The following morning, a few of us got up early and managed to get in a few final runs before having to pack up and head back to Denver. I took off on my own, savoring every moment of the fantastic vistas and mountain fresh air. Then a funny thing happened. I was catching my breath while standing  high atop an area known as Olympia Spur. A light snow was falling, and I was marveling at the white landscape. In contrast to the noise of the amplifiers behind me night after night - the only sound out there on the slopes was an occasional whoosh of a skier going by.  With my long red hair in a pony tail stuffed down the back of my collar, a wool cap pulled down low over my head, and giant, gaudy goggles covering half my face, I was completely anonymous out there. Or so I thought.

"Hey Steve! Savvy ROCKS!"  I knew the voice didn't belong to anyone in my traveling party. A lone skier whooshed right up, coming to a sideways stop less than two feet away from me. The guy pulled off his cap and goggles and beamed at me, expecting me to recognize him. I pretended to. He proclaimed to be a regular at the club in Ft. Worth, but I didn't recall ever seeing him. While that DIDN'T surprise me, the fact that he'd recognized me at all with all the ski garb on - DID!  It turned out that he had seen us milling around at the lodge and knew we were in the area. He'd seen me board the lift to Olympia Spur and followed, hoping to catch up and say hello. It can be surprisingly easy to take celebrity at any level for granted - even the cheesiest, and least significant kind such as we experienced from being in Savvy on the local level. But for me, it was always special - almost an honor - to be recognized. That encounter was no exception. We parted ways atop Olympia Spur and I headed back towards the lodge to turn in my skis and boots. 

Somewhere, I took a wrong turn and ended up further away from the lodge than I'd thought. I was forced to make a serious decision. I could either follow a very long, gradual - yet safe route that would wind around the mountain, ending up at the lodge -- OR, I could point my skis straight down the mountain from where I was standing and be at the lodge in less than a minute. The only problem was that the trail which would take me straight to the lodge was rated BLACK! (The hardest level for experts only!) I'd only ventured out onto a couple of the gentler intermediate BLUE runs during this initial trip, mainly because of my bad knee. Even with a brace, and wrapped so tightly that it would barely bend, it wouldn't take much of a spill to put me in the hospital. But I'd done well and was seriously considering the challenge. I'd intercepted the Black slope at about the halfway point down the mountain, so it wasn't a very long run - it was just steep! One side had moguls, but I could avoid them by going down the far side if I chose to. It was a tough decision, but my confidence swelled and I made up my mind to go for it! 

So far on the trip, I'd been a very controlled skier, keeping the tips V'd in to create a braking action. It is the classic tale-tell sign of a novice. It also wears your legs out faster. To do what I needed to do at the moment of truth would be to simply point the skis down hill and push off, and then try to keep my wits together and not panic until I could get to the bottom. Images popped into my mind of the possibility of a terrible spill, maybe broken bones, or even worse - but I shook off the negative images. I had to focus. 

People were starting to notice my hesitation. A passing ski patrolman even asked me if I knew what I was doing. I played it cool. "Just catching my breath!" Yeah, right. They saw this all day, everyday. The ski patrol was probably already calling in the medics. They wouldn't need the emergency porta-papoose, used to rescue skiers high up on the slopes. Mine would be a much more convenient affair - perhaps more of a body "recovery" mission than "rescue" once my mangled body ended up at the foot of the run, near the lodge. I shook that thought out of my mind too, and pushed off....

For the first few seconds I thought it was going to be a piece of cake! Gravity was taking care of everything. I just had to aim. But then my speed picked up. Things were going by way too fast! It was distracting me. And then, as the bottom of the hill continued to rush towards me, it occurred to me that I didn't have a plan for stopping! I knew how to come to a stop at a moderate speed, but that wasn't going to work for me here. It wouldn't matter though because something happened that told me I wasn't going to make it all the way.

It started as a slight vibration - similar to the feeling when a tire seems to be going bad on a road trip. My body was completely tensed up, which was a bad mistake. Instead of my knees acting as shock absorbers, they were locked into position. The vibration turned into a rumble. My mind was trying to focus, but I didn't know what to do. It was as if I willed the wheels to come off the cart! And they did. There was nothing between me and the lodge, but I saw disaster. The speed alone scared me. I didn't have a plan to stop. My legs were about to break from being so tense. And then, I just remember going into a wild, exploding cartwheel!

