Rogue Valley tour diary, vol. 6: Comfort zone

​Rogue Valley's tour diaries are written by frontman Chris Koza and edited by bandmate Peter Sieve. You can read their first, second, third, fourth, and fifth installments.

Everyone slept in late the next morning, Portland was its grey, soaking wet, bone-chilling wintery self, but despite the uninviting weather, I felt compelled to put on my running shoes, a stocking cap, call my brother, and get a few miles in before anyone else was up.

That afternoon we headed north to Seattle for our show at the High Dive in the Freemont Neighborhood. If you don't know where that is, just ask someone where in Seattle the giant statue of Lennon and the neon-swim-cap wearing-lady-diver convene. The sound man had it dialed in, and we ripped through our set, starting with False Floors and ending with Rockaway.
We made the late-night drive south to Portland after the show in Seattle, relying on Tom Petty and an episode of Arrested Development to keep our eyes open. I bought a bag of jalepeno potato chips which perked me up better than coffee ever has. Why people don't start their day off with spicy crisps versus a boiling black beverage, I don't know.

The next night we did our club show in Portland at a vibey new near the east waterfront called Bunk Bar. I had never heard of it, but when I checked out their website, Polica and Cursive were both on their schedule, so I knew it was legit. Since we had a long drive to San Francisco the next day, we played our set, saw some friends, and did a respectable job of behaving and getting to bed at an early hour.

​Salem: 49 degrees.  Mt. Shasta: 38 degrees.  Sacramento: 61 degrees. San  Francisco: 57 degrees.
After a day of exceptional driving, we arrived in one of our favorite cities from our fall 2011 tour. We had a show at the same venue, Hotel Utah, and this time were sharing the bill with Safe (SF) and Butter (Missoula). All of the familiar faces were there, from sound man, to bartender, to audience. We all shared this strange sensation that right then and there, no time had passed; that there are different orbits coexisting and that minutes and hours, and details as such are relative and irrelevant.

The next day we found Baker Beach steeped in a fog so thick, it swallowed every man-made and natural landmark. The waves crashed violently over the cement-like sand, and the seagulls punctured the clouds with their shrill cries. I started taking some video footage that I had in mind for a music video but stopped after a few shots.  Sometimes the lens gets in the way.

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