“Now the seats are all empty…”
Dateline: B.A.S.S. Nation Championship
“Sal, we gotta go and never stop going ’till we get there.’
‘Where we going, man?’
‘I don’t know but we gotta go.”
Jack Kerouac
On The Road
When I am dust, please sprinkle me between the two white lines of, The Road.
Roll down the top, put Chuck Berry in the 8-track, jam the Hurst shifter into fourth, and take the jar I’m in, hold it high, and open the top.
Lay me to rest, on two lane blacktop.
Lay me to rest, on the Pacific Coast Highway just north of Carmel.
Lay me to rest, on the Upper Deck of the George Washington Bridge.
Lay me to rest, on the crests and valleys of Route 29 in Virginia.
Lay me to rest, between the horizons on those straight Oklahoma Roads.
Lay me to rest, on the rural roads of America’s South and Midwest.
Lay me to rest, on the corner of Montrose and Decatur, where I was born.
Lay me to rest, on The Road.
The Road.
“…let the roadies take the stage…”
“I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.”
— Susan Sontag
Sure, many of us are out here for the game, for the moments when the line floats in the air, for that tiny splash that signals the bait and bass dance, for the hook set and the photo home of fish and loved one.
Sure.
But it is the siren song of big wheels licking pavement, that draws us, pulls us back.
The mystery of what’s around the bend, what’s over the hills, down in the valleys, it is about the chase of the new.
I’m not so sure it’s about knock, knock, as it is about, who’s there.
Who are you, where we come to, what you got, where we come to, what’s new, where we come to.
In my heart there lies someone, something, born to chase the horizon.
Someone, something that knows it will never catch it, knows the chase will never end.
And is okay with that.
“…pack it up and tear it down…”
“It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy… Let’s go exploring!”
— Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes
I am, a roadie.
I tear down or set up nothing, but myself.
I get joy out of watching anglers win, but I also get as much joy out of watching you enjoy the show.
If you are sitting in a seat and watching something happen, what you are watching is a show, be it big, be it small, be it on a screen or stage, welcome to the show.
There is one part of the show though you never see, it happens at dawn and dusk, it happens as you travel to the show, or leave the show, it’s done by people whose names you will never know, folks though who are as Elite as those who stand on the stage they’ve built.
The roadies.
Let me take you backstage, pull open the curtain so you see both sides of the game, and it begins with this, we have out here a moment that belongs only to us.
A moment so special it is now, ritual.
You don’t know about it because you are in your cars driving out of the parking lot, all the fish have been weighed, all the tanks have been drained, the fencing and sponsor signs are being rolled up and there comes a moment that binds us, those of us who work backstage, those of us out of the limelight, the roadies.
The ritual comes when our music guy, Shannon dials up one song, the only request we ever take, the lyrics of which I used long ago but which now have become the anthem for those out of sight who roll up the hoses, who fold up the stage, who jump in the cab and drive the show to the next stop.
The song, The Load Out by Jackson Browne, his lyrics tie this story together.
The song you never hear us play is our way of saying “thank you” to those who carry the wrenches, those who lay out the expo, those who pilot the catch and release boat, those who without their heavy lifting there would be no show.
There would be no show if not for the men and women who climb in, under, and around the boats fixing what got broke, tweaking the motors for the 1 percent more horsepower that could mean a win, sitting hunched over in the rain reprogramming “the electronics,” the glow boxes that take the anglers out and bring them back safe.
We play the song for the busted knuckle crowd.
And here they are.
Let me introduce you to the folks you never see, the folks who are simply, my family on, The Road.
I’m taking the photo so on my right, that first guy is Andy, he’s the Phoenix boat mechanic, and the guy who always, always has my back, and let me say this upfront it is my humble opinion having spent 30 plus years around “the crew” of various gigs…these folks here are the best.
Simply that.
Joby is next to Andy he’s the Humminbird/Minn Kota dude, myself and many of the Elite anglers went to his wedding last year, that pretty much says it all.
Trent is next, he’s the Skeeter guy and part contortionist, I’ve had many a conversation with him when all I could see were the soles of his shoes up on the driver’s seat.
I’m jumping straight across the table now so to keep the service crew together, which is how they travel.
