What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Part 1:
The Journey Begins

"Heading off for the East Coast
Lord knows I've paid some dues getting through"-Bob Dylan

"How often do you get a chance to do this?" That was the question I asked everyone who questioned my rationale for driving from Seattle to Philadelphia. There are people who roadtrip for the sake of roadtripping, but that's a very different form of traveling. This was driving with a clock. At 2 PM PDT on June 30th, I would be ending yet another Microsoft contract. By 5 PM EDT on July 3rd, I had to be in Philadelphia. If I could make it back east by the 2nd, I'd even get a chance to visit my mom for a bit.

On June 30th, I brought my atlas into my office. After knowing about this break in service for months, my final day of employment was finally there. I sat in my office, surrounded by expensive computers and people plotting advances in Windows 2000. I was in the headquarters of the most powerful company in the world, knowing that in 24 hours I would be sleeping in rest stops. I made sure to help myself to the free sodas, loading up my cooler for the drive. Finally 2 PM rolled by. I wanted to hit the road already. I went to my supervisor, handed him my card key, and he escorted me out of the building. I was unable to reenter the building. I was a person of no account. I was unemployed, a bum. I was free.

I got in my car and headed east, fighting off 4th of July weekend traffic. Well past the Gorge, I-90 was filled with campers and trailers. Traffic was going under the speed limit until virtually Spokane. As I crossed over into Idaho, traffic thinned out. I drove across Lookout Pass, listening to the A Live One "Slave to the Traffic Light." Not for the first time, I thought that the very air in Montana was different. Much like the Narnian air, just breathing in Montana made me feel healthier. I could run for miles or fight off trolls. Driving down the far side of the pass, I was more than content. I pulled into Missoula excited over the adventure ahead.

Intermission:
The difference between driving in the East Coast and driving in the West Coast Part 1

On I-80 east of Youngstown, OH, the signs read simply, "New York City." Never mind that it is 400 miles to Manhattan, never mind that there are two states between Ohio and the Empire State Building. The drive through Pennsylvania goes through nothing that anyone has ever heard of. It makes sense to give the distance to New York.

Driving across the plains is just like that, only the cities that we get the information for are ones that no one is really going to. The local DOT's desperately try to drum up enthusiasm. "Whoo," they imagine a driver saying, "I'm only 290 miles from Bismarck!" "Hey kids, wake up. Only 3 more hours until Fargo!"

Part 2:
Chance for disaster

"And we'll make it fine
If the weather holds
But if the weather holds
We'll have missed the point"- The Indigo Girls

Missoula was an interesting stop. Apparently it's not only people who are drawn to the beauty of western Montana. From the time I had hit Lookout Pass, my car was being attacked by Kamikaze bugs. My windshield was coated with the remains of their bodies. All of my attempts to clean it off failed. Finally I gave up and went into the store to buy some candy. Inside the store, a self professed hobo (not a bum) was complaining. There was a Rainbow Gathering down in Big Hole, WY. Some of the people down there were spilling over to the town. The cops were cracking down on them, and it was making life much more difficult for him as well. I listened for a while, and then headed back to my car, which was now covered in a layer of bugs. You know, I thought, maybe a bit of rain would help to clear off the windshield.

Heading back on the Interstate, I saw lightning off on the distance. Sure a bit of rain would help some, but I didn't want to hit a huge storm, at least not with Homestake Pass just on the other side of Butte (There it is!)[1]. Homestake Pass is the worst of the 3 Montana Passes. Lookout Pass is the highest, but its climb is over a 40 mile stretch of highway. Bozeman Pass, other than in the dead of winter, is a joke. As long as the road is clear, you wouldn't even know that you were driving over a pass. Homestake is more of a challenge though. It's so dangerous going down the eastern slope, that trucks have a 25 mph speed limit for a five mile stretch... and this is Montana, not exactly a state that likes to enforce speed limits. Seeing a constant birage of lightning in that direction was not making me happy.

