July 19- The Mesa Theater, Grand Junction, CO– We wrap up cables. We lug and hide and stow our instruments. We aren't well-known musicians here. We're small potatoes. No, we're tots. This requires work. Lots. The mood is light. We scale a Theater. There is a commotion in the living room. We're staying with David, part owner of Mesa Theater. We just ate a shrimp cocktail, eggroll, and pesto pizza on afghan crust dinner at one in the morning. "Smother us and we'll wake up in heaven." We didn't really mean it. This is a high note for us. If the every night astonishes us more than the night before it trend continues, tomorrow we'll be crowned royalty of some foreign cabinet. The following day we'll buy a lottery ticket and give all the winnings away because we don't need them. We repeated our pursuit to drive traffic into the venue by street singing, and met some smiles and met children playing in the public fountains. While we were out and about the cloud cover stormed in and a tempest attempted to swallow us. We took shelter beneath an awning in a cove and waited the downpour's finale. Us versus the precipitation. We met a young woman named Denise who told us all about ourselves, interpreting our signs and stars. We met a man named Dan who told us about his four years of wandering around Scandinavia, hitching from stop to stop. News of his adventures must have trickled down through the years and reached our ears, and may be one of the reasons some of us wander like we do.
July 20- Kilby Court, Salt Lake City, UT– More driving in circles. Big ones. Towering mountains. We thought Utah was flat. We were careful not to make any playful jokes about certain religious groups. You never know who you're brushing elbows with. Kilby Court is a tiny handsome room. Dirty Mittens played and there was dancing. Boots to the Moon put on a great show, too. From start to finish we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. It would be disingenuous to portray a trip of this kind as a vacation. It's true that the road has its lures. It's magnetic. In a sense we're not bound by schedules in the same way we were when we were home. But the truth is, even now, writing from a brand new cafe in a brand new place, we wish we were somewhere else. The next stop, the next tour, the next adventure. It's difficult to leave the body and brain in neutral and enjoy the present. Partial satisfaction. Always looking into the remote. A blessing and a curse both.
July 21- The UMS, Denver, CO– We steal into Wyoming. Pick up a local paper. There is a mountain man rendezvous and a hatchet throwing competition. We consider entering. Interestingly, the entire trip in the vehicle to this point has been without the accompaniment of any music. The stereo has remained off, and for good reason. We've stored enough laughter to extend our lives the next one hundred years. Three hundred bands, and a single strip called Broadway. This is going to be beautiful. We played an impromptu set at Skylark, as the Dirty Mittens broken down van insisted they stay behind. Bittersweet. We hope to see them again soon.
