Reminiscing With The Roadie

Picture this: a man who looks like he was forged in the smoldering wreckage of a Van Halen tour bus, crashed into a Lynyrd Skynyrd encore. Leather vest frayed at the edges, a mullet that's equal parts defiance and despair, and eyes that have stared down more pyrotechnic mishaps than you've had hot dinners. That's our roadie – let's call him Rusty, though he'd probably correct you with a gravelly cackle and a story about how he once hot-wired a golf cart for Keith Richards. He's the ghost in the…