Day 6
The Quest, Minneapolis, 2 May 2005
I don't know where to start. We'd just finished loading out of the Chicago gig. I was in the front lounge on the bus and Matt, Jason and Claire were hanging around outside when Cary comes up and starts this argument with Matt. It started off like a joke, like 'so how many movies has your song been in?' because Cary had a song on the Garden State soundtrack and it's a big deal because he thinks Garden State is cooler than A lot like love, and he starts going on about how Matt is Disney's bitch, and he's pushing him against the bus. It starts getting serious, so I go to see what's going on, but when I walk out of the door Claire karate chops me in the throat. I'm on my knees trying to breathe and I see Jason grabbing Matt from behind and pinning his arms - Jason's a big guy - and he and Cary shove him into the trailer.
Now Claire's got her foot in my back and my face is on the pavement, and I'm trying to speak but nothing's coming out, and then Cary's there dragging me into the bay shouting "Back in the doghouse, bitch," and they're all laughing and the bay door slams shut.
I'm screaming and kicking at the door, but it won't move, and all of a sudden the engine starts up and the bus is moving off. Over the noise I can hear Matt shouting from the trailer. I try shouting to him, but he doesn't hear. After about ten minutes we've both given up shouting. At this point I still believe it could just be a trick - a practical joke that just got out of hand. If they let me out now, I'd be pissed off, but I could get over it. But the bus drives on. It's cold and all I can see are the blips of passing streetlights through the gaps around the hinges. There are a couple of bags in here so I root through them looking for something to wear and something to lie on.
The door opened and I was pulled out by my feet. It was early morning and the bus was pulled in at the side of the road. Jason was standing there, pulling me up and pushing me toward the main door.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled, but he just laughed. I went up the stairs on aching legs. John was in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead, not looking at me. Claire was in the front lounge.
"How are you doing?" she asked, not unkindly.
"You chopped me in the fucking throat," I said. "I can't believe it. You're Canadian."
She chopped me in the throat again. They dragged me up to the back lounge. I briefly glimpsed Dave through a gap in the curtains. He'd been attached to his bunk with gaffer tape.
The back lounge was lit by candlelight, and Cary was reclining across the back with what appeared to be a banana daquiri, listening to Rush.
"Do you want to use the bathroom?" he asked.
"Why are you doing this?" I said.
He laughed.
"I'm just an evil motherfucker, I guess."
They let me use the bathroom and then they gaffered me into my bunk, and that's where I stayed for the next 26 hours. Occasionally one of them would come by, sometimes to drip some water into my mouth, sometimes just to rip hair out of my face with bits of gaffer, all the while Rush played on in the background.
Weirdly, on Sunday afternoon they let us out to play the Kansas City gig. They'd set everything up, played their set and then cut us out of our bunks and ushered us to the stage.
"Don't do anything stupid," said Cary before we went on. "We have Roberto".
The gig went surprisingly well, under the circumstances.
