Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Tour
“Motherfucker!!” I slammed my fist on the steering wheel as smoke poured from under the engine bay. As I continued to rant and swear Brier woke up. She’d been slumped in the passenger seat for the last three hours supposedly keeping me company as I drove though the night.
“What’s up?” She mumbled, still confused from her three hour nap.
“How the hell do I know?!”
Pulling over at the side of the nearly dirt road I put the hazards on and killed the headlights. Grabbing torches, we jumped out the back of our ailing campervan. The van had been playing up for the last three stops on the Warped Tour. We were having a break from the UK, and were following the tour in a 1976 VW right hand drive campervan called Beast. Beast was my pride and joy; lime green & white and covered in stickers. As I tried to open the engine bay, the hot bonnet scorched my fingers.
“Argh ya bastard!” I jumped around waving my hand, trying to cool my skin in the damp night air.
“Here, let me” Using her beanie as a mitten, Bri opened up the bonnet only to get fogged in the face. Coughing and spluttering, Bri backed up as the steam cleared.
Still wheezing Brier peeked at the engine. “I think it overheated, what did the temperature gauge say?”
“It doesn’t have one.” I checked the oil and water which seemed fine. And there ends my knowledge of engines. There was allot of water on everything which I assume is bad. Walking around the back, water was dripping from the exhaust. Aw crap. “I think we may be fucked.”
“Do they have the AA over hear?”
I pulled my phone of the van but threw it back onto the seat. “No signal. And I don’t think the number would be the same somehow.”
“So, what now?” Still spluttering a bit, Bri sat on the door sill. The sat-nav stopped its feed as soon as we entered the dense wood we were currently in. I haven’t seen another vehicle for at least an hour and a half when I left the main highway.
“We wait till morning and try starting up again and pray no-one tries to rob us. Are you alright? You’re wheezing still.” I leant down to where Bri was sat on the vans footboard.
“I think so. My throat’s a bit tight is all…” I could tell she was trying to control her breathing and not choke. And failing miserably. Sighing I climbed back into the van.
“Bri, you have an inhaler for a reason.” Digging though the glove box I found the blue inhaler and passed it to a sulking Brier who begrudgingly took a shot from it.
“Your such an arse. If you don’t take this seriously you will end up in hospital.” I grumbled. Super Bri never takes anything seriously till there’s blood or bruising, like not believing the hob was faulty till she singed her eyebrows off.
“Stop over reacting. I just got a face full of smoke. I bet you would be wheezing too.” Getting up she discarded the inhaler somewhere on the van floor. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I tried to be rational.
“It was steam and I was right behind you. I’m breathing fi…” I stopped mid sentence as a pair of headlights came around a bend in the distance.
----
We stood frozen in the headlights as they got closer to us. It was big, either a truck or a coach. Maybe they had a radio that could get us a tow to the next town. As we came into view, a large bus pulled up just past our van.
Neither of us dare move, waiting to see what was going to happen. Two English girls, alone and broken down in a wood could easily turn into a bad horror movie. All I could think of was Wolf Creek. I wish I hadn’t watched that right now.
The sound of pneumatics cut through the silence and a shadow walked towards us carrying a torch. As the figure came in focus I realised I must really need some sleep. He was the image of Bob Bryar. From what I could see, could-be-Bob was dressed entirely in black.
“You ladies need any help?” A soft American accent asked.
“Ur, um.” Brier stood dumbfounded. It can’t be Bob. Can it? Bob look-a-like stood waiting for an answer, raising an eyebrow in the dim light from out torches. Snapping out of it I finally replied.
“Our camper broke down. Do you have a radio we could borrow please? There’s no mobile signal.”
“You won’t get a mechanic at this hour all the way out here. I’m not too bad with a wrench, mind if I take a look at her?” The guy shone his torch over to the open engine bay, still steaming slightly in the cool night.
“Him. I, erm, yeah thanks.”I muttered, glad the darkness hid my reddening cheeks.
With a quick glance back he walked over to the raised bonnet and had a look around whilst Bri and I remained rooted.
“That can’t be Bob.” I whispered, looking back at the trailer. It could be a tour bus. It looks sorta’ like one from what I can see. We both whipped around at the sound of blond guy’s voice, to find him a foot in front of us.
“You blew a gasket. I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere.” He shone his torch alone the side of the van, stopping the beam on ‘the Beast’ sticker on the sliding door. “Are you guys at Warped Tour?”
