From the earliest days of our existence, we have always had a “band truck”. Fresh out of high school, we used my white 69 Ford Econoline camperized van (in which my brother and I had done the mandatory teenage road trip across Canada in 1970), followed by a customized 72 Ford Econoline van, as seen in one of the photos accompanying “No Reservations Required”. Contrary to the advice of wannabe managers and despite the custom of the day, we refused to place the name of the band on the side of the vehicle, as it would be a dead giveaway that the vehicle might contain a stash of easily-fenced and uninsurable musical equipment! Never mind that when not on tour, the truck would be parked outside my house bursting at the seams with rock n roll gear, with only a Canadian Tire padlock deterring would-be thieves. It would be necessary to unload part of the truck in order to rehearse in my basement (rehearsals featuring loud & proud rock music always attracted the neighbourhood kids, who’d peer through the windows while my parents were upstairs getting shellshock and pictures were falling off the walls). Since we usually did six-night-a-week engagements, we felt it prudent to just leave the gear in the truck rather than unload it all and then reload it later -- something we would be foolish to even THINK of doing in 2011! I do recall an occasion when one of our trucks was broken into and Art’s guitar was stolen -- I assumed that my truck insurance would cover any unpleasant details, but the insurance agent was adamant that because this equipment was used professionally, we would not be covered. His excuse was that all of our gear should have been insured on a separate dedicated policy (which as musicians reading this will concur, is alarmingly extortionate)!

As far as writing on the truck goes, one Halloween I recall scrawling “Dracula Sucks” in the accumulated dirt on the slide-up door on the back of the vehicle mentioned in the next paragraph. I was promptly pulled over by the local RCMP for advertising something naughty, and had to explain to the constable just what the innocent expression was supposed to mean. Sheesh!

After Stringbean had joined the group in 1975, however, the size of our equipment far exceeded the dimensions of our green van, and a larger replacement was required. We settled on the vehicle in the above photos, a 1974 GMC with a separate cargo box mounted on a 1-ton chassis, much like the one that Applejack had. Because said cargo box was silver, the truck was nicknamed The Flying Saucer, after a line on the Richard Pryor album, “That Nigger’s Crazy”: (Martians land in the New York ghetto, and are told, “You got to give up de flyin’ saucer, baby...”)

The Flying Saucer served us well during Stringbean’s tour of duty, transporting band equipment & band on all our road trips all over BC and Vancouver Island. We played in Nanaimo often, which required a ferry trip from Horseshoe Bay and which also required that we pay fare for not only the vehicle but all band members and soundman riding in the front of the truck.  As this proved expensive, we put our collective foot down, crying “F*ck that shit”: on one trip, at the top of the hill on the approach to Horseshoe Bay, everyone got out of the truck cab & climbed into the cargo area, leaving me to tell the person at the ticket booth that I was indeed alone. Unbeknownst to us, we were being watched by police who monitored our actions, and when I got to the ticket booth, the cashier asked, “Just you on this trip?” When I replied in the affirmative, he said, “nobody else in the back?”. I said no, but he demanded to investigate just the same, and when he opened the back door of the truck, feet were seen scurrying up to the top of the equipment in a vain attempt to avoid being seen. The cashier nonchalantly asked, “are these the guys who aren’t supposed to be here?” With a straight face I declared, “Yep, that’s them alright.” We were lucky to be sent on to the ferry after only paying the necessary fare.

After Stringbean left the band in 1978 and Buzz Constantly assumed the role of resident bass player, The Flying Saucer remained in service up until the 1980 Cross-Canada Tour. Due to its constant operation, though, mechanical functions inevitably deteriorated. On one trip, we suddenly came to a stop on the freeway near Abbotsford, BC -- the reason being that our engine had died a natural death and had to be replaced to the tune of more money than I thought existed. Jeez, it ran fine after a new engine was dropped in!

On our many gruelling and exhausting journeys to Edmonton, Calgary, Red Deer and numerous other Alberta destinations, we would be faced with an equally arduous return trip in The Flying Saucer. Due to the fact that all band members & Ding would be obliged to ride in the cab of the truck, it was deemed an brilliant idea for one of us to fly home (or ride on an airplane). The choice would be made in a game of chance, and on the occasion that I won, we were doing a residency at one of the skankiest bars in Alberta, the Windsor Hotel in Dead Rear. The prospect of an hour flight home (as opposed to a sixteen-hour drive) was mighty attractive, considering that after the gig we were eager to make like Wayne Gretzky (get the puck out of here).

I gleefully rode the bus to Edmonton Airport (at that time, the nearest faciilty where jets could land), and soon did a Michael Bublé -- yes, headed HOME. Coming from a lunar-like wasteland covered in ice & snow, I nearly burst into tears when we made a stopover in sunny idyllic Kelowna! I soon landed in Vancouver at the same time I left Edmonton, as it turns out.

Later that evening, once I was in my house, a station wagon pulled up my driveway, and falling out in states of dishevelment and disarray were Art, Buzz and Ding! Apparently the band truck had suffered a broken rear axle in the Fraser Canyon on a deserted stetch betwen Lytton and Spences Bridge.  Fortune smiled on them after they hiked to a nearby garage, though, as the owner offered to not only repair the damage, but drive them the remaining 200 miles back to Vancouver. It was this good Samaritan’s station wagon which appeared in my driveway! Before he drove the 200 miles on the return trip to Lytton, he informed me (as owner of the truck) that he would phone me when the broken axle had been replaced. Within a week, I got news that The Flying Saucer was now roadworthy, so I travelled the pleasant train journey to Lytton (before Via Rail, there was a CN passenger train that served the Fraser Canyon). The mechanic (call him Bob, because I forget his name), picked me up at Lytton station and drove me to his garage in the vicinity of Shaw Springs (now an abandoned ghost town!), where The Flying Saucer was excitedly anticipating my arrival. After paying the man, I was on my way.

Not long after this incident, we opted for Tilden truck rental for band equipment transport, and the newly-christened Miss Piggy, as seen in The Blues in Technicolor, joined us on many a future expedition.