About 100 miles outside of Butte, I hit the storm. I let out a sigh of relief; no Montana summer thunderstorm would stretch for 150 miles. The sigh was shortlived. Sure I was lucky to hit this storm in a good location, but visibility was nothing and there were lakes on the road. It is here where my new mantra helped me. When on a drive of this length, if you hit an obstacle, there's just one thing to do, "Just Keep Driving." Slow down to 45 or 40 or 25 or whatever you need to do. Eventually, as long as you keep driving, the obstacle will be behind you. You might even be surprised at how much distance you have covered when you're finally in the clear. "Just Keep Driving. Just Keep Driving. Just Keep Driving." Chanting that kept me calm. Remembering that I was going in the same direction of the storm prevented me from stopping; I'd just hit it again further down the road. Miles passed while I fought off the weather. Finally the rain slowed and then stopped. My windshield was still covered with bugs.

The storm stopped well outside of Butte, so I figured that I had gotten off easy. I was unaware though that apparently Montana was tired of having tourists clog up their roads. An intentional attempt to cause highway fatalities is the only way I can explain the "Grooved Pavement" up Homestake Pass. I've already explained that this is by far the worst stretch of highway I was going to go over this trip. I wasn't worried at first when I saw the "Road Construction" and "Grooved Pavement" signs. I figured that the result of it would be that my tires would make a strange noise. Montana doesn't believe in half measures though. The asphalt was ripped up to the point where controlling the car was a Herculean task. "Just Keep Driving. Just Keep Driving." I fishtailed my way up to the summit, honking my horn as I crossed the Continental Divide. "Just Keep Driving. Just Keep Driving." I shifted down to second, and then to first. Down I drove. Five more miles. Down down down... Three more miles. "Just Keep Driving. Just Keep Driving." "Speed Limit 75." Whooo! I had made it. I stopped outside of Bozeman to fill up, and pulled into the next rest stop to take a nap. The worst was over.

Intermission:
A musical request

While driving across the country, I was addicted to the Henry Kaiser Band version of "Ode to Billy Joe". I must have listened to it 50 times, proving why it's bad for an obsessive person to have a cd player in his car. Having listened to it that frequently, I do have one suggestion. Could someone explain to Bobbie Gentry that things other than "Choctaw Ridge" could rhyme with "Tallahatchie Bridge." Need examples?

Papa stood up and got something from the fridge
While lamenting Billy Joe MacAllister's fall off the Tallahatchie Bridge.

You mean that preacher don't believe me, not even just a tiny smidge
That I was nowhere near Billy Joe and the Tallahatchie Bridge?

Archie, Jughead, Betty, Reggie, Big Moose, and Midge
Were hanging out with Billy Joe on the Tallahatchie Bridge

Zzyzx's searching all throughout Webster's unabridged
Looking for more rhymes for that Tallahatchie Bridge.

In a band that plans to cover this song? For a small royalty fee, these lyrics can be yours.

Part 3:
Desolation Row

As was alluded to above, there isn't much between Seattle and Chicago. In fact, the largest city along I-90 between those two is Spokane. There are three routes back east. The low road dips south in Ellensburg, WA, goes through Boise, Salt Lake City, Denver, Kansas City, and St. Louis. The high road is the path mentioned above. I-90 from Seattle to Chicago. That would be the path I would take to get back home. To change things up, I decided to take the higher road while heading east. In Billings (aside: for a nearly 1000 mile stretch of this trip the control city [2] on this route begins with a B, first Butte, then Billings, then Bismarck), I merged onto I-94. I soon realized that, by comparison to where I was, western Montana is Manhattan. This actually raises an interesting question. How can the 3 or 4 people who live in the middle of the high desert get onto the Interstate?

Throughout the desert, different states try different ideas to solve this. Western Texas and eastern New Mexico let ranches build their driveways so they intersect the highways. You could just be driving along I-10, and just hang a right into your front yard. Montana and North Dakota found that solution to perhaps be a little too surreal. Instead, at considerable expense, they built exits to nowhere. Montana labels these, "Local Access" or "Ranch Access." North Dakota just has mysterious signs that say "Exit 36" with no additional information. In either case, the person who got the contract to make the blue "No Services" signs made a small fortune.