“Er, yeah. How did you know that?” We are not in Wolf Creek. We are not in Wolf Creek…
“I’ve been seeing this van everywhere. I thought I was going mad. Bob Bryar, drummer of My Chemical Romance.” He held a greasy hand out for me to shake. Realising the muck, he wiped the offending hand on his trousers and held it out again.
Shaking it I tried not to go fan girl on my idol. “Osla Jones. Bob Bryar, meet Brier Hook.” Briar shook the offered hand, grinning like the fool she is.
“Nice name. Ladies it’s your lucky day. I’ll get Mark our driver to hook you up and give you a tow.” Bob smiled lopsidedly at the awestruck retard stood beside me.
“Really? Wow, thanks. Are you sure, I mean we don’t want to throw your schedule out or anything.” Bob remained focused on Brier, responding to me without a second glance.
“I insist. It’s not safe for you guys to be stranded out here. We’re the band who saves lives. Which, coincidently, includes helping damsels in distress. I’ll go get Mark and we’ll see about hooking you up.”
As Bob went to get Mark and a tow rope, we slid open the door and got in the back of the van, sitting in silence, trying to take in what was happening.
“This is too surreal.” I mumbled.
“We have broken down in the middle of a wood and MCR are giving us a tow.” Bri laid on the fold out bed, staring at the roof. I’m surprised she’s breathing so well after meeting Bob Bryar and being killed by the steam.
“No-ones gunna believe us. They gunna say we were just stoned.” I mused. As we sat in contemplative silence a shadowy figure stood at the door.
“I hate to be so straight edge on you guys, but no drugs on the bus please. We’re about five hours to the next venue. Grab some essentials and you can sleep in the spare bunks.”
----
I was shoving everything I could think of into my bag. Including my camera and autograph book….
“Bri, someone’s going to have to steer the Beast…” Os was slumped against the front seats having just pushed Beast up to the tour bus with Bob. Quite a feat for a midget.
“Thanks, I’m shattered. I’ll drive once Beast is fixed.” I shoved my DS and charger into my bag too. Can’t live without a games console.
“You are joking right? I’ve been driving for four hours!” Os snapped her head up, staring up from under her short and messy blond hair.
“We have been stopped for about an hour so technically you only drove for three.” I want to sleep with MCR dam it. It’s only steering.
“You are unbelievable.” Os stormed off towards the tour bus before I could reply.
I said I’m going to drive next! What’s her problem? Grabbing my bag, I got out and locked the door. It has a bad habit of sliding open whilst you drive. I get to sleep on MCR’s bus!!
----
Bob had made me a hot chocolate as soon as we got on the bus, eager to find out how we got to be stuck in the woods whilst Os steered the Beast.
“So who’s idea was it to bring a 70’s relic on a tour that doesn’t even drive on the right side of the road?” Bob asked as he took a large gulp of his steaming drink, wincing as it burnt his throat.
“Well we wanted to do the big American road trip. And Warped Tour is the most talked about festival outside of the UK. And Os wouldn’t leave the Beast behind for the summer encase it got stolen. The top pops up to form a double and we take it in turn to sleep on the fold out bed in the van so it’s reasonably comfortable.”
“I think I’ll stick to my bunk. I can’t live without my games consoles and internet access.”
We sat in a somewhat comfortable silence as we finished our drinks. I can’t believe I’m sat with Bob Bryar my idol. In the dim lights of the tour bus, Bob was dressed in a simple navy t-shirt and black joggers, slightly smeared with the grease that was coating the Beast. He was clean shaven save for the inevitable five o’clock shadow and despite the weeks of touring his eyes were bright blue and alive. Unlike Osla who looked like the living dead after driving all the night shifts. Ok so I do feel kinda guilty about it. I really hate driving at night though.
“So what are you doing up so late whilst the rest of the band sleep? You put so much energy into your set surly your set to drop by this ungodly hour?”
“A fan I see. I like to keep Mark company for a bit on the longer drives. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Or just have a lie in whilst the others get breakfast.” He smiled softly before taking our empty mugs to the sink.
“Right, I think Marks had enough of me for tonight. My bunks the bottom left. Yours is middle left. If Osla needs a rest once we get to the venue she can jump in the bunk above us. If you give me a shout when you’re up I’ll see about getting a mechanic arranged. Bathroom is first door on the right. Have a good night.” Another gentlemanly smile and he slunk off into the bunk room. After a few minutes I followed, the late hour finally catching up on me.
