Frenchy's Rant

The road took an unexpected turn at Wrestlemania when Abi received terrible news. Just before the show started, he learned his cousin Kapil passed away in Trinidad. Abi and Kapil were as close as brothers, in fact when he told me what had happened, he said, “My… my brother. He… he… died. I have to go home.”

The least of his worries at that moment was his motorcycle. Fellow Houstonian and WWE audio crew member Pat graciously offered to store it at his house as long as Dark Meat Snack needed.

He also graciously offered to ride it at any point to Oklahoma City, the end point of this leg of the journey. Funny thing; a LOT of people offered to ride Abi’s motorcycle to Oklahoma City. Most of the crew did in fact. That’s what friends are for!

The Entire 2182 Mile Route to Wrestlemania

After Wrestlemania, Monday’s show was nearby at the Toyota Center in downtown Houston. When that show ended, Abi, Pat and I rode to Pat’s house, where Snowball was sadly parked for a while. The WWE made arrangements for Abi to fly to Trinidad on Tuesday to attend the funeral. Pat, a fellow rider with a sweet 100th Anniversary Harley Springer Softail planned to ride with me to Tuesday’s WWE show in Austin.

Austin or Bust

Tuesday’s show in Austin was a blur. By that point, after Wrestlemania but with one show still left to go, the crew is usually so zorched that communication is reduced to mostly grunts and occasional swearing. ‘Go Fuck Yourself Tuesday‘ is my least favorite work day of the year, even though there finally is some light at the end of the long, long tunnel.

I woke at the crack of very late morning on Wednesday, feeling relieved and refreshed, but also a bit somber. In honor of the memory of Kapil, I flew my ever-present Kingdom of Rhode Island flag at half staff.

Pat left for home, and I left for Abilene, where I would meet Sleeping Beauty. It was a melancholy beginning to the Road Away From Wrestlemania, and I was soon lost deep in my thoughts.

Rear View – Empty

The route I chose was as good as any, since there is no direct route from Austin to Abilene. The Texas Hill Country Trail is pretty and scenic; and became the perfect antidote to my case of the blues.

I came upon the strangest herd of cattle I’d ever seen.

On this little trail, filled with all kinds of animals, the buzzards rule supreme. I saw tons of recently deceased deer on the roadside, and tons of buzzards devouring the carcasses. Buzzards are industrious and tireless creatures, as I realized when I saw a pile of what appeared to be completely picked clean, completely meat-free cow bones in a field.

In three hours, I only saw one other vehicle. With such traffic free roads, I had time to take a picture I’ve always wanted to take; a tribute to the cover of Neil Peart’s excellent book Ghost Rider.

And so the day went. It was a good way to get my head cleared from Wrestelemania’s week of Animal Husbandry Experiments, and ready for the final three days of the ride. In a masterful stroke of brilliant planning (actually complete dumb luck, but don’t tell her,) I made it to Abilene Regional Airport – which could easily be the world’s smallest airport – just as Fiona’s flight was landing.

Yee-Haaa!! Sleeping Beauty – Awake in Abilene

For this grand occasion, we splurged on the best hotel in town. A lovely gazebo sat in the middle of a lush courtyard, the perfect place to sit and watch a romantic sunset. We poured some refreshing adult beverages, and set out hand in hand to toast the end of the Almost-Best Day Ever.

Trying to get as comfortable as possible, I took off my riding boots and walked barefoot to the gazebo. Fiona mildly scolded me for not wearing shoes, but she knows how stubborn I am, so, after shaking her head at me she almost immediately dropped it.

The second I walked on that grass, I regretted my stupid stubborn streak. White hot needles of pain tore through the soles of my feet. I thought I was just walking on dry grass, but every step made the pain worse until it was intolerable. She knew something was wrong when I spilled my beer in a sprint for the safety of the concrete. As I took the pressure off my feet, the pain got worse, radiating up my legs.

Concerned, my lovely nurse came over to see if I was faking a problem yet again. Her concern turned to laughter almost immediately. As she giggled, red hot pokers ignited everywhere on my feet. After she stopped laughing long enough to talk, her response was, “Oh my God! I need to get my camera!”

Sticking out of my feet were about three thousand seeds covered with needle-like barbs shaped like fishhooks. A lesser mortal would have instantly succumbed to an injury as grievous as this, but not me. I’m stubborn! The pain was unbearable, but at least Fiona got a good laugh out of my misery. This kind of thing always happens to me; for anyone that wonders what Fiona sees in me, it’s definitely the comic relief.

Thankfully, I’d locked the room key inside the room, something else that I seem to excel at. Her camera was safely locked inside. No pictures this time.

After an hour of really fun debriding, and really fun ball busting, I was able to hobble again. With Sleeping Beauty in tow, I limped over to a restaurant for dinner and refreshing adult liquid painkillers. Properly medicated, we headed back to the hotel.

