Episode 59: James Ease & Jeff Smith

Josh Caldwell: Hey folks, I just want to let you know that I am taking a short break, but I will be back on May 7th with some new fabulous guests. Hope to see you then.

James Ease: They're driving through the desert. The girl is like, you know, we just got to get to the sands. Everything will be okay. It's like at the sands, they're prepared for this like societal collapse and they have the resources and like supplies to like weather through it.

Josh Caldwell: Hello, my atypical daydreamers. Welcome to the show. This is a podcast about life on the road. And thanks for stopping by. If you grew up in the Western United States, as I did, you are very familiar with massive rainstorms. Those towering thunderheads that come marching in like an army in the sky. It's an ominous sight seeing them roll up on you. You don't know if there's a tornado in there or grapefruit-sized hail, or if it's just a little rain and a lot of noise. We can spend a lot of energy bracing for the worst, only to find out that the storm we fear will never actually break.

Today, I have two Texans who found themselves under those kinds of metaphorical clouds. My first guest is James Ease. He's an Austin-based writer and filmmaker. And today, he takes us on a road trip through West Texas fueled by a cinematic nightmare. It's a story of eerie coincidences where every mile feels like it's driving straight into the climax of a thriller. But when the dust settles, you have to wonder, is this a thriller after all?

James Ease: The night before I was going on the first road trip with my then girlfriend, now wife, I had one of these like movie dreams. I'm not in the dream. I'm just watching a linear series of events unfold that form a sort of like film narrative. Generally in these dreams, I'm left with like a kind of a cliffhanger ending and I feel like a responsibility to figure out like the ending, like what this dream meant.

And in the dream, there's a couple, a guy and a girl, and they're driving through this like vast desert landscape. The girl is driving and they're going to this place that's like a resort that she works at seasonally. And she keeps saying, "If we can just get to this resort called the Sands, everything will be okay." It's like there's this ominous mood or vibe happening, like a societal collapse has happened back in the city and they're fleeing from this.

Eventually they stop at a gas station to get water supplies. The guy notices this like white Sprinter van at a gas pump. And surrounding the Sprinter van are these desert people who look kind of like post-apocalyptic—Mad Max style. And they're watching the couple, sneering with these sinister smiles. The guy's freaked out, but the girl says, "Don't worry about them. Just get in the car. We need to go."

So they get back on the highway. It's not long before the guy starts to realize that they're being followed by these people in this white Sprinter van. He can see them in the rearview mirror, getting closer and closer until they're bumper to bumper. The girl says, "Don't worry about it. They think I have something that belongs to them." She makes a hard left onto this dirt road, super dusty. And then all of sudden out of the dust, the white Sprinter van appears again, right behind them. The girl says there's a gun in the glove box, and that's about the time I wake up.

I get up and write the whole thing down. And then I went on an actual road trip in real life with my girlfriend. We're driving her car through the desert to a cabin in the mountains of far West Texas. All day I'm thinking about this dream. We're in a zone where there's nothing around and the car starts to overheat. Steam is pouring out of the engine. There's no cell service.

Then a U-Haul pulls up. A guy named Anthony gets out. He's a mechanic in the military. He diagnoses the situation on the side of the road—a thermometer is blown. He tells me the part to get and says he'll follow us to the next town 30 miles away. We get to the auto parts store, and I spend hours trying to fix it. The sun is going down and I look around. A block away, I see a sign for "The Sands." It's a rundown old motel. I'm thinking we should stay there and figure out what this is all about, but my girlfriend says, "No way."

We get back on the road, winding higher into the mountains, and the car starts to overheat again. We finally make it to the cabin. The next morning we coast down to a mountain town and find a gas station with a garage. They say the mechanic is out until Monday because of a holiday. They tell us they rent cars, but the only one they have left is a white Sprinter van. Just like in my dream.

So we spend the next few days cruising around Big Bend in this van. I’m thinking, what if there actually is a societal collapse in the city and we just don't know it? Monday rolls around, the mechanic takes the car for a 20-minute drive and comes back saying, "The car's fixed. You fixed it—there was just a bubble in the hose system." My girlfriend's happy, but just like the dream, I was left wondering what does is all mean.

Josh Caldwell: Hey, it's Josh. Hope you're enjoying the podcast. If you want more road stories, consider becoming a patron. You'll have access to bonus stories and you'll be supporting an independent podcast. Find the link in the show notes. Now back to the show. My next guest is Jeff Smith, the co-founder and frontman of the legendary Austin cow-punk band, the Hickoids. On a recent tour through Europe during a particularly cold spring, Jeff and his bandmates were pushed into some pretty rough territory. Relentless bitter cold can really test a South Texan's resolve. Jeff shows us how it’s done.

Jeff Smith: At Hickoids, we were starting a tour with our friends, the Grannies. It was our first time in Europe. We land at Schiphol in Amsterdam to pick up our rented gear. The first night, we get a call from one of the Grannies saying there's a hitch because they can't find a friend who flew over to help. He eventually turned up naked and covered in feces in a hotel pantry.

We finally get on the road to Dusseldorf. It was the last week of March 2013 and it was bone-chilling cold—colder than anyone there had seen for that time of year. There was a foot of snow on the ground. We got to Berlin to play at Wild at Heart. We're playing through vintage Marshall amplifiers and the sound starts going in waves. We're convinced we've blown up the gear, but it turns out it was Earth Day in Germany and they had a rolling brownout during our show.

We move on to Belgium to a place called The Pits. It’s just cold as fuck. I’m trying to wear my "Cajun realtor" leisure suit outfits, and even with long johns, it ain't enough. I finally broke down in Hamburg and bought a hoodie. I had to sacrifice fashion for warmth.

The last two shows were at a festival in Bath. All these street rock bands in skinny black jeans were snickering at our "Hee Haw" outfits until we played. The Grannies had to fly back the next morning, and we were carrying all the gear in the rented van. We had one last show booked in London on Easter Sunday. We went to Stonehenge—absolutely freezing—and then headed into London. We lost another hour to daylight savings, and by then Davey and I had lost three hours that year.

We get to the pub in London. Davey has the sniffles and he's grumpy. The PA looks like a home theater system and the manager is a pain in the ass. The sound man starts messing with Davey's pedal board—a huge no-no. We finish the show and have to get out quick to make our tunnel reservation to cross back to the continent.

We get to the channel loading and we're second in queue, but they tell us the train is full. We have to wait an hour for a commercial train with Polish truck drivers who look like they want to kill us. We start driving toward Amsterdam and get caught on the rings of Antwerp. We drove around the city three times because the signs didn't make sense and the mapping app was useless.

We finally make it to Schiphol 45 minutes before international departure. I give the gear guy all the money I have and we run through the airport in three layers of clothes and cowboy boots. We were the last people on the plane. They shut the door right behind us. That was the first time I'd been warm in 10 days, and I immediately started sweating.

Josh Caldwell: I want to thank James and Jeff for sharing their experiences. Keep an eye out for James' second novel, Stray Array, coming out in late 2026. You can find his books at jameses.com. Also, check out Jeff's record label, Saustex Records, and find him on Instagram at Hickoids. This podcast is produced by me, Josh Caldwell. Music by Visual Aid. General support and copywriting by Miranda Caldwell. Thank you for listening and I hope you come back next time.