“What’s up?” She mumbled, still confused from her three hour nap.
“How the hell do I know?!”
Pulling over at the side of the nearly dirt road I put the hazards on and killed the headlights. Grabbing torches, we jumped out the back of our ailing campervan. The van had been playing up for the last three stops on the Warped Tour. We were having a break from the UK, and were following the tour in a 1976 VW right hand drive campervan called Beast. Beast was my pride and joy; lime green & white and covered in stickers. As I tried to open the engine bay, the hot bonnet scorched my fingers.
“Argh ya bastard!” I jumped around waving my hand, trying to cool my skin in the damp night air.
“Here, let me” Using her beanie as a mitten, Bri opened up the bonnet only to get fogged in the face. Coughing and spluttering, Bri backed up as the steam cleared.
Still wheezing Brier peeked at the engine. “I think it overheated, what did the temperature gauge say?”
“It doesn’t have one.” I checked the oil and water which seemed fine. And there ends my knowledge of engines. There was allot of water on everything which I assume is bad. Walking around the back, water was dripping from the exhaust. Aw crap. “I think we may be fucked.”
“Do they have the AA over hear?”
I pulled my phone of the van but threw it back onto the seat. “No signal. And I don’t think the number would be the same somehow.”
“So, what now?” Still spluttering a bit, Bri sat on the door sill. The sat-nav stopped its feed as soon as we entered the dense wood we were currently in. I haven’t seen another vehicle for at least an hour and a half when I left the main highway.
“We wait till morning and try starting up again and pray no-one tries to rob us. Are you alright? You’re wheezing still.” I leant down to where Bri was sat on the vans footboard.
“I think so. My throat’s a bit tight is all…” I could tell she was trying to control her breathing and not choke. And failing miserably. Sighing I climbed back into the van.
“Bri, you have an inhaler for a reason.” Digging though the glove box I found the blue inhaler and passed it to a sulking Brier who begrudgingly took a shot from it.
“Your such an arse. If you don’t take this seriously you will end up in hospital.” I grumbled. Super Bri never takes anything seriously till there’s blood or bruising, like not believing the hob was faulty till she singed her eyebrows off.
“Stop over reacting. I just got a face full of smoke. I bet you would be wheezing too.” Getting up she discarded the inhaler somewhere on the van floor. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I tried to be rational.
“It was steam and I was right behind you. I’m breathing fi…” I stopped mid sentence as a pair of headlights came around a bend in the distance.
----
We stood frozen in the headlights as they got closer to us. It was big, either a truck or a coach. Maybe they had a radio that could get us a tow to the next town. As we came into view, a large bus pulled up just past our van.
Neither of us dare move, waiting to see what was going to happen. Two English girls, alone and broken down in a wood could easily turn into a bad horror movie. All I could think of was Wolf Creek. I wish I hadn’t watched that right now.
The sound of pneumatics cut through the silence and a shadow walked towards us carrying a torch. As the figure came in focus I realised I must really need some sleep. He was the image of Bob Bryar. From what I could see, could-be-Bob was dressed entirely in black.
“You ladies need any help?” A soft American accent asked.
“Ur, um.” Brier stood dumbfounded. It can’t be Bob. Can it? Bob look-a-like stood waiting for an answer, raising an eyebrow in the dim light from out torches. Snapping out of it I finally replied.
“Our camper broke down. Do you have a radio we could borrow please? There’s no mobile signal.”
“You won’t get a mechanic at this hour all the way out here. I’m not too bad with a wrench, mind if I take a look at her?” The guy shone his torch over to the open engine bay, still steaming slightly in the cool night.
“Him. I, erm, yeah thanks.”I muttered, glad the darkness hid my reddening cheeks.
With a quick glance back he walked over to the raised bonnet and had a look around whilst Bri and I remained rooted.
“That can’t be Bob.” I whispered, looking back at the trailer. It could be a tour bus. It looks sorta’ like one from what I can see. We both whipped around at the sound of blond guy’s voice, to find him a foot in front of us.
“You blew a gasket. I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere.” He shone his torch alone the side of the van, stopping the beam on ‘the Beast’ sticker on the sliding door. “Are you guys at Warped Tour?”
