Chevy-GMC Dealership @ 40 & K - O’Fallon, MO

It’s fixed. The service manager had two of his guys work O/T to get our job done because he understood the time constraint we had. Alex is hitching the Airstream right now and I’m in the dealership charging up the rest of our electronics.

Lots of hours ahead. We’ll be rolling until close to 1am, outrunning a line of tornado-laced storms. Wish us luck.

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Filed under: On The Road

O’FALLON, MO.

Nothing in the gypsy life is more startling than to attempt to move and find that you cannot. For Carnies such as ourselves, it is a crime against nature. We have done our shows– to very good hats and audiences. We should be allowed to proceed. But not until a new fuel pump is installed in our tow vehicle.

Years ago, the Sheriff would show up on the lot as soon as any Circus wagons rolled into town. To make sure that the show folks paid all their locally incurred debts and fees (including, but not limited to, out and out bribes), the Sheriff would impound the wheel lug nuts from all the wagons, making it impossible for them to move. After all finances were settled the nuts were returned and the circus could move onto the next town. This is the origin of the phrase “Making the Nut”– id est, all expenses were covered and net profit could begin to be calculated.

So it is with us except we are “Making the Fuel Pump”. In our case over $1200 and an additional over night stay (camping on the the dealership lot in the Airstream– an indescribable incentive to get us out out of their town). This would not be so bad except out next event is Wednesday, meaning our jump to Northwestern Pennsylvania will be a hurried one to be sure. Its now Tuesday morning, and Missouri outside.

Year ago a bad fuel Pump was an easy unbolt, replace, and rebolt action on the front of the engine. I did it myself on several cars and trucks. But today’s autos are much more complex. The gasoline tank has to be emptied and removed and and electric computer controlled pump installed. I hope to get my gasoline back as it was a full 30 gallons!

Charon points out from time to time “This is a Hard Way to make a living”. I remember being surprised at having not realizing this myself, until she had made this observation. How I had become acclimated! Never the less, we both know anything else would be worse on us. And so we choose our way, confident in our knowledge of just how lucky we are, even on such an unlucky day as this…

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Filed under: On The Road, Swordswallowers In General

WENTZVILLE, MO -
Finally the mornings are truly cooling off and becoming fresh and invigorating. As a habitual early riser, I cling to these fresh starts as a promise of new possibilities every day. It helps me as I struggle with my “Irresponsible Punk Rock Lifestyle.” (Irony Alert)

As a child I delivered the morning paper, and walked about 6 miles every day carrying my paper sack with newspapers in front and behind me. It was joyous in the spring and fall with heavy dew, fresh grass clippings or leaves stuck to my boots as I strode along. In the summer, the predawn day was the only relief from the heat– literally the coolest part of the day.

Winters’ mornings I had my parka over my head with ear muffs and a transistor radio playing future classic songs. I remember lots of Elvis Presly hits in predawn hours– lonely blues songs as I walked the railroad tracks toward my assigned route, in the cold and dark, alone. This was so long ago, the Norfolk and Western Railroad still lit the switch signals with Kerosene, and the red and green lights shone brightly. I could climb up the standard and warm my hands on them.

After I finished my paper route, I would go to a dank little doughnut shop where lonely old single men for whom the world had no use for any more, would gather, as old men for whom the world has no use for any more do, drink weak coffee, dunk doughnuts, and stare into space with watery old eyes, under florescent lighting. I joined them. The huge old waitress wondered if it was a good idea to give even weak coffee to a 12 year old kid. I read the newspaper I had just delivered, and shuddered that this was all life had to offer. It was my way of bracing myself for school.
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Filed under: On The Road, Swordswallowers In General

Rotary Park – Wentzville, MO

It’s been an interesting couple of social days here in the suburbs of St. Louis. Wednesday found us in town buying food and other sundry items in preparation for a pot luck with Swords & Roses. I had a very specific craving for a cold Thai dish and had found a recipe for it, easily able to be prepared in the trailer. We had also selected a couple of items from Bob Blumer’s book on small one-bite appetizers, all trailer-friendly recipes tested in his modified Airstream trailer, the Toastermobile. We found all of our ingredients handily at the gourmet market up the street and returned to our home on site to prepare for our 7pm rendezvous.

On the way, my phone rang and I was pleased and delighted to be hearing from Chicago-area magician David Parr. After catching up a bit he let me know that one of the main reasons for his call was to let us know that fellow magician Dan Mindo was in the St. Louis area for work and had been for several months. Dan knew no one in the city and I had David pass along my phone number so we could make plans to meet up before our stint here was through. As we wound up our conversation we discussed the possibility of guesting at his show in Chicago sometime in October. Either the third or fourth Tuesday is looking promising. We will keep you informed of developments as they happen.

Amid our food preparation my phone rang again, this time with Dan on the other end. We immediately set to work convincing him to join us for the pot luck and succeeded in short order. This was shaping up to be an excellent evening of company. We continued our preparations with great anticipation.
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Filed under: Food & Drink, On The Road

Life on the Road is not all beer and Skittles you know. It is true enough that we do only work before the paying public but two days a week, but a myriad of other duties await our attention. They range from the esoteric such as mediation while watching old movies and listening to Owls at 4 am. But other such mundane and even inane task lay before us. Such as Hauling Water.

Here at our swell and tony digs we have ! electricity!! a boon beyond words, but we are prepared to make our own with a 55 watt 48” long solar panel. It handily recharges our onboard 12 volt batteries and keeps our lights on and water pump working. But here we are blessed with so much juice we can actually run our Air Conditioner! Saints be praised! especially after 4 shows a day at 85 degrees or higher and 99 and 44/100 percent humidity. Just drying out is a gift from the gods. And sweet lady propane keeps our refrigerator very cold and makes ice for the cocktails shaker at Happy Hour.

Yet we have no water Hook Up. Every single drop of H2O for cooking, washing and our daily toilet, must needs be hauled by hand and lifted and poured into the holding tank by hand. The closest water is a mere 1/10th mile away.

Not that I care mind you– it is at least fresh, not full of Chlorine, mud nor other yucky stuff. But our Vintage and period correct fresh water tank holds but a meager 30 gallons, good for several dishwashings, a few showers, and a toilet flush or two. So off I go and hie me to the water hydrant, thankful it is ready and full of pressure.

I gather it Five (5) gallons at a time, and at least here I can use my little yellow wagon.

Its a simple and meditative thing to haul water– primitive and primeval in nature and yet still a definite chore I can resent a wee bit. I can avoid waxing prosaic. After all I am a carney you know. Do not look to me for answers. Do not look to me for insight to the human condition– I am determined to be an Anti-hero. My Ivory Tower of gypsy life is fundamentally flawed, and has no place in today’s society of bubbling change.

It is brimming with really hard work, for little pay. I swim in the shadow economy of non existent credit rating, cash based and bartered transactions. I am living as a Luddite and refuse to admit that I know what a Luddite is.
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Filed under: On The Road, Swordswallowers In General