Driving for the corps - 2022 Tour

Late night ponderings along the way.

3:32 AM MST: I’m plowing along, heading upstream in a river of red, barely keeping up with the current. A wake of white reflects in my mirrors, snaking its way up the mountain behind me, gaining as we fall further and further behind. Max’s engine is screaming to ease up on the gas but I ignore him and press my foot down even harder and lean forward, pulling back on the wheel because that somehow helps. “Come on comeoncomeon!”

Somewhere in my recent past I lost my momentum and now I’m relegated to the slow lane where the big guys drive, hazards flashing their defeat in the speed game. I fumble around on the dash, feeling for the switch to engage my hazard lights, hoping I don’t inadvertently switch on or off some other crucial component of the rig.

Despite my focus on trying to actively win the altitude and speed battle, Max’s sluggish pace through the darkness provides ample time for my mind to wander and ponder.

Where do my thoughts go? No place productive, that’s for sure. Less about profound mystic epiphanies and more Whoa, where did that come from?! Why does every mountain road have a Deadman’s Pass? Creepy. Why do I feel the need to hold my breath when I see the exit? Pachyderms and peanut butter. Do they prefer chunky or smooth? What about Nutella? Can I crack the outside of a peanut M&M with my teeth and pick off just the shell with my tongue before the chocolate starts to melt? Does that experiment justify the family size bag I just consumed? No. Do different colors of M&Ms taste different? Jury’s out on that one.

Despite being fully engrossed in this deeply academic, gastronomic study, I start to notice a commonality – a camaraderie if you will – with my fellow drivers in the red and white river. A semi passes with a trailer proudly announcing TROOPERS Drum & Bugle Corps in large block letters under crossed golden swords. It is followed by several more trucks carrying the same logo and words. Buses follow, dark windows punctuated by glowing screens that faintly illuminate dozing faces.

The massive back doors of trailers announce The Academy and Blue Knights. The familiar deep blue of the Columbians semi fills my view with its distinctive shield. Pick-up trucks, pulling heavy with trailers full of additional equipment and food, mix in with professional CDLs leading the way through the night. The volunteer drivers, like myself, trying to figure out how long haul drivers can possibly keep their eyes open at this ungodly hour. We’re diligently playing along though, trying to act cool as we impersonate the professionals and pass ourselves off as Truckers.

This unlikely procession hit the road several hours earlier, following the most recent DCI (Drum Corps International) competition. Initially we were spread out, traveling at our own speeds but the mountain equalized our travel, bringing us back together in the darkness.

We’re heading to the next set of schools where hundreds of kids camp on gym floors and practice on football fields sitting idle in the summer heat. Then it’s on to an early evening step-off at yet another location. Our competitors are the very same kids who are currently folded onto uncomfortable seats in the buses around us. Everyone who is not driving is trying to catch a little shut-eye in preparation for the unloading and practice that will commence only a few hours after the sun breaks the horizon, marking a new day on the 2022 DCI Tour.

I forget the M&M challenge for a moment as I’m taken by the dynamic scene around me. This overnight push includes four corps who have been matched up for Open Class and World Class competition in the past few venues. The line up will change in the competitions ahead, with some of the convoy around me peeling off for other locations all over the West. Others will fall in with us in from their own treks across the country.

Our Columbians have scoured the schedule and eagerly await seeing and competing next to some of the other favorites: Blue Devils, Battalion, Mandarins, The Cadets, Santa Clara Vanguard. Familiar names from years past, highly respected, with brilliant new shows, innovative music, incredible athleticism, and in many cases, old friends who marched together in different groupings over the years.

Each competition is marked, not by brutal competition, but rather with triumphant support for each other. Regardless of who has the field, the crowd loudly whoops and hollers for the perfect solo, the chest thumping push, the rifle toss that defies all odds and lands exactly as it should. Scores are as much for the corps seeking their personal best as they are for that day’s comparison. National rankings are posted but at the end of the evening, it’s more about the judge’s critiques on how to be better than to stand on a podium and receive an award.

My sleep deprived mind sets aside the other musings as a bigger picture starts to take form. We are one convoy made up of a mix of corps, driving through the night. Huge buses carrying several hundred musicians, guard, and staff. Semi-trucks. Trailers. Volunteers. Food trailers to feed everyone four meals a day. Merch trailers. Massive nightly movements fueled by enthusiasm, drive, energy drinks, and diesel.

All this for 12 minutes on the field to show how it can all come together in a powerful, incredibly complicated mix of music, dance, visuals, theater, and athleticism. 12 minutes that took a year to design, build, and execute. 12 minutes of judges wandering the field, pointing out every tiny misstep, every issue with sound, macro- and micro-feedback on all jumps, catches, and musical notes. 12 minutes of performance by members who have dedicated weekends throughout the year and then most of their summer. Members who auditioned, often over and over for months, hoping to be awarded a contract to join the corps and then paying handsomely for the opportunity.

At the very moment that I’m grinding my way up a mountain pass surrounded by this sea of red lights ahead and white lights behind, corps across the country are doing precisely the same thing. For the months of July and August DCI drum corps are traveling and competing, presenting their 12 minutes of magic in almost every state.

If you could somehow catch a birds eye view of the country from above and distinguish these particular rivers at night, you’d see them heading out each evening after a performance with new vigor, spreading and melding in different combinations as each day passes. They are slowly working their way toward Indianapolis, Indiana, where at the end of August, the final competition will bring together thousands of members doing their very best to shed their individuality to become a single organism for their 12 minutes in the spotlight.

4:28 AM MST: We arrive. My mouth is raw from candy over-indulgence, my eyes jittery from energy drinks. The horizon begins to lighten as we pull into the dark parking lot of a school snugged into a sleeping neighborhood. The buses do their final hissing exhale as the doors open and corp members stumble across the blacktop lugging suitcases, sleeping bags, and pillows. Time for a few more hours of sleep before the new day begins.

I set my stabilizers, shut down the grumbling engine, bring up the generator, step over sleeping sound crew members, and climb into bed. Pure exhaustion sends the peanut-eating-pachyderms packing. Across the country, corps are doing the same as one giant musical montage of talent beds down until the metronome summons them back to the field in the light of a new day.

Looking a bit worse for the wear after a night of driving.

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I hope you’ll enjoy this video I made from the 2022 Columbians tour, For a River’s New Path.