The last thing I did before calling it a night was check my email to see if DarthRider, the yet-unmet friend who’d graciously invited us to stay at his home on this trip had tried to get in touch. We were looking forward to imposing ourselves on Dave and his lovely wife Betty’s generosity the very next day.

Dave had gotten in touch, with an ominous note:

Hey Frenchy –

What do you think?
Dave

Before heading to bed, I jotted a quick response:

Dave,

Unless there is a hurricane or unless it is really unsafe and impossible, Fiona and I will be there Thursday at some point. I will call you tomorrow morning before we head out of Abilene. No Plan B for me.

I’ll look at the sky tomorrow morning, and if I see any wind, I’ll shake my fist at it!

As I said, stubbornness is one of my better qualities. Sometimes I can be so dumb.

For the result of my dumbness, and the rest of the story, click here.

With Fiona safely on her way home, Dark Meat and I packed up our junk for the last time on this leg of our journey, took a picture with Fiona’s sister and beautiful family, then slogged our way four hours east to our final destination – Houston.

Fiona’s Sister Denise and Family

The end of a ride, any ride, is always miserable. And knowing what lay in store from us in the coming days didn’t help at all. This particular Wrestlemania, number XXV, is my XIth time working the show. I know from past experience that a week of complete, utter and absolute chaos is just around the corner.

We made our way from one set of friends house to another, rolling along Route 290 from San Antonio to Houston. My friend Pat, another of the WWE audio crew, just happens to live in the same city that Wrestlemania is in, so we stopped by to drop off some extra gear with him.

Pat and Family

And with that last, symbolic gesture (leaving my dirty clothes in Pat’s garage) the Road to Wrestlemania was officially over. Time to get to work.

This is where it starts to get weird.

Leaving Pat’s house, Abi and I rode directly to Houston Intercontinental Airport and parked in the Green 10 section of the C Concourse garage. Although Wrestlemania is being held in Houston, TX, before we get to have all that fun, we have to fly to New York and set up for a Wrestlemania press conference at the Hard Rock Cafe. Of course.

Hard Rock Press Conference – Audio Room – NCP 7 Mobile Unit

After two days of working (and washing my fried liver) in NY, it was straight back to Houston’s other airport – Hobby. Houston is so big it has two airports! For comparison, the entire Kingdom of Rhode Island only has one. And unlucky for us, when we landed, we realized the motorcycles were parked 45 miles away at Concourse C Green 10 section of the other airport – Intercontinental.

Of course. Wrestlemania is one problem after another. An $80 cab ride solved our current problem.

Then, it was time to set up for the big show. The scale of Wrestlemania is so much larger than what we normally do, everything is magnified by a factor of ten. 72,000 people were expected to attend, as opposed to our normal average of 14,000. As I said, everything is bigger in Texas.

Dark Meat Snack and I set up for two days, then had to leave for the Toyota Center. Every year we end up working the ‘smaller’ show, the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony on Saturday.

Smaller, but still complex.

Hall of Fame – Audio Room – Denali Silver Mobile Unit

The Hall of Fame setup was a nightmare, but the show was a success. Completing that broadcast, it was straight back to the Wrestlemania venue for final checks and tests before the big day.

It may look like all work and no play, but somehow we manage to find a little time each day for some fun.

With enough begging, a little time can also be found for a clandestine photo shoot.

Suddenly, it was show time. 72,744 fans, eagerly anticipating the show we spent the past week building, perched at the edge of their seats. As they always do, adrenaline levels increase during those final moments before a live broadcast. The producer starts the final sequence. “Tonight’s a good night to have a good night everyone. Black the house.” House lights fade, and the crowd erupts. The sequence continues. “Five – Four – Three – Two – One. Roll and track Z and put it on the Tron.”

With that simple command, Wrestlemania XXV officially was underway.

People cheered. Kid Rock rocked. Wrestling happened. Everything we spent so long setting up, testing, moving, changing, re-testing and re-checking worked flawlessly.

In other words, everyone did have a good night.

Four hours later, that good night ended. It was time to put away our toys and move on.

And the very next day, the Road Away From Wrestlemania began.

To be continued here…

Ah… Texas. The home of Wrestlemania XXV. And, more importantly, the final state of our mini tour-de-force. Everything is bigger in Texas, from the pickup trucks to the buffets to the speed limits.

It takes a huge map to cover such a huge state. A map so huge it almost completely covers Rain Cloud Follows.

On Wednesday, Sleeping Beauty arrived in San Antonio to hang out with her sister and family, and was eagerly awaiting our arrival. On the map, I-10 appeared to be a virtually straight line plummeting directly from El Paso to San Antonio.