The only sign more common along I-94 is the one that constantly reminds the driver that they are driving along the Lewis and Clark Trail. While I'm sure the motivation of these was to make the trip seem more historic, the actual consequence was trivialize their journey. Cruising down the highway at 80 miles an hour, one wonders what the big deal was.

Where Lewis and Clark went to get their Stuffed Crust Pizza -Fargo, ND

One of the oddities of being in the Great Plains, is that you get to take advantage of the magic of AM radio. With no major cities or mountains to block reception, you can pick up radio stations from all over. Even during the daytime, I was able to amuse myself by listening to a Canada Day broadcast out of Winnipeg. They were airing a show called "Eh, Canada," a comedy broadcast hoping to predict the future of Canada. My favorite bit addressed the Quebec issue. "They want to be separate, but have Canadian passports. They want to be separate, but use Canadian money. What's a matter? Don't they understand English?"

At this point, I was starting to feel a little ennui. Maybe it was reflecting that, now that I entered North Dakota, I would only once more be able to see a state for the first time (Alaska). Maybe it was the monotony of the Plains. My mood was dying and it was only going to get worse.

Intermission:
The difference between driving in the East Coast and driving in the West Coast Part 2

While listening to "Eh, Canada," a milestone of my trip was reached. It took 1346 miles into my travel, but I finally saw a cop... on the other side of the highway. Some of that was a fluke. Usually there are speed traps in Washington. Once you hit Idaho though, the interest flags. On my entire trips to and from the East Coast, I saw a grand total of 3 cops in Idaho, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wyoming - the one above and two in Rapid City on my return. While taking I-80 across Western Pennsylvania, I counted 25 cops in one 100 miles stretch.

The philosophical difference is clear. Montana says "Speed Limit 75, but we really don't care all that much. Feel free to go 85 or 90. That's what we would drive." Pennsylvania says, "Speed Limit 65 and you should count your blessings that we finally raised it from 55. If we catch you going 66, you'll regret it!"

Part 4:
Why am I doing this again?

"I've been drivin' for 16 hours
This rain is like a metronome.
And on my radio they're talkin' 'bout Jesus
Talkin' all about comin' home.
Now I don't know a thing about it
I close my ears and live without it
You can hear too much when you're alone"- Peter Himmelman

Maybe it was the plains. Maybe it was the endless pro-life billboards strewn across Minnesota. Maybe it simply was the fact that I was 23 hours into my trip and still well outside of Minneapolis/St. Paul. Whatever caused the ennui, it just wasn't going away. I did what I could to fight it. I decided that what I needed was a slice or two of pizza. Little known fun fact: It is impossible to procure a slice of pizza in the vicinity of Minneapolis in the late afternoon. Believe me, I tried. Every promising exit I got off and tried. "Do you sell slices?" "Only at lunch." "Do you sell slices?" "No, they didn't sell." "Do you sell slices?" "Why yes we do. We have pepperoni and sausage. Sorry vegetarian slices didn't sell." I finally punted and bought some fruit at a grocery store and pressed on. Exhaustion continued. I listened in for an hour on a Twins/Indians game. The Twins announcer nobly tried to generate excitement out of the race between them and the Tigers to stay out of last, but even he knew it was a struggle. Fortunately the game was exciting. The Twins came back in the 9th to force extras. The only problem was that the announcers were behind the action. You'd hear the cheers from the crowd and then he'd say "Here comes the pitch..." It took some of the drama out of the call, and made me really miss Mariners announcer Dave Neihaus.

Another way of dealing with road weariness is to come up with jokes that are oh so funny at the moment. Whenever I saw a sign for Eau Claire, it was time to say "Eeeeeeeewwww! Claire!" I felt sorry for the poor girl, but apparently she used just a little too much perfume. Between that and singing "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" whenever I saw a sign for Chippewa, I amused myself through the dusk.

