Illustration: Scott Chenoweth
Editor's Note: CS Louis has spent the majority of his life serving the Gods of core. And now we've given him a chapel he likes to call: "Every Wall a Door" to preach his gospel. You're likely to find wisdom, surfboards, dusty backroads, a lot of frustration with the idea of "air wind," bars, third-world discotheques, waves with juice and lengthy rumblings about trying to find them. You'll probably end up hungover. In this second installment, a band called Styx in a land called Mexico. —Travis
I love Styx because I love Mexico. I love Styx because I love driving all night in Mexico. I love driving all night in Mexico because it is forbidden to drive all night to Cabo in Mexico. And while doing forbidden shit in Mexico, I fucking love jamming Styx.
We were four post-adolescent Renegades fed up with Southern California’s Grand Illusion selling Miss America to any Blue Collar Man with a Crystal Ball between their legs. Four men proclaiming they’d be working “online” from the road for the week while touring the entirety of the Baja peninsula. California to Cabo, 3000 miles in seven days, zero minutes of online connectivity, and karaoke sung with no less than four transvestites.
“Whatever you do, don’t drive at night. There are cows in the road and [...]