Coast to Coast Truck and Trailer
It’s the end of summer, 1985, and I’m standing in the doorway of an old horse stall that I’ve converted into a rehearsal space. I got a black Ibanez Artist hanging on my shoulder and a bottle of Molson in my hand. The room’s dimly lit and smells of old carpet and stale beer. Empty cans and bottles are piled over the rim of a 50-gallon trash can, several are scattered on the floor. It’s a Friday night and I’m anxiously waiting for Uwe to get here so we can practice some new songs. 50/50 chance it’ll happen. I’m proud of this space I’ve made for the band. Put a lot of hard work into it. It’s not ideal, but it beats not practicing at all, and besides, we didn’t have much of a choice. I recently had a birthday and spent the first 24 hours of my 21st year in bed, sick from all the Kamikazes and Budweiser’s someone else was paying for.… READ MORE...