The goal for this night was to make it to Indiana. Twice in my past, I have been kicked out of rest stops. Both times happened in Wisconsin. I didn't want to make it 3 for 3. Perhaps as recently as three or four years ago, I would have pressed on and drove while falling asleep. Maybe it's some actual maturity, but I stopped for the night outside of Madison. Three hours later I woke up... having dreamt about sleeping in a rest stop in Wisconsin and being kicked out by the police. It wasn't the most restful sleep in the world, but it would do.

After waking up, and successfully managing to fill up in the most complicated city to do so in the country (Madison, WI), it was time to prepare to hit up the largest city in my drive- Chicago. Fortunately, I was going to get there at 4:30 AM. I figured at that hour I could save some driving and go straight through the heart of Chicago. Even in the middle of the night, Chicago is a weird place to drive. First I saw some people drag racing. They were playing a game of chicken, weaving in and out of the express lanes. Then I nearly got hit by a car. After it went back into its lane and passed me, I noticed that the rear of the car was held together with duct tape. That reassured me that the driver had a commitment to safety. Finally, as I made the expensive decision to stay on I-90, I passed a car that I quickly dubbed the pimpmobile. That had nothing to do with the car itself and everything to do with the fashions that the passenger in the rear seat was choosing to wear. Compared to how driving through The Windy City usually is, I figured that I had gotten off easy. I pulled into the toll booth at the Indiana line.

Once again I had a choice coming. Either I could stay on the toll roads across Indiana and Ohio, or I could drop down through Indianapolis and take freeways to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. What would make the decision for me, I figured, was how much the toll across Indiana would be. I asked the toll booth worker, figuring that was a question that she was asked often. "How much is it to drive across Indiana?" "$60," she replied. I was nervous for the next few miles but figured she was mistaken. I got my toll booth card; it was a little over $4.

Right around the time of the second sunrise of this trip, I pulled into a rest stop. I got my first sign that I was in fact getting somewhat close to my goal; someone else at the rest stop was going to Camden. The plan for the 3rd was to go to my parent's house in Baltimore if I was making good time or crash somewhere in PA if I wasn't. While doing a little better than I was in WI, I was still tired and stopped a lot through Indiana and Ohio. Around 3 PM, I realized that I wasn't going to want to go to Baltimore in order to talk to my mom for an hour or two. I called Sister Mary Carmen, who was gracious enough to let me crash at her place, and she said that I could stay there one more day. Philadelphia was the goal then. Around Akron, though one last wave of tiredness overwhelmed me. I called a friend there; if I could have reached her to hang out I probably would have found a hotel. Her phone line was constantly busy. I pressed on.

Intermission:
Pay toll ahead

If you look at a map of the United States, you might notice something odd. The atlas I have uses green to signify that a road is a toll road. If you look at the West Coast, you would struggle to catch even a glimpse of green. In contrast, the eastern half of the United States looks like a map of the Emerald City.

In the spirit of that, Some Are Mathematicians now has a toll booth. Please email 40 cents to zzyzx@jambands.com. Thanks.

Part 5:
One last wind

If I had stopped in Akron, this would be a much different story. This story would be about almost making it to the goal but stopping short. It would be about endurance giving out. Instead though, I crossed into Pennsylvania and started driving across the Poconos. I put in a Peter Himmelman tape from Seattle in 96. The miles passed and I suddenly realized something. I was happy.

Ignoring the speed traps, but enjoying the scenery, the old equation held. One tape = 100 miles. Just listen to four more tapes and I would be there. Seattle -> Philadelphia without really stopping. The grand adventure would be complete.

I-80 went on much longer than I expected. When I used to drive from Bard to Buffalo a lot, I had a theory about the New York State Thruway. "There is not relationship between how long you drive and how quickly you get to Buffalo," I would say. "You just drive and drive and drive and when the Thruway Gods have decided that you have suffered enough, you're there. If you have to go to the bathroom the whole time, you'll get there quicker." Apparently the same metric works on the parallel road. I was happy, so the trip took a lot longer.

