So here we are, bombing down the I-90 toward Bozeman, Montana.  Bussie’s humming along at a rip-roaring 45 mph, just slow enough to catch the Dakota Badland’s scenic landscape, just fast enough to get us there by tomorrow.  We’re traveling from Dickinson, North Dakota (or as some of the locals call it, Dicklickinson) where we played a two night stand at the Evil Olive pizza restaurant and bar.

Friday night opened with gracious hospitality by Jason, the owner of the Olive, as well as the entire staff.  Delicious pizza was augmented by a delicious Dakota rain storm while the Queen City Band bickered their way to the stage.  These old-timers could lay down the fat polka groove as good as anybody and their buddies did the old folks boogie to movin’ Johnny Cash two-steppers.  They played from 8 to 11.  I hope I still have 3 hours of rock and roll in me when I’m 80.  Maddy threw up a video on our facebook page if you want to check it out.  We got set up by 11:45 and played our set for about 10 enthusiastic Dickinsonians who promised they’d bring the peeps out the next night.  The old folks were unimpressed.

There is a town called Sturgis that hosts the biggest biker rally in the world.  800,000 bikers converge on a town of about 8,000 and rage like only bikers can rage.  The rally spill off extends all over the Dakotas and Dickinson has cultivated it’s own biker gang called the Sick Bastards.  Saturday was the Sick Bastards’ pre-Sturgis rager starting at high noon with a 4 hour ride starting and ending at the Evil Olive.  (Meanwhile Craig, Trout, me, and a couple locals shot birdies and dodged killer cacti on a sweet disc golf course.)  We figured if we could unimpress the Dickinsonian geriatric community, we could sure as hell do the same for the biker community.  And that we did my friends, that is until the set break wet t-shirt contest.

After a quick trip to the bus and a round of shots with some new buddies I pushed through the gathering crowd and guess who I saw standing in front of the stage sporting a new snow white tank top.  Come on, guess.  You probably guessed Maddy and you’d be dead right.  “Why not show some nip for a $350 prize?” she thought to herself.  And of course, being the supreme show-woman that she is, Maddy quickly pulled away from the competition.  After the initial jug pours spectators were given the chance to donate $10 to pour water on the lady of their choice.  One innovator stepped in the inflatable pool with his lady, pulled the front of his pants out, and dumped the entire jug of ice water right on his crotch.  But Maddy had the moves, man.  I got out there a couple of times and was more than honored to pour water on my wife’s beautiful chest.  Oh yes.  Before we knew it the prize money was up to $1000 and Maddy was in the lead, Antioquia could barely contain themselves, then the final crowd volume test was administered and none other than Madeline Tasquin Streicek became a thousandaire.  That’s right folks.  Goodbye money troubles.  Hello Hamptons.  Antioquia’s looking to invest.  Know anyone with some ocean front property for sale?

We carried the momentum into the second set which was highlighted by our intergalactic debut performance of a new tune I wrote called There’s a Man Jumping off the Planet featuring Troutman aka the Greatest Man Alive on the blues harp.  The song was interrupted by a brief scuffle near the bar.  We pulled out our peace and love line and dude man hollered “Shut up, hippies!  Learn how to be a punk if you’re gonna have a mohawk!”  That one was directed at me.  He got it wrong, though.  I don’t wear a mohawk, I wear a mullet-hawk.  “It’s not a mohawk,” I wanted to say.  But all that came out was something I thought a Buddha might say.  Oh well, I’ll totally burn him next time.

So we finished the set, made some dough, ate some dough (baked with cheese and veggies), signed some boobs (well, Maddy did, a babe fell in love with her even before she became a thousandaire), partied hardy (with a full on drum circle), got some sleep after the sun came up and got back to Bussie’s business of burning up the yellow brick road.  What a weekend!

what if these were the founding fathers & mother? (maddy, you ain't foolin anyone with that Tofurky moustache)

The days before Dickinson we camped at an epic campground called Custer (“was a murderer“) State Park near Center Lake.  Troutman and I caught some trout, his first, with our new buddies David and Kaitlin from North Carolina.  And we checked out Mt. Rushmore and the new Crazy Horse mountain sculpture.  Ah yeah, I love America.  The people and the landscape is too incredible not to keep doing what we’re doing so we’re just gonna keep doing it.

To the Dickinsonians: Antioquia loves you.  See you next go round.  To our friends back home: Antioquia misses you and we’re excited to get back home.  We’re on the home stretch y’all.

with love in the groove,
understated paul

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