When aspiring rock musicians pick up a guitar or sit behind the drums for the first time, very often they imagine a wonderful fantasy of playing to thousands of adoring, screaming fans. When I had become just proficient enough at the drums to be able to play along to a few songs on the radio, I'd close my eyes and pretend that I was on stage with Weezer or Aerosmith or the Rolling Stones. I'd play along with The Who and desperately try to keep up with Keith Moon's animalistic fills, dreaming that I was on a huge stage with spotlights in my face, looking out to a sea of people.

Touring the country in a fleet of luxury buses, performing at packed stadiums, hearing my name called by devoted fans - these are the thoughts that made my stomach giddy while I practiced. All the while, I knew that unless I hit the highly improbable rock-star lottery (in which luck, knowing the right people, being at the right place at the right time, and more luck seem to be just as important - if not more so - than talent), my reality as a musician would probably fall short of my fantasy.

Fortunately, the allure of the stage is just as potent for me no matter the size of the audience or how bright the lights. And so, with my current band - a surf rock trio called Secret Samurai - we happily play our hearts out on stages that are somewhat smaller than the ones that Mick Jagger prances around on, for crowds that number in the dozens rather than the thousands. It's a far cry from my fantasy, but it's thrilling nonetheless.

Sometimes this far-from-fantasy life can be surprising, too. Last weekend we played our most unusual venue - a roller skating rink. It was a fundraiser for a roller derby team (a fantastic sport involving mean-looking girls trying to knock over other mean-looking girls). We set up at the edge of the rink inside what looked like a huge airplane hangar and did our best to provide a soundtrack to the skating.

The guitar reverberated madly off the concrete walls; the bass boomed and created a muddy low-end haze. The drums cracked and echoed in the giant building. The skaters cheered us on and loved the music, but it was difficult to keep a steady beat amidst all that echoing noise. I wondered if Keith Moon had ever had to play inside a roller skating rink. When we finished I wasn't happy; I knew we'd sounded sloppy with those unusual acoustics, and we could have played better. But it all changed when a little kid and his dad skated up to me and stopped. The kid took a deep breath and tentatively, shyly, said to me, "Good music." Then he beamed a large smile and skated away.

Then my guitarist tapped me on the shoulder; another little kid, with awe in his eyes, wanted to shake our hands and get his picture with us. He jittered with excitement as his mother snapped our photo together. We might not have thousands of screaming fans, but I discovered that two little ones can make me feel just as adored.

BILL ZUCK is planning a stadium tour for 2025. You can reach him at wcz78@yahoo.com.