The famous TV show, Wild World of Sports, used to open with the scene of a skier taking a horrible fall as a voiceover said, "and the AGONY of DEFEAT!"  That poor guy had nothing on me. I was a rag doll. The fall was completely out of my control. All I could think about was that my skis were about to get criss crossed and a leg was going to snap! I was hearing - and feeling a series of thumps, bangs, and thuds, and the world was going around and around. People were screaming and I'm sure it looked like I wouldn't survive. I tumbled like that for at least a quarter of the way down that run. I was completely alert and aware, and fully anticipating the worst at any second. I flip flopped to a stop, face down in the snow. 

I just laid there, not moving, as I tried to mentally take some kind of mini inventory. Nothing seemed to hurt, but I knew I could be in shock and not know it. A ski patrolman whooshed over and was kneeling next to me. I hadn't shown any signs of moving yet, and then it dawned on me that people probably thought I was dead - or at best seriously injured. I had to start moving and face the music. If bones were broken, I'd need to get to a hospital to get them fixed so we could make our flight. That was insane. I wasn't thinking straight after all.

I tried to move, but the guy on the scene told me to lie still while he removed a ski from a ski boot. The other one had come off early in the fall. I told him I thought I was okay and didn't think anything was broken. By then a gaggle of other skiers were gathering nearby, trying to get a look at the carcass. I was happy to disappoint them. I rolled over and sat up, brushing the snow away. I didn't hear a word of the lecture because out of the corner of my eye I saw a few of my buddies. They were as surprised as I was that I'd survived without any damage, and gave me a play by play of the entire event, from their perspective. 

I picked myself up and started walking towards the lodge. Rat whooshed over retrieved the runaway ski. A few people were cheering and clapping, I suppose in return for the entertainment I'd provided. It was surreal. The weight of the foolish thing I'd just done started to sink in. By the time I reached the lodge every inch of my body ached. But I'd made it!  Taking off the ski boots that had been so tightly confining my feet for half the day, I was already trying to figure out when our next opportunity might be to go on another ski trip! 

Rick Miller, Rich Mauch, and Rat on the final day of skiing at Winter Park.

During the flight home, we recounted the events of the trip, drank Bloody Mary's, and  I played Horse Race, a scratch-off travel game with Rat and Wayne. The trip had rejuvenated me and I was talking up our next trip. Dan hadn't said a word to me since he'd sat down in the snow told me to leave him alone. I wondered if things would ever be the same between us again. We would get along okay, but there would always be a stigma - an edge to our relationship after the trip to Winter Park. Dan had his particular way of doing certain things, but then didn't we all? I truly liked Dan and respected him as a musician. He was a good and decent guy, but sometimes we were like oil and water. I never was able to put my finger on the real reason back then, but years later I would wonder if perhaps we might have been more alike than different. I worried if I'd been too rough on Dan during the trip to Winter Park. Eventually I even asked Rick and Rich what they thought. Both of them confirmed that I'd said what they'd been thinking. The good news was that I wasn't dreaming it up. The bad news was that I was officially a candidate for the Asshole Hall of Shame. But that's just how it was in the Wild, Wild, West. I'd learned from the best.

We'd had such a great time that we'd forgotten how shaky things were back home. There was a saying in an old joke book that had belonged to RJ and me that said, "He's so fond of hard luck that he'll run half way to meet it." It was as if our hard luck had missed us, and was waiting for us when we got home. Dave Davis gave us his notice. He'd signed up to run sound mainly at the club, but we were traveling a lot more than he wanted. Plus, he was just getting tired of running sound in general. It was an amicable situation, and Dave made it known that he could help us out until we could find someone. So the search began.

Ricky came home with a Roland Synthesizer. I played with it some in our home studio. After Winter Park, we played a week at Ft. Worth Savvy's, and then a week in Waco. The Ft. Worth week was great! Waco was a real grind. The club just wasn't pulling in people. The music interests had shifted in Waco, and I'm sure we had become "outdated" to the kids who's idea of partying was banging their heads against solid objects. 

