I guess it should be obvious to just about everyone simply by having a look at an atlas, but it came as something of a surprise to me, to realise how big America actually is, and we were only travelling from North to South down the Eastern United States. Almost every single one of America's states is bigger than England, and some are bigger than France or Germany, but when you travel across Europe you know for sure when you've left one country and entered another. In America the differences are more like those between English counties. To an American one state doesn't much resemble another at all, but it seemed like a whole lot of pretty much the same thing to me. Diners. Motels. Malls. Gas stations. And countless Stars and Stripes.
The drive from New York State to South Carolina was too much for us to do it all in just one day and yet on the map it seemed like we'd hardly travelled any distance at all. The real American South of New Orleans, the Mississippi, the Florida Everglades and Texan cowboys was still way out of reach. And there was a whole lot of America to the West—the Rocky Mountains, the Nevada Desert and the West Coast—that was even more distant. I've travelled many times to California since Crystal Passion's fateful American Tour and visited places like Monterey, the Big Sur, Tijuana and the East Ocean Boulevard that I'd always dreamed of visiting when I was listening to Brian Wilson, Dick Dale and Eden Ahbez as a teenager in my London Suburban family home. But nothing we'd seen on our tour of the United States could seem more remote from the beaches, the sunshine and the surf of the America that I'd imagined.
"So, another shitty motel," moaned Jacquie at a band conference in a diner somewhere vaguely in the vicinity of the States of Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia.
"Any better ideas?" asked the Harlot, who was one of today's designated drivers, fingering the point on the fold-up freeway map where the motel was positioned. "This one's just about the right distance for today. If we drive into one of these other towns marked on the map, like Roanoke and Barren Springs, it'll be a long detour and there mightn't be anywhere better to stay."
The Crystal Passion band was split between the two vehicles we were hiring—the Chevrolet and the VW Camper van—and for reasons of fairness we equally divided the time each of us spent in one or other vehicle. So, five of us would travel a leg of the journey in the relevant comfort of the Chevrolet and the remaining eight in the Camper Van. I'd earlier been enjoying the Chevy's front seat on the journey from a diner just outside Winchester, Virginia, (which couldn't have been more different from the original Winchester in Hampshire, England) during which Jenny Alpha was driving and Philippa was squeezed between Jane and Jacquie on the back seats. And now we all bundled into the Camper Van while another five could at last enjoy the car's relative luxury: this time driven by Judy Dildo who, along with her other talents, was one of the few of us who could drive and willing to do so on the right hand side of the road. And according to the complex formula that we'd agreed on earlier, Judy would this time be accompanied by Andrea, Jenny, Olivia and Tomiko.
So, for this leg at least, I'd be reunited with Crystal and not need to worry about Judy monopolising her attention.
However, once we set off along Interstate 81 away from the Burgers and Fries of the Myrrh Cross Diner towards the Burgers, Fries and double bedrooms of the King's Cavalry Motel, Crystal was uncharacteristically reticent and any conversation with her was terse and to the point. She was obviously distressed by how much attitudes towards her had changed over the few days of the Sisterhood Women's Music Festival. Although Ariel Golgotha paid us in full for the two gigs, she was noticeably less talkative while she counted out the dollar bills than she'd been on the first day of the festival. And we were taunted in a most unsisterly manner by a small group of women as our Camper Van trundled over the grass, out of the field and onto the main road. Indeed, as we weaved along Interstate 81 from New York State through Pennsylvania towards Maryland and beyond, Crystal didn't cheer up at all. I guess this was the first time she'd had to confront the kind of hostility we were now experiencing in America.
It was several hours later that we arrived at the King's Cavalry Motel which was pretty much identical to all the others we'd already passed. But then what were we expecting? A motel is what it is: a budget roadside hotel with a whole load of rooms and lots of parking spaces. And the King's Cavalry Motel was designed the same as every other motel, with each room facing towards its own parking space and each room faithfully providing what was advertised at exactly the stated price.
Normally there was plenty of space whenever we pulled into a motel but when Bertha steered the VW Camper Van into the car park, it was obvious that there weren't many spare rooms available. In fact, almost every motel room had a car parked in front of it. And when we bundled out of the van, eager to stretch our legs and have a smoke, we were met by Judy Dildo and Andrea who'd been sitting on a bench and waiting for us just by a soda vending machine.
"Hey guys!" said Judy. "It's not good news. There's a business convention or something near here, so almost all the rooms are taken already. In fact, there are only four rooms left and they're all double beds."
"So that's enough for just eight of us," said Crystal.
"Yeah, you're right," said Judy. "You eight. We've already booked the rooms for you: we didn't want to risk losing them. Then me and the rest of us will drive on. There's another motel about fifty miles ahead. The Silver Noose Motel it's called..."
"So we'll have to stay the night in two different motels," said Crystal betraying more than just polite regret in her voice. "The Crystal Passion band will be split up for the first time on the tour."
"Well, since we arrived at JFK," remarked Tomiko.
"Don't worry about it, Crystal," said Judy. "It's only fair. You need the rest more than we do. I'm sure the Silver Noose will be more than good enough for us."
Crystal could see the sense in this arrangement, so she and I walked with Judy to the motel's check-in desk where Olivia was waiting for us while she sipped from a can of fizzy soda. The middle-aged and overweight motel receptionist was squeezed behind the desk and busy handling the concerns of an equally obese guest.
"Phew! You guys are really hot and sweaty!" Olivia said pointing at the vending machine in the motel foyer. "You better have a can of something."
We agreed and slotted in our quarters for ice-cold cans of carbonated drinks with exotic names that none of us had ever come across before. I selected a can of Myrtle's Malt and Crystal chose Top Gaul.
"God! It tastes foul!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah, it's really vinegary," said Olivia. "It's cold though."
"It might be cold," said Crystal after a sip of Top Gaul, "but it's not exactly refreshing. Can we swap drinks, Pebbles? I don't think I can drink any more of this."
We swapped drinks and I could identify no discernible difference between Myrtle's Malt and Top Gaul. They were both sugary and both disgusting.
"Does anyone else want to drink this stuff?" Crystal asked. "I don't think I've ever drunk anything so horrible in my life!"
"Yes ma'am!" said the receptionist as the hotel guest she'd been dealing with waddled off. "I'd be thrilled to drink a can of Myrtle's. It's locally brewed and I for one am proud of our local beverages."
"You're welcome to it," said Crystal with a winning smile as she handed it over to the receptionist who greedily guzzled down three long draughts.
The receptionist regarded all four of us—and especially me—with a hostile expression she didn't bother to disguise. She didn't like the fact that my head was shaven any more than she liked Judy Dildo's rock chick uniform of denim, leather, jangling jewellery and tattoos.
"Ain't you that lezbo punk rock group from England I've heard tell about on the radio?" she asked. "Bristol Fashion or summat?"
"Crystal Passion," I automatically corrected her. "And we're not a punk rock group."
"You ain't?" she said sceptically. "Well, all that din all sounds the same to me. I'm a Country Music gal and you freaky druggies are
all
punks as far as I'm concerned. And I'll tell you this now so's there's no misunderstanding, here at King's Cavalry we have a 100% anti-drugs policy and we don't listen to no excuses."
I was so stunned to hear someone pronounce 'anti' as 'ant eye' that I wasn't sure how to respond, but as always Crystal was diplomatic and non-confrontational.
