I'll never forget the time when the Tone Unknown tour van was making an unknown tone which got louder and louder until it broke down within pushing distance of my NW Gainesville home. There it stayed. A family of cats came and went. The seasons passed. Neighborhood kids peppered the thing with fusilades of pellet gun fire. It started to look like Edward James Olmos. Finally my landlord, grumbling loudly about "those goddamned hippies," lashed a tow-rope to it and hauled it off to Bronson where his brother-in-law had a U-pull-it operation. That's my Tone Unknown story.