After Waco, we returned to the Ft. Worth club for a two week run. Rusty Burns invited me to his studio to do some keyboard tracks, and write some lyrics. He and Point Blank's drummer, Buzzy, came to Savvy's. Buzzy was really friendly guy. They told us that Wild Bill and Kim Davis were no longer in Point Blank, and that they'd worked things out with Bill Hamm. We had a Q102 night and DJ Sally Diamond was the MC. The place was packed, just like the good old days! It was a great week overall and Rick was in a much better mood. We got to enjoy playing again - for a change. I spent a lot of time with Rhonda over the weekend and we made a mutual agreement to continue seeing each other, but we could date other people too. That took a lot of pressure off our strained relationship. I didn't know how it would actually work, but I agreed to give it a shot. It was better than just breaking up and not getting to see her at all. 

I spent Easter with my parents. We ended up out at the RC airfield. Dad and my brothers flew their airplanes while I flew my new dual fighting kites. I seemed to get more attention with the kites than they did with the planes! A few nights later I popped my knee out again pretty bad while loading our music equipment into the van. It was ironic that I'd survived the big fall in Winter Park, but had thrown my knee out just by turning the wrong way while standing still. 

While Ricky was out of town, Laurie came over after our gig at Savvy's. She had been crying and told me that she didn't want to be alone. I played the consummate big brother and comforted her as best I could. For the first time, I could actually see what being in the middle of all this mess had done to her over the few short years that she'd been dating Ricky. She was an emotional wreck and was having trouble keeping it together. She asked if I would mind if she stayed the night,  promising that she wouldn't get in my way! Laurie was one of the most gorgeous and sweet girls I'd ever known, and  I felt like an overprotective brother as I watched over her while she slept. 

RJ and I were finally hooked up to other computers via modem. We learned how to download software from other people over the phone. It was incredible technology, at least to us. RAGE finally broke up. Our pal Lawrence Dominguez from the Molly Maguires told us that RAGE's soundman was looking for a gig. His name was Ambrose, and he seemed to know what he was doing. Like Dave Davis, Ambrose was soft spoken too. Even more so than Dave. He was used to the road and ended up being the perfect replacement for Dave, who continued to work with us from time to time when we played in town at Savvy's. 

Ambrose's first gig with us was a week at Tango's in Dallas. There were lots of new faces in the crowd at Tango's, and again we were well received. I made friends with Suzy the waitress, and met a girl named Jean Bloomer there, who I would go out with a time or two. In the middle of the week, Vanessa and Brenda Bowl-of-Cherries came out and had too much to drink. I ended up driving them home to their apartment in Euless. On Sunday night, my old friend Lori (Colleen's sister) showed up. I barely recognized her. The way I understood the story, she'd married a male dancer and she ended up eventually dancing too. She'd cropped her hair short and was loaded to the max. She looked like she'd had a rough time since I'd seen her last, but she was still eternally sexy. I gave her a ride to her place not far from Tango's. I'd suddenly become a Taxi service for people too loaded to drive home; the Volare' Valet.

The women in Beaumont were much different than the girls back home. At least the girls who were frequenting Cardi's at that time were anyway. They were just too rough and crazy for us. It was the first time we'd played a club when all of us were looking forward to going back to the hotel alone. At least we could have fun watching the Truck Stop whores across the parking lot at the all night Iron Skillet Restaurant. It was something to do. 

That first trip to Beaumont with Ambrose was notable for another reason as well. That was the infamous "COT" incident; another "DAN" deal. He had been talking about trying to come up with a way to cut the costs of hotel rooms on the road, and started telling us he was going to bring an army cot to Beaumont with him. His thinking was that if a room had two beds, and he slept on a cot, he shouldn't have to pay as much as the guys who slept on the beds. No matter what anyone thought of the idea, it wasn't going to be fair for the rest of us. We'd traditionally split up into two's. Now Dan would be crowding in with two existing roomies, and paying a smaller amount. He would still be using up drawer space and towels, sharing the bathroom, and adding a third opinion on everything from what to watch on TV to when to turn the lights out. I didn't really care all that much about his COT idea as long as it didn't affect me. And then someone came up with the big idea of tossing a coin to see which room Dan and his COT ended up in. He ended up with Ambrose and me! The lessons learned from Winter Park wouldn't be able to help me as long as we were trapped together in the same motel room. 