Eventually though, I saw the exit for I-476. Well that's a lie. I saw the exit that I assumed would get me there. An old law about the Interstate Highway System said that you could not build a direct exit from a toll road to a free Interstate. Only New York and Pennsylvania took the law seriously at all. New York built the non-exit from the Thruway to I-84. Pennsylvania, however, is the home of non-exits. The most famous of these is the infamous Breezewood interchange where I-70 hits the PA Turnpike. To stay on I-70, you have to drive for about a mile through traffic light infested, motel strewn, US 30. People have tried to change that, but Breezewood fears that their thriving motel business would suffer so no new interchange has been built. Getting to the NE extension proved to be somewhat tricky - which did have the bonus of making me feel super secret stealthy - but after doing some trail blazing and deciphering cryptic signs, eventually I was back on the road. I filled up my car one last time around sunset, the second sunset on this trip, about thirty miles north of Philly. I was there! I started to relax. That was my crucial mistake.

Intermission:
The difference between driving in the East Coast and driving in the West Coast Part 3

This one is simple. The West Coast has mountains. The East Coast has things that used to be mountains a long time ago. Sure there is the one long downhill stretch I saw in my Raleigh -> Nashville drive. That doesn't even come close to matching up to Lookout Pass though; that stretch is some 80 miles between the climb and the long descent.

Halfway across Pennsylvania, the PADOT seems to admit it.

While bragging about how high this point was, there is an implied embarrassment. The real action, it points out, is on the other side of the country.

Part 6:
Civilization

Interstate 476 is a weird little duck of a highway. In a way, it reminded me of WA 520 back in Seattle. That road, while being an important bridge over Lake Washington, is a constant source of problems. It only has two lanes, with no shoulders. If a car breaks down - or a barge happens to crash into the bridge - the resulting backups mess up travel all throughout Seattle. The NE Extension was like that, but with some additional little quirks. Apparently, they thought it was a good idea to have the lanes be barely separated. This way anyone with any night blindness at all would have trouble seeing after dark. In addition, the hyperpolite Seattle drivers have been secretly replaced with, shall we say, less friendly types. Moreover, now that I knew I was almost there, my body decided to jettison what energy it still had. The last thirty miles had me chanting. "Just keep driving. Just keep driving." When that started to fail me, I remembered the story one of my friends told me when he was freaking out about driving while tripping. He got some advice from the people in the back seat. "Don't hit the red things and don't let the white things hit you." Following that advice I managed to make it to the toll booth. I managed to figure out how the hell you stay on 476 at that complicated interchange. I managed to, by some fluke of complete random luck, guess that I-676 exit would be a left exit and get off the road in time. I even managed to successfully drive around City Hall, and make it to the parking garage near Mary's house. I parked and walked over to their building. Fifty one hours and forty five minutes after leaving Seattle I had reached Philadelphia. 2874 miles had been driven. I had consumed 176 oz of soda. It was time to sleep.

The next day, we all got in the car and drove over to Camden. I had forgotten what a dive that town was, but I was quickly reminded when Mary stepped on a condom that was just lying on the sidewalk. Picking up my Starman wand, I cast a spell for urban renewal. It seemed to work. The area we walked through after that was much nicer. I didn't know it at the time, but I had just used one of the three wishes I had for tour.

I'm not going to go into much details of the shows I saw because other reviews are quite easy to find. I will say that the second night of Camden was quite pleasant; the second set was one of the best sets of the year. I find it amazing how in the middle of a jam a band member can tease a song that they haven't played in a year, and they can immediately jump right into it.

After three days in the City of Brotherly Love, I was excited again to move my car. A ten hour drive didn't seem too bad after driving cross country. Soon I was in New York

and not much longer after that I was at the border. Going to Canada at the Blaine, WA border crossing can be a tedious process. It can take 2 or 3 hours to do so. Knowing that, I started my stopwatch as I slowed down to hit customs. Instead of the mile or so backup I was used to, there was exactly one car in front of me. I pulled up and the officer started to ask me the usual questions. I admitted to going to the Phish show, and then he pulled out his extra Phish show question sheet. Would I be vending? Did I bring anything illegal with me? ("Why yes I do, want some?") How have the shows been? I suspect the last one was an adlib, but with my answer of, "Last night was just amazing," he waved me through. I looked at my watch. It had taken three minutes.