“Er, yeah. How did you know that?” We are not in Wolf Creek. We are not in Wolf Creek…
“I’ve been seeing this van everywhere. I thought I was going mad. Bob Bryar, drummer of My Chemical Romance.” He held a greasy hand out for me to shake. Realising the muck, he wiped the offending hand on his trousers and held it out again.
Shaking it I tried not to go fan girl on my idol. “Osla Jones. Bob Bryar, meet Brier Hook.” Briar shook the offered hand, grinning like the fool she is.
“Nice name. Ladies it’s your lucky day. I’ll get Mark our driver to hook you up and give you a tow.” Bob smiled lopsidedly at the awestruck retard stood beside me.
“Really? Wow, thanks. Are you sure, I mean we don’t want to throw your schedule out or anything.” Bob remained focused on Brier, responding to me without a second glance.
“I insist. It’s not safe for you guys to be stranded out here. We’re the band who saves lives. Which, coincidently, includes helping damsels in distress. I’ll go get Mark and we’ll see about hooking you up.”
As Bob went to get Mark and a tow rope, we slid open the door and got in the back of the van, sitting in silence, trying to take in what was happening.
“This is too surreal.” I mumbled.
“We have broken down in the middle of a wood and MCR are giving us a tow.” Bri laid on the fold out bed, staring at the roof. I’m surprised she’s breathing so well after meeting Bob Bryar and being killed by the steam.
“No-ones gunna believe us. They gunna say we were just stoned.” I mused. As we sat in contemplative silence a shadowy figure stood at the door.
“I hate to be so straight edge on you guys, but no drugs on the bus please. We’re about five hours to the next venue. Grab some essentials and you can sleep in the spare bunks.”
----
I was shoving everything I could think of into my bag. Including my camera and autograph book….
“Bri, someone’s going to have to steer the Beast…” Os was slumped against the front seats having just pushed Beast up to the tour bus with Bob. Quite a feat for a midget.
“Thanks, I’m shattered. I’ll drive once Beast is fixed.” I shoved my DS and charger into my bag too. Can’t live without a games console.
“You are joking right? I’ve been driving for four hours!” Os snapped her head up, staring up from under her short and messy blond hair.
“We have been stopped for about an hour so technically you only drove for three.” I want to sleep with MCR dam it. It’s only steering.
“You are unbelievable.” Os stormed off towards the tour bus before I could reply.
I said I’m going to drive next! What’s her problem? Grabbing my bag, I got out and locked the door. It has a bad habit of sliding open whilst you drive. I get to sleep on MCR’s bus!!
----
Bob had made me a hot chocolate as soon as we got on the bus, eager to find out how we got to be stuck in the woods whilst Os steered the Beast.
“So who’s idea was it to bring a 70’s relic on a tour that doesn’t even drive on the right side of the road?” Bob asked as he took a large gulp of his steaming drink, wincing as it burnt his throat.
“Well we wanted to do the big American road trip. And Warped Tour is the most talked about festival outside of the UK. And Os wouldn’t leave the Beast behind for the summer encase it got stolen. The top pops up to form a double and we take it in turn to sleep on the fold out bed in the van so it’s reasonably comfortable.”
“I think I’ll stick to my bunk. I can’t live without my games consoles and internet access.”
We sat in a somewhat comfortable silence as we finished our drinks. I can’t believe I’m sat with Bob Bryar my idol. In the dim lights of the tour bus, Bob was dressed in a simple navy t-shirt and black joggers, slightly smeared with the grease that was coating the Beast. He was clean shaven save for the inevitable five o’clock shadow and despite the weeks of touring his eyes were bright blue and alive. Unlike Osla who looked like the living dead after driving all the night shifts. Ok so I do feel kinda guilty about it. I really hate driving at night though.
“So what are you doing up so late whilst the rest of the band sleep? You put so much energy into your set surly your set to drop by this ungodly hour?”
“A fan I see. I like to keep Mark company for a bit on the longer drives. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Or just have a lie in whilst the others get breakfast.” He smiled softly before taking our empty mugs to the sink.
“Right, I think Marks had enough of me for tonight. My bunks the bottom left. Yours is middle left. If Osla needs a rest once we get to the venue she can jump in the bunk above us. If you give me a shout when you’re up I’ll see about getting a mechanic arranged. Bathroom is first door on the right. Have a good night.” Another gentlemanly smile and he slunk off into the bunk room. After a few minutes I followed, the late hour finally catching up on me.
Sign up to rate and review this story