The first night, Dan slept on the COT, but I couldn't even think about that with Ambrose's snoring. It was the worst I'd ever heard. I was truly in rock and roll road trip Hell. Then on the second day, Dan started talking up a plan to put someone else on the cot. He had it all figured out with his little calculator. It would be a GOOD thing for someone else to have a chance to save some money, while he gave his back a rest. The COT came with a price after all. I was having nothing to do with any of it. I wasn't about to sleep on a freaking COT. I'd had it with Dan and his interesting ideas. But lo and behold, another coin toss took place, and I somehow ended up losing my bed to Dan. I should have remembered never to bet on the coin toss. I always lost.

I spent the afternoon going from room to room, trying to get support needed to make my case about Dan. He was driving me insane and I needed confirmation from someone else that it wasn't just me losing it and imagining everything going on. But nobody else would even acknowledge a problem. Just when I was about to have myself committed, I discovered that they had been messing with me. They all knew that I was getting screwed on the COT deal, but it was so amusing to them that they didn't want to ruin the fun by coming to my defense. I swore I would never sleep on a cot again. 

We played during the Naughty Nightie Contest. One of the contestants threw a shot glass and broke one of the lights we'd rented for our light show. Back at the room I was lucky to have my computer with me. It kept me occupied. Dan was drinking a bit more than usual and I considered trying to talk to him about it. But I remembered what had happened the last time I tried to give my opinion on a sensitive issue with him and changed my mind. Dan was very astute, and perhaps more attuned to what was coming than any of the rest of us. He'd been through similar ups and downs with his band Lynx prior to joining us. Dan was less afraid of the end than any of the rest of us. I was sure of it.

The following day, Rick, Dan, Rich, and I went to the beach on the Gulf. It was deserted. We managed to catch a few rays though. My allergies were becoming a major problem for me. The cigarette smoke in the clubs, hotels rooms, and even in the cars while traveling was becoming unbearable for me. At the gig, RJ switched guitar straps on our guitars during a break without asking. His huge leather strap had been ruining his shirt. I got really hot about it and vented to Dan. What had I been thinking? Dan told RJ. It was like high school all over again. Luckily, I had Ambrose around to keep things real. I finally had a chance to get to know him better. He was interested in checking out my computer diaries, and games. 

From Beaumont we headed inland to Houston, and another week at the Cardi's there. The club had a new manager named Pat. He was a genuine jerk who treated us like garbage. We still managed to pull in their best crowds they'd had in months, but they never lightened up. In fact, after the gig on Saturday night, Rick went in to Pat's office to request a draw. Pat slammed the door in Rick's face. Rick was cool as a cucumber and waited for a few minutes until Pat came out of his office, and then he asked again. Pat told Rick to "just pack up and leave." We'd been fired for the first time since I'd been in a band. He ripped us off on the pay, and also imposed several bogus fines as well. It was completely surreal. We had no idea what his problem was. The gig was booked through John Bloomstrom, so we decided to wait until we got home, and then Rick would call John.

We heard back from John Bloomstrom on June 10th. He was furious with Pat and the Houston Cardi's, and we were reimbursed for the money they owed us. It was a moot point though because the band had bought a truck to haul our equipment in, and most of the money from that Cardi's tour went towards buying the truck. I attended a big national Ronald convention in Chicago where McDonald's spared no expense to put on an extravagant event. They'd brought in a complete circus just for us, and on a field trip we went to Chicago's Second City Improv Club. I appreciated the band working with me on scheduling so I could attend. 

Looking out the window of my hotel room at Hamburger University at the Circus
that had brought in for the entertainment at our convention.

 Dad picked me up from the airport when I returned. He had worked on my Volare' the whole time I was gone!  He wouldn't take any money, but I slipped $100 into his sock drawer when we got to the house to pick up my car. 

The band held a rare rehearsal and learned "Walking On a Thin Line" and "What's Your Name". When I got home, Ricky was there. I hadn't seen him in a while. Donny Hyles was with him. There was something going on. I could sense it. I had just settled in when Ricky came into my room and closed the door behind him. "Oh boy," I thought. "Here we go again...."

CHAPTER 57:  RICKY'D OUT

SAVVY STORY INDEX

BACK TO JONESLAND

SEND EMAIL