchen supplies. We used rope handles that dropped into the covers when not in use so that two people could sleep there.

The back two thirds were tiered two feet higher and could sleep 8 people- 4 across with everyone's toes in the middle, sardine style. Going around back, we cut a hole in the back of the bus and installed a cargo door. Underneath the platform there was a space that was two thirds of the bus by 4 feet tall. Enough room to stash 2 guitar stacks, a fiddle stack, a drum set, a bass stack, 2 Yamaha powered speakers, 2 boards, 5 monitors, microphone and chord suitcases, backdrops, and all of the miscellaneous crap that band's accumulate.

Even though this thing looked like a bus, it was pretty much powered by a souped up pickup truck in the front. Any mechanic who could handle a Ford pickup could take care of our bus. We could sleep everyone, and on one tour we had 8 people and two dogs. We never had to pay for hotels, and had no troubles driving through the night because everyone in back was comfortable. Because its original intention was to drive older folks around, it was safe and well maintained before we got to it.

Another advantage to having a short bus or van compared to a Greyhound or school bus is the gas mileage. With gas prices approaching $2 a gallon last summer, a vehicle that guzzles gas at 5-7 miles per gallon could kill a tour faster than you can get from SF to Reno. Passenger vans can get two to three times the mileage from a gallon of gas, and does not require a specialist to repair.

Resist the temptation however to kick a fortune in advance into a vehicle. If you can't pay this thing off by contributing 20% of your gig money over 2 years, you can't afford it. Bands become saddled with huge debts that negatively impact on their ability to purchase the music gear that they need, or putting out the promotion that is necessary to succeed at the gate. Band members become depressed after playing countless gigs and not seeing any money because all of the bands pay is servicing the vehicle loan, gas, insurance, and repair. I have seen bands purchase brand new vehicles, only to break up within a year over the strain of travelling without making money. A half dozen gigs at the local bar does not justify a Marathon coach purchase.

Fans underestimate how difficult it is for bands to travel together and make it from gig to gig. While it is romantic the first couple of times you do it, after awhile it drains everyone's energy to spend all day travelling, all evening humping gear, playing a 2 or 3 set show, and then humping all the gear again. Eric Avery, a drummer I played with for awhile said, "I'm willing to play for free, but to load my drums I want $100 a night." Gear is heavy, and if you spend your life cramped in a van fighting for air and room to stretch, you can't possibly play the best shows of your career.

So if you can, find a vehicle that gets decent gas mileage can afford people space to lay back, is easily repaired, and fits all your gear.

I have enough vehicle stories to write a book on this subject. The crashes, the thefts, the repairs, the beautiful murals, the tours that were enabled, and the tours that failed. All because of the vehicle purchase. But in the end, a touring band needs to tour, and you have to have a vehicle to do it.