Arlinda told me wild tales about her time touring with Rare Earth. She narrated to me about her role as stage dancer. However a relative of one of the band members does not recall them having stage dancers. It is more likely that she toured with Peter Rivera, who quit the band in late 1974. To further complicate things, this photo is of Arlinda on tour with a band that is not Rare Earth, and might not be Peter Rivera's band either. So I am framing the following anecdotes of Arlinda’s as fan fiction, and leaving it out of her biography:

Arlinda’s time on tour seemed like a satisfying dream, one that dances just beyond waking, full of energy and color.

The photos she kept captured band members in a transitional period. The chemistry among the band members radiated from the stage in waves, folding into the audience like the smoke from a late-night bonfire, warm and wild.

Arlinda was part of that magic. On stage with them, she was an extension of their sound, her movements rippling over the deep groove of the bass, her feet tapping in time with the electric thrum of the guitar.

Between 1974 and 1975, Arlinda found herself swept up in their first tour. The performances were a burst of energy. Arlinda found a way to fit in naturally with them both on stage and off.

The road was long. The nights longer. The music never seemed to stop. Backstage, they joked and teased, a tireless romp of spontaneity. Their music would follow her for the rest of her days.

The band’s dressing rooms were often filled with laughter and excitement. Arlinda recalled with uncontrollable laughter that the band members had a knack for pulling pranks to lighten the tension of life on the road. One of their favorite tricks involved switching the labels on the bottles of the tour manager’s meticulously organized bar, resulting in unexpected flavors and stifled snickers.

On more than one occasion, the drummer would sneak a drumstick into a bandmate’s back pocket, only for it to fall out, click-clacking on the floor, which counted in laughter from everyone around.

One afternoon, a malfunctioning fog machine filled the entire backstage area with a thick, blinding cloud. The band turned the mishap into an impromptu game of hide and seek, with the bandleader declaring, “First one to find the missing tambourine in this fog gets out of soundcheck!”

Despite the lighthearted antics, the band always took their performances seriously. Their pre-show huddles began with a quick word of encouragement. Sometimes a shot of whiskey to steady their nerves. The guitarist would often say, “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget,” and the band would explode onto the stage with the mission to have a good show.

Post-show, the spirits shifted into something more languid and intimate. The band and their friends would gather. Sometimes other musicians or local celebrities would show up for the jam session. Guitars would emerge from their cases, the keyboard tinkling with the first few hesitant notes before the room filled with the soulful mix of classic rock, blues, and soul.

Arlinda would strum her guitar, as part of the musical family. These sessions relaxed the band. The music meandered wherever it needed to go. No one cared about the time. No one counted the hours as they rolled into early morning. The music was all that mattered.

Arlinda stayed on the restless ride through cities and stages. She had become part of the motley family who shared experiences on the road. And she could return to that camaraderie anytime she flipped through her photos of that moment.