I know she’s waiting for me to get there, and we probably should hurry, but, interstate? Boooooring!

Route 90 also led to the home of the Alamo (remember that place?) and looked infinitely more interesting. Diing! We have a winner!

We made the briefest of stops on the Mexican-American border for a picture. It was brief because I was afraid drug lords would fire missiles or kidnap and behead me, because that is what television news has taught me happens when near Mexico.

The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side (Of The Border)

Route 90 is one of my favorite kinds of roads. Sweeping expanses of near nothingness bisected by a well maintained dual carriageway. The chances of a local LEO revenue-collecting agent on patrol are virtually nil. The chances of that confused old lady on her cell phone ricocheting her antique Caddy off a curb and into a motorcycle are also pretty low. Yeah, could possibly be a longhorn steer in the road, but overall, these lonely paths are among my favorites.

On these back roads, it’s easy to drift off into thought, start to daydream, ponder the meaning of life, listen to the voices echoing in my head, and try and figure out where it all went wrong. Deep in a world of my own, I sped past… something… weird.

For a moment I was certain it was another hallucination, but, no. There it was in the rear view mirror. The weirdness of the something I passed, now confirmed to really exist, suddenly snapped me out of my revery, so I quickly signaled Dark Meat for a U-turn. Out in the absolute middle of absolute nowhere, with miles and miles of desolate nothingness surrounding us was this:

Prada. In Marfa?

A small plaque informed us that this was not an actual store, but an art project sponsored by local drug addicts, err… I mean… communities. Strange, but even that fact wasn’t the strangest thing about it. The strangest thing of all? For some unknown reason, Dark Meat Snack knew the handbags in the art project were from the Fall 2005 Prada collection!

Back on the road, I started slipping back into my semi-trance, until another weird attraction attracted my attention.

I called a reliable resource – Unleaded, a proud member of the United States Air Force to ask about this abnormal blimp looking thing.

His response was typically cryptic. “Dude, I don’t know. No idea. None. We have weird shit all over the place.”

I know he knows, but if he tells me, he’d probably have to kill me.

And the oddness of Route 90 continued. No more daydreaming, I was actively looking for the next sight to behold. It wasn’t a long wait.

The Marfa Mystery Light Observatory

What appears to just be a rest room is actually much more. A large platform in back allows people to watch for some ‘mysterious’ lights. Legend has it that on a clear night, the mystery lights ‘appear, move about, split apart, melt together, disappear and reappear.’

Personally, I think most nights there’s probably a guy in the men’s room selling hits of brown acid, though he wasn’t there when we were. Thus, sadly, no mystery lights for us.

After this ocular feast, Route 90 calmed down. We rode through the barren landscape until it was time to start looking for a place to sleep. In the middle of nowhere, finding anything; gas, cell service, motels, even brown acid is difficult. Almost by default, the Budget Inn in Sanderson, TX became our home for the night.

Abi went to the office, and spoke Hindi, the international language of low budget hotels with the startled owner. Guess there isn’t much of a Hindi speaking population in Sanderson. The results of his efforts? He netted us $6 off the room! महान सफलता!!

Sanderson is more of a ghost town than Mogollon was.

After a forgettable dinner at the Dairy King, we ended the night hanging out with some officers from the Texas Game Commission, also staying at the Budget Inn. Loaded with huge pickup trucks, rugged looking ATVs, big guns and bullet proof vests, they looked pretty well equipped for any kind of ‘game.’ I asked what game they were in Sanderson to play. “Mostly catching illegals, drug smugglers, looking for drug money. That kind of thing.” Fun game.

The next day the scenery remained the same, with the added excitement of Border Patrol vehicles zipping around. I stopped counting at thirty-five trucks in twenty minutes. We had to stop for some traffic at a very strict US Department of Homeland Security checkpoint. The guard, a serious looking man dressed in quasi-army fatigues waved me over.

“Sir, are you an American citizen?”

“Yes.”

“OK.” He waved me through.

Tax dollars hard at work.

Bridge Over The River Pecos

In the wild, you eat lunch when you can. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. Jim Holly’s Place became my latest culinary investigation.

The stylish decor and innovative use of porcelain in front that greet customers impressed me.

The innovative re-purposing of a used paper lunch sack for a menu was also a distinct touch of class.

And the food? Surprisingly good too!

Turning inland, civilization started creeping back. Red lights. McDonalds. Traffic. Sprawl. Confused old ladies on cell phones in antique Caddies. We were back.

And a few hours later, we were in San Antonio, and I was finally reunited with my beautiful Sleeping Beauty.

That reunion was short lived, however, as Fiona had to fly home to work the next morning, and Dark Meat Snack and I had to complete our mission – finding the end of The Road to Wrestlemania.

Click Here for the Big Finale!