I was going to be staying at Em and Dave's condo for the show. In exchange, I got them tickets for it. I was a little nervous doing so, as I wasn't sure if they were the type or not. After spending the night before the show watching

a fireworks show from their balcony, I figured that the trip to Toronto was a success already.

On the way to the venue, I stocked up on some Canadian candy. I had been promising the Phellowship table that I would bring them some candy one night to make up for all of the candy I had stolen all tour. This was the show that I fulfilled that promise. It turned out to be a good thing, because they forgot to bring any themselves. We still managed to arrive in time to get the tour of the lot. Well if there actually was a lot to get a tour of, we would have gotten it. Customs did their job I guess, there was little vending going on.

One amusing thing did happen outside the venue. As always, I was wearing my Starman costume. Much Music (Canada's answer to MTV) taped me doing the Meatstick dance. (Aside: if anyone happened to tape that, please contact me. I'd love to have a copy of it.) The show, while very long, was pretty much average for the tour. They seemed to enjoy it though and a good time was had by all.

Insert your own joke here
Going back to the States was as easy as entering Canada. Perhaps Blaine could learn something here. The trip to Starlake was one of the shortest of the tour, and I took my time as a result.

You're putting me through Hell
When I pulled into the parking lot, something was wrong. They were charging us to enter the lot. Nothing wrong with that? Sure there is. Right there on the ticket, it said "$3.50 Parking Fee Included." Maybe it's because I was wearing a superhero outfit, but I decided that I was going to get to the bottom of this. I finally found the person in charge of the venue policy and then I called Phish Tickets By Mail on my cell phone to get them into the conversation. "What do you mean that you know nothing about this charge? This person right here says that the money was sent to you directly." Finally the truth came out. It was a venue charge, not a parking charge. "What exactly does this money go for?" "Stuff."

Weird policies seemed to be the name of this venue. On my way into the show I was given a little grab bag of candy and toys. I then grabbed a free weekly from the stand to read while waiting. As I walked into the venue, first I was told that no newspapers were allowed into the venue. Excuse me? The name of this venue is the Post-Gazette Pavilion at Starlake. No newspapers allowed into the Post-Gazette Pavilion? After they explained away that fiasco (It turned out there were some fires at "XFest" and they were scared that the scary, pyromaniac Phish fans might start more.), they looked in my bag. "What's in there?"

Thinking they were looking for drugs, I replied, "Just some candy." Candy was not allowed into the venue. Using some quick thinking, I changed my story. It was gum. As the security people argued amongst themselves whether gum was allowed, I walked inside.

Intermission:
You know you've been on tour too long when...

• You think Phellowship candy is a delicacy
• The day isn't "Wednesday" or "The 10th", it's "Second day Deer Creek."
• Someone asks you where you're from, and your answer is last night's venue.
• You go to get an oil change and, no matter how you try, you can't stop reading the sign as saying "First Tube"
• You don't know the name of the town you're in, you don't know anything at all about the state you're in, you're not even sure what time zone you're in, but you know 4 different back ways into the venue.

Part 7:
Hell

Before the tour started, I had this date circled. July 8th, Alpine Valley. No days off after Star Lake, a long drive that involved going through Chicago, a lousy venue as the "reward," worrying about this day entered my thoughts by the second set at Star Lake. I started leaving for my car as the encore began, because I knew that traffic would be a pain getting out of that lot. I managed to beat it, and made it to Ohio before napping. When I woke up, I went into the rest stop and saw some people who had just managed to pull in there. I brushed my teeth, was amused that the distance board gave the mileage to Seattle, and pushed on.

When I crossed into Indiana, I was excited for a chance to play one of my favorite road trip games. Imagine that twenty years from now, you get transported back into your body of 2000 (or whenever it is). You don't really know where or when you are. While trying really hard to get clues as to what's going on, how long can you go and still not know where you are. The hard part with this game is playing fair. I knew that some obscure county would be in Indiana because I was just there a week ago. After 20 years though, I would have forgotten that. I scored one of my highest scores ever in Indiana. Even the billboards were pretty unclear as to where you were. The first exit ruined it all though. Indiana state route signs actually say Indiana on them.