The first guy on my left is Dan, from Yamaha, half the time I have no idea what he is saying with his truly amazingly thick Tennessee accent, but I know the sound of engines and this dude makes them purr.
Next to him JD from Mercury, a new guy to me, but him sitting at this table with these dudes is the only street cred I need to know.
Several others are not here at the Academy Sports + Outdoors B.A.S.S. Nation Championship presented by Magellan Outdoors but are spread across America fixing things, tweaking things in moments that normally would take others weeks. I have sat with them in the service yard and listened as they diagnosed a problem by the sound it made as it drove by.
Please know these are the faces of some of the folks who keep the game you love being played.
Roadies of the boat.
“…they’re the first to come and the last to leave…”
“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.”
— Paul Theroux
Back to the photo, an annual event we, those of us of the road, call, “The Yardbird Dinner.”
It is the end of the year appetizers and chicken wing dinner, and it is run by the guy sitting next to Trent from Skeeter…Jon Stewart.
Jon is the Director of the B.A.S.S. Nation, a one-time singer in a rock band, a dude who has come up the ranks from Nation member to Nation Director.
A roadie through and through.
Next to him are the guys who build and haul the stage: Alan Pierce, Heath Laney, Myron Wood, and Billy Myers who, by the way, was the Fire Chief of Gwinnett County in Georgia before he retired and came here and is one of my best buds of the roadies.
Flip over to the other side of the table: Mike Wall (a long-time roadie), Hank Weldon, yep the son of Trip and the guy who runs the Bassmaster College and High School programs, Neil Paul and Whitney Ellis our local hosts for this gig, Emily Hand of B.A.S.S. who basically makes everything happen, and Robert (the only roadie who needs only one name).
If you are a B.A.S.S. Nation member these are the people who give everything they’ve got, for you.
If you are a fan of the Elites, of the college events, the Opens and whatever else we have going on these are some of the faces of those who make it happen for you.
Trust me when I say this, you are in good hands with these folks, and many who aren’t sitting at this table today, they all love the sport as much as you do. They are fans of the game they drag around the country setting up and tearing down and as fans they know what they and you love of the game, and they will go to all lengths to bring it to you.
I’ve watched them do it for a decade now, and every event it’s special to watch.
“…they’ll set it up in another town…”
“People forget years and remember moments.”
— Ann Beattie
His name is Mike, that’s him at the end of the arrow. He’s the roadie with the most seniority, been with us now 13 years and tens of thousands of miles.
Mike puts up the stage and tears it down, packs it up and drives it to the next gig.
Mike is from Syracuse, N.Y., belongs to the Salt City Bass Club and the Rochester Bass club, “Love to fish for bass, fell in love with the sport back in 1984.”
Mike is 64 and is leaving us, retiring, has banged up knees, hips and back, takes care of his 89-year-old mother…all of which I knew, but I’m pulling back the curtain all the way now, listen…
Me: “Dude what’s up why you booking out?”
Mike: “It’s not for me anymore…”
And as I stand next to my friend he looks away to hide a tear.
“…this was my passion…”
To be honest I don’t know where he is going with this…
“…but ever since…”
Mike no longer hides the tears.
“…but ever since Max died…”
It is impossible for me to write another word after that. We lost a roadie this year, we all lost a long-time buddy, Max Leatherwood, his loss was a body punch to the gut of all of us out here.
We honor Max at every registration, his was the first chair in the registration line, it was the seat he held for over a decade, it will always be there, always empty in memory of a brother loved and lost.
“…Max was three weeks to the day younger than I am, three weeks…”
And then Mike turned and walked away.
While the road goes on forever, those of us on it, don’t.
“…till those lights come up and we hear that crowd…”
When I am dust, please sprinkle me between the two white lines of, The Road.
Lay me to rest, on two lane blacktop.
Lay me to rest, with the spirits of those who traveled the road with me.
Lay me to rest, on the blacktop that heads home.
Lay me to rest, on the street my family calls home.
Lay me to rest, at home.
When it’s my turn to come off the road.
And stay.
“…and we remember why we came.”
The Load Out
Jackson Browne
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“How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
Winnie The Pooh