We all have our story about how we ended up in Nashville hoping to get that chance to be on top, to finally make it. And in 1987, I sold everything I owned except my van and keyboards and drove through Sarepta, Louisiana to pick up my "new boss" on the way to San Angelo, Texas, for our first gig. His name was Trace Adkins, the band was Bayou. And, for me, this was the beginning of years to come, week to week, paycheck to paycheck, club to club, living out of suitcase and staying in damn near every motel in Texas.

Trace was a struggling musician like the rest of us trying to make a name for himself on the Texas circuit. Playing what he calls kamikaze country. That's anything from Merle Haggard to Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen. If it was going to put food in our stomachs, he'd call it on stage. I learned alot, to say the least. I was in awe how we could go night after night, wondering how we were going to get anywhere doing this for very long. But, Trace kept us working until finally in the Summer of 1989 he'd had enough. He went back to Louisiana to try and regain his perspective, then he moved to Nashville. I stayed in Texas.

I had no plan except honoring the remaining six months of gigs "Bayou" had on the books and wondering what to do next. Three more bands took me through 2 1/2 more years of the same thing, a blind quest to make something of myself. The Summer of 1992, I moved to Nashville. It was the best move I ever made.

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