When I hit Gary, I saw signs for a mall just south of I-94. I figured I would stop there and pick up the fourth Harry Potter book, just released that day. I thought it might be amusing if I went in full Starman outfit. I entered the mall, waving my magic wand around, and walked into the first bookstore I saw. I didn't see any Harry Potter novels on the shelf and was about to ask, when I noticed a pattern in the titles that they sold. I was in a Christian bookstore. I quickly left before they noticed I was there. Barnes and Noble had a much warmer reception. They wouldn't even let me leave the store before they took a bunch of pictures of me buying it. I wonder if the photos are still up there.

I was making good time, so I pulled into the Wisconsin Welcome Center to rest. Hippies were lying around everywhere, exhausted. I then knew that this was not going to be a great show; the crowd had no energy to give to the band. They could have started "Destiny Unbound" or "Harpua" and maybe there would have been a mild cheer. People would wake up from their naps perhaps.

The Alpine parking lot is a grassy field. They parked us in 4 deep. Very dark clouds were rolling in overhead. I tried to picture the scene of all of us leaving through a swampy field and began to worry. I reached for my wand and pointed skyward. It shall not rain today. Wish number two came true.

I don't remember much about this show. I was tired, the crowd was annoying, the playing seemed off, and my morale was non-existent. If I hadn't been through this many times before, I would have been more upset. Sure I was talking about selling my Deer Creek and Columbus tickets and just going home, but I knew that was just my tiredness talking. In retrospect maybe I should have blown off the show. I was seeing it, not out of hope that something good would happen, but out of fear that I would miss something if I didn't go. That's the wrong reason to see a concert.

Oddly enough, I was able to get out of the lot quickly. Note that I didn't say "Fortunately, I was able to get out of the lot quickly." It was not fortunate at all. I knew that we would not be allowed to sleep in Wisconsin's rest stops, so I had to somehow make it all the way to Indiana. I was exhausted. I kept having microdreams where I was at a toll booth, and would wake up to find my foot on the brake. Let me take this opportunity to oh-so-sincerely thank the Wisconsin police for forcing me to drive when I was that tired. At least I knew that Indiana would be nicer, and I slept for 8 hours before heading for the Creek.

The Deer Creek shows will be the focus of next month's column so I'm skipping over them here. Upon leaving the Creek, I was getting depressed. A once huge stack of tickets was down to two. Only Columbus remained on my docket. When I pulled into the lot in the first night, once again I noticed the clouds rolling in. This time, though, I cast no spell. The rains came down. For a long time, I wandered the lots, enjoying being caught in a thunderstorm. When the hail started, it was time to retreat to the Zzyzxmobile. Once in my car, I found my black warm fuzzy. I put it on. There are few things better in the whole world than to be soaked and freezing and then put on a warm fuzzy. I managed to control my moans of pleasure somewhat, but I think I scared the neighboring cars.

The sun came out, so I went to put away the fuzzy and change back into my Starman outfit before going into the venue. That would be a huge mistake. Little did I know that the storm had one more round to go, that the Phish show would have a rain delay, that way down in row P in the pavilion, I would get soaked. There is little doubt as to why exactly I got sick after these shows.

Like I was afraid it would, July 15th rolled around. I had one last request of the lot for my last show though. I wanted a "Worst Show Ever" shirt. I wandered to and fro, waving my wand and trying to cast a spell. I saw all sorts of cool stuff, including

a woman making smoothies with a bicycle powered blender. No shirt though. I continued asking for it and walking around. Walking is part of the Columbus experience of course. Shakedown was so far from where my seats were that I nicknamed Polaris, "The Bataan Death Venue." Walking around a corner, someone heard my cry and called me over to his van. He was friends of the person who made the shirt and had an extra. Ten dollars poorer, wish number three had come true.

