Haven't seen a good gig story on the group in a long time. Haven't had a really good one to tell either, but here's one of mine from my personal diary back pages, 1998. Saturday evening, March 28th., the Flash Flood band played a ninety-minute set at the air base after the Blue Angels airshow, big doings for Kingsville. Our progeny came down from Austin for the festivities. Much of the stuff that motivates me to take the show biz trip occasionally was in evidence. Cesar came by the bike shop Saturday morning to drop off a concession pass for me which granted access to the "backstage" areas of the show, and to inform me that we wouldn't need to bring much gear since a p.a. complete with sound man was being provided, along with a drum kit. I found out later that Cesar was bound for one-hour's duty in a dunking booth! Had I known, I would have liked to immerse him a few times, but as it turned out he might as well have stayed in the pool he got dunked so much. I guess that happens when you have a lot of friends and work the dunking booth. The evening came around at the usual rate and we arrived at the edge of the stage quickly and without a hitch. The sound man was a big guy, mid/late-thirties, very unkempt. He looked like a carny, permanent sunburn, greasy clothes, stained teeth and all, he was working on a six-day beard. Although I had brought my compact bass rig for use as a stage monitor, the bass was run direct through the mixing board. In such situations I am totally at the mercy of the sound man, so naturally I immediately struck up a conversation with him. Sensing my uneasyness he reassured me, saying, "I been to a few rodeos." It worked. In about five minutes we were checking levels, getting ready to burn. Sunset was about forty minutes away. Cloudy sky, wind howling about twenty-five knots, forty-five degrees on our left, in our face. The strong wind probably kept the crowd down, but i feel it was still respectable and not bad at all for six pm on a day when the gates had opened at ten-thirty am and the airshow had been over for a while. Quite a few showed who I'd told about it, friends, and acquaintances from the shop, made me feel good. The stage was a couple of big trailers put together, with plywood sheets on top to bridge the gaps, held down with sandbags. Nice and springy to walk over, adding to the overall effect. Directly behind the stage was an enormous airplane hangar. To our left a couple hundred yards were the airplanes used by the Blue Angels air show team, and a bunch of display planes. In front of us about a hundred feet was a big ol' tent with chairs and tables, a small tent for the sound guy and his gear, and a loooong midway lined with concession booths went straight back a few hundred yards. To the right of the stage about thirty yards, was the carnival's portable roller coaster and a line-of-sight view of the back of the carnival. About twenty people were sitting in folding chairs in front of the stage, like concert style orchestra seats ten rows back, twenty or thirty more were standing, and another several hundred were sitting in the tent and milling around the various attractions. We lit off on time and performed a blistering-paced ninety minute version of our regular four-hour show, starting with classic country and classic rock, ending with raunched-out metal and alternative. As the sun went down and it gradually got dark, a couple of big guys slowly kept putting up spotlights and turning them on, two at a time, until there were about twenty and the stage was like day. We killed 'em, kicked butt, they made us play an encore, even when we needed to clear out for the next act. One of my fave deals about the band thing is - you really never know what's gonna happen. What did happen was that near the end I found myself playing a guitar lead on AC/DC's "Highway To Hell". My buddy the sound guy seemed to like my lead playing and had me cranked way up. A group of about ten or fifteen college age "boys" came up to the edge of the stage where I was bouncing up and down on the flexing plywood as I feverishly slashed at the guitar. They seemed to have had a few beers and they were screaming at me, reaching their arms out to me, and inspiring me to new heights of crazed raunchiness. The stops had been pulled out, and like a shutter opening and closing for a very brief moment thirty years dropped off of me and I was light as a feather. Five minutes after the end of the show we were loaded up and ready to roll, and the next act was taking the stage. I made sure to say "thanks, bro" to the sound guy, and off we went to Cesar's for barbeque. Texas Pete ps - What's *your* gig story?