Years ago on tour I woke up in the hotel to an alarm going off. Sunday morning, way too early to leave. I walk out the door and all the locals are in the center of the middle hallway, on the floor bracing against the walls. Dude nearest me looks like he is trying not to piss his pants.
When you see the locals freaking out, you know it's bad.
We take a head count and the bass player isn't there. "I think he's in the bus!"
I'm the only one with shoes on so far...
I run out to get him through the biggest hail I have ever encountered, some almost golf ball size, pelting the crap out of me across the parking lot. Most painful 100 yard dash ever.
He ain't in the bus.
The sky is turning into green/grey miso soup but the hail has let up enough to make a sprint back into the hotel.
Eventually everything settles down. A small tornado touched down briefly a few miles from us but no one got injured, just some sheds got tore up.
When the alarms went off our bass player (hung over, green hair and all) was next door huddled into back room of a coffee shop with 20 or so very old church ladies who were probably more scared of him than the storm.
I vowed never to move to a place where that happens all the time. I'll take the earthquakes.
