Part 2
   It had been a rough ride and a long haul, but we now had our own trailer. It wasn’t pretty and it kinda rolled crooked down the road, but we figured it would get our shit to the shows and save us the trouble and expense of renting one. Our next gig with the trailer was a week after the Birch Hill show, at Obsessions, a 2-½ hour ride to north jersey.

   This time we decided to take the heavy artillery, namely my Peavey amp, which weighs a ton. Every thing checked out with the trailer. The repaired tire was still holding air, the sky was clear and the road ahead looked smooth.  Funny how in the back of my mind I kept getting the sneaking suspicion that along with my guitar picks and cables, I should have packed a medicine bag to ward off evil spirits. So we head out Jim, myself, our roadies and a few fans in the van with trailer in tow, with Tim and his buddies Dominic and George in a pick up making up the rear of this bizarre wagon train.

   We stay in communication by cell phone as Tim and his tribe stopped off at a roadside eatery. Jim and I are crusin along when about 3/4ths of the way into the trip things start getting a little funny. Actually a LOT funny, although no one is laughing. Weird sounds start coming from behind the van, originating from the disaster from Doichland. At first we thought it was just road noise typical of our crappy NJ highways. But it got worse…We got out and looked the trailer over. We scratched our heads in puzzlement, not finding anything obviously wrong. Being that the weight didn’t seem distributed properly we were afraid the tire was rubbing on the right side. To remedy this we pulled half the stuff out and moved it around. With everything back in, we started off again. Shit is still not right and just as we decide to pull over and have another look the wheel (the infamous, wont hold air wheel) flies off and hits the truck behind us. I feel really bad because the guy tells me this is the 3rd accident he has had with his truck in the last 4 months! With examination of the damage we find that the bolts holding the wheel on have sheared off and repair of the trailer is impossible.

    Now stranded on the side of the road we phone Tim just as they pull up behind the wreckage. This trailer and I had been at odds since I first saw it. Enraged, I start kicking the shit out of it with my big black boots so much so that I kick the back door in and the guys have a hell of a time opening it (oops tee hee).  We all gather there on the side of the road and hold a quick pow wow. One of Sonicide's most sacred creeds has always been that we never miss a gig come hell, high water, or cursed trailers. Being the dedicated and perhaps foolhardy musicians that we are, we decided to cram all our shit into the van, people, gear, everything, and put the drum kit in the truck.  The gods of gigging must have spared us some measure of protection this night to have Dominic and his trusty pickup there, without which we’d have had no way to get all the gear to the venue. Hell bent we frantically haul gear out of the diabolical box of horror and into the other vehicles and speed off to the show, leaving the gutted carcass of the trailer behind.

  The show goes well, the crowd is great. We have some drinks and chat it up with the other bands at the show. Everybody is partying and having a great time. That is until we start to load up gear and discover someone in the moshpit must have unknowingly been doing a rain dance. Tim hits up the owner of the club for some plastic bags to cover the drums hoping they don’t get soaked on the long ride home. Rain pours down as we navigate the twisting narrow road leading away from the club, making the drive slippery and treacherous. Not only that, but for some reason we keep hitting patches of very dense fog. It conjures up memories of half forgotten B rated horror movies from my youth. I almost expect the accursed trailer to be stalking us; hiding in the fog only to block our path causing us to go careening off the road so that we die in a fiery pile of broken bodies and smashed amplifiers. The hideous trailer then sits silent by the roadway in its baby blue paint, waiting for its next victim.

   On the way back from the show, we keep an eye out for the trailer. We look for it where we stranded it but it’s gone, never to be seen again. Jim’s theory is that it was likely carried off by some roadway vulture with a flat bed truck.  But I know better. That hideous trailer slunk away while it had its chance and is now some where out there prowling the back roads. Rolling about through the dark jersey night. You’ll know it by the sound, ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk. The sound of the missing wheel. All that we have left of the trailer of tears is one solitary lugnut off that infamous wheel. Perhaps this small momento still harbors some sinister spirit of its own. I feel strangely uneasy now as I roll it between my fingers. Mabee the trailer is out there looking for it and it’s lost wheel. This small piece of metal I hold in my hand could very well act as sort of a homing device, a beacon if you will. Hey! Did you hear that?  No, no, it was nothing, never mind. So the next time you are driving some dark foggy road in Jersey late at night, you’d better turn your radio way down so you can listen for it. Listen for that sound. From the road up ahead. Unless of course you have a Sonicide CD in the player. In fact you’d better keep one in there and turn it up real loud to ward it off. Just in case. This story I pass on to you my friends so that you may pass it on to yours and  that others may know and remember. And beware.