"No, officer, I'm sorry, I didn't see who swung first. Yes, sir, I am all right to drive, the tequila was spilled on me during the ensuing scuffle. Thank you sir, I will be careful. I wish I could be of more help." These and similar phrases were an intricate part of my vocabulary recently when I took on the project of going on the road with Carolyn's Mother and The Nadas. Let me back up and get you up to speed.

It all started as an idea to follow one of Denver's most successful rock bands on the road and see them in another environment. It so happened that another of the region's more popular touring bands, The Nadas from Iowa, would be sharing the stage with them in Omaha.

It was immediately apparent this was to be anything but a normal weekend on the road. The adventure begins in the early morning hours of Friday with a blizzard of snowflakes and almost as many Christian broadcasting stations. To be fair Nebraska does split the radio frequencies pretty evenly between saving your soul and giving you the latest farm report. Eight hours later in Omaha, lacking good directions and the correct name of the hotel, I met with the manager of Carolyn's Mother, Zach Cook, who will play a key part later in the story of keeping people out of jail.

The Ranch Bowl is a combination bowling alley, live music venue and pool hall with everything open at once. However, there was not a Nada to be found. There were approximately 500-600 17-year-olds with numerous piercings and tattoos in the parking lot. Carolyn's Mother is rock, but this is more of a Blister 66 crowd. They must have a very diverse fan base in Omaha.

Back at base camp, Zach updated me as to the status of the band and the show that evening. To his surprise they scheduled two full concerts that evening, an early all-ages show headlining Machine Head (that explained the unusual crowd) and the later 21-and-older show featuring Oil, The Nadas, Carolyn's Mother and Five-Story Fall. The press briefing was rather short and consisted of a lot of shrugs and the phrases such as ‘I don't know' and ‘I'm not sure.' "I don't know if the drummer is showing up." "I'm not sure if we will go on stage on time." "I don't know what the venue owner was thinking." Obviously, life on the road for a regional touring band is no walk through the park. Zach and I contemplated buying a bottle and watching it all unfold on CNN.

The show. It started two hours later than planned and I had yet to see The Nadas. Apparently they were across the street in a bar dealing with the surprising changes in timing as any good rock group would: by throwing back a few 40s and trying to roll with it. They had brought an impressive group of fans with them from Iowa and since there was no room in the venue to unload their equipment and none in the parking lot for their RV, what better to do than unwind while they waited to go on stage?

The Ranch Bowl was packed. Zach looked none the worse for wear and seemed to be dealing with the misadventures in much the same way The Nadas were, only with a smaller glass filled with seven and seven.

Oil sounded good, still no official appearance from The Nadas, and Zach began appearing more anxious as the set wore on. This briefing confirmed no drummer that evening and possibly never, ever again as feelings were running right then but "we are ready and excited about the acoustic set."

The Nadas took the stage and enticed the fans to greater heights with four impressive originals and a surprising cover of Sublime. Apparently the 40s worked. Everyone looked as though they were having fun. Carolyn's Mother took the stage and performed a rousing 5-6 song acoustic set peppered with calls for a new drummer and relief from the authorities who had earlier in the day given guitarist Drew Hodgson a $148.00 speeding ticket. (91 in a 75 with the comment, "You were really cookin' son.") Way to go Drew!

The show was moving along rather rapidly with each band playing only 5-6 songs. Machine Head had brought more equipment than anticipated. Therefore the show started late, and with four acts slated that doesn't leave a whole lot of time for performing. It was more just moving equipment on and off the stage, which is the spark that set off the powder keg. With the frustrations and tensions of the day building for all the musicians involved it was inevitable that something would ignite. In the absence of a drummer (drummers are known to be notorious rebel rousers), apparently one must turn to the bassist for guidance. Enter stage left, both of them, at the same time, Colin Burke of Carolyn's Mother and Stan of Five Story Fall. What normally would have been a friendly bump ended up with three musicians and a stage hand in a pile with quite a bit of glass and blood on the stage.

In the ensuing early morning hours a less-than-exact story of what actually happened began to unfold. Accusations flew on both sides with the only hard evidence being broken glass, a broken table, and a large gash down the middle of Colin's forehead caused when his face had an untimely meeting with a speaker box in the scuffle. Drew was livid and being held back by bouncers. Rhett Lee, the lead singer, was off administering first aid and Zach was giving the evil eye to the absolute gorilla of a manager for the other band. I took on the role of wartime photographer and began snapping as many pictures as I could without getting hit or arrested. (In Omaha...who'da thunk it?)

Fortunately, to my surprise, both bands tour with their attorneys. Zach by default as the manager with a legal degree in his pocket, and the gorilla appeared to have a blond criminal defense attorney rumored to be his girlfriend present at the scene. Much to my dismay there were no arrests and the whole thing ended with a bunch of hugs around three AM (You know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.)

The finger pointing was far from over as the sun rose the next morning and although the lure to remain in Omaha and witness the impending fallout was almost unbearable, it was off to Lawrence, Kansas, with The Nadas to see their next show. Am I glad I did.

Again with vague and limited directions, I arrived almost directly in front of the door of the venue, the Jazz Haus. In the band room there was a relaxed and friendly group of musicians glad to be free of the pandemonium of the prior evening and empathetic to the plight of their fellow musicians who now carried battle scars. But all of that was behind us, we were in Kansas and the environment could not have been more different than night is to day, crack is to X or Fiddler's Green is to Red Rocks.

Jason Walsmith and Mike Butterworth, the guitarists of the Nadas, casually tuned instruments as the crowd began to filter in. This could be any number of small clubs in Denver. They took turns chatting and are experts at keeping two entirely separate conversations going at once -- a technical business banter and a friendly get-to-know- you chatter, intertwined yet utterly separate with equal attention to both.

After four hours of sleep and a four-hour drive into Kansas, I had entered another world. It was an excellent world, much calmer, much more flowing, much more loving and huggy, with smiles all around. It appears as though a lot of people love Kansas.

The venue was packed but not overwhelmingly so. This band seems to attract a lot of ladies to their shows. The crowd was friendly almost to the point of being too friendly if that is possible, hugging and touching each other a lot. The band played every original tune I wanted to hear, a few covers and even swapped instruments (perhaps so that Tony Bohnenkamp the drummer would get a chance to be groped on stage as well...at one point a girl looked ready to climb right over the drum set to fondle him). This is a crowd where the girls are active participants -- on stage, on their boyfriends, on strangers, on each other. It's not everyday one gets to photograph girls kissing. The show is fun, lively, upbeat and when the music stops, everyone is still swaying until the band takes the stage again. I am exhausted but can't think of many other times when I have had this much fun.

So if you want to be a touring rock star, groupie, or even a "boring, responsible" manager, hold on. Although we are in the new millennium, the scene is pretty much the same as it ever was -- the good, the bad and the ugly come right along with fresh doses of the incredible, the unbelievable and the unbearable. Just try to lay low like Brett Nelson, the bassist of the Nadas, does; keep your drummer around, your attorney at home, and avoid the fists but not the femmes...or...let all hell break loose and make sure you have not only a good attorney but a good physician as well.