Phish played a great show that night. I was surrounded by cool people from Seattle. If tour had to end, at least it was doing so on a high note, ending with my all time favorite cover, "Loving Cup." I walked back to my car, and bought a veggie sloppy joe. As I gave the vendor her money, I told her, "Have a good show." It was then when it really hit me. Tour was over.

Intermission:
Fun with DoT's

One thing you get to see when you drive across the country is how different Department of Transportations deal with their state. Pennsylvania, for example, has two quirks. One is that they assume that their citizens are complete and utter idiots. Whenever they reduce a highway to one lane, they put a "Do Not Pass" sign every 20 feet or so. The signs are so prevalent that I used them to steer by when in a white out situation in 1992. The other piece of weirdness is that they refuse to believe that other states exist. As I mentioned above, I-80 in Ohio mentions that it goes to New York City. Once you leave Ohio, you won't find that mentioned again. I suppose that makes sense. After all how many people care about New York City compared to Clarion, Du Bois, Bloomsburg, or Hazelton. Even at the extreme eastern part of the state, the control city is Delaware Water Gap.

If PaDOT is the most questionable DOT out there, Indiana's might be the hippest. Is there a big city in another state? InDOT will quickly mention it. Chicago and Columbus are control cities in Indianapolis. Moreover, in construction zones, they put knock knock jokes. Sure the jokes aren't actually funny, but at least they try.

Part 8:
Going Home

"Atlanta's a distant memory
Montgomery's a recent birth
And Tulsa burns on the desert floor
Like a signal fire.
And I've got Willy on the radio
A dozen things on my mind
And number one is fleshing out
These dreams of mine
And it's 200 more miles of rain, asphalt in line
Before I sleep
But there'll be no warm sheets or welcoming arms
To fall into tonight."- The Cowboy Junkies

Looking at tour schedules before I left, let me know that I had one more show on my agenda. If I could just make it to Harmony Park, MN by 7 PM on the 16th, I would be in time to see Widespread Panic. Widespread tour is a different world than Phish tour. By Madison, I was on the path of the tour, but only saw a car or two at each rest stop. Eventually I found the venue, after driving over a dirt road for a mile or two to get there. I decided to stay out of costume for this show. After seeing a tour as "That guy with the stats page," or "That Timer Person," or "The Guy Who Wears that Starman Costume," it was a welcome change to be just another person in a t shirt and shorts. Ok I would be lying if I said that I didn't love the attention, but an incognito show was interesting. I only wish I could say the same thing about the concert. This is not to say that it didn't have moments. The opening "Pleas" was nice and I love "Diner." The second set opened with "Action Man," which I enjoyed because of its resemblance to Pink Floyd's "Interstellar Overdrive." During a long drum solo, I decided that it would be best to relax. I walked back to my car, and let the music lull me to sleep. I'm sad that I missed the "Low Spark of High Heeled Boys," but I had a long drive ahead of me.

This time I started out in the isolated part of the country. I let myself stop at a few places this time. I had heard of

the Corn Palace of course, but I did not know that it is an ampitheatre. Free suggestion: let's have a String Cheese Incident show there. I'd travel to Mitchell to see it. Wall Drug, on the other hand, was a disappointment. I went mainly to fill up my endless water bottle with their famous ice water. My cold was getting really bad, and while driving across the country resembles resting, lots of fluids were still needed.

I-90 in Wyoming is an unusual road. Being somewhat mountainous, WyDOT wanted to be prepared to close it at any moment. The last exit at every town has a sign with flashing lights. "I 90 closed when flashing. Return to Sheridan." I ran into a thunderstorm at Buffalo. Rather than repeating my mantra, I figured that some food might help my cause. Since Subway, much to my non-surprise, didn't have garden burger subs, I went to the Pizza Hut there. My first attempt at food had chicken in it. They gave me too much garlic bread. All in all I spent over an hour there. The reason why I stopped at that particular Pizza Hut was because I had remembered it from when I was in Wyoming in 1986. They messed up my order that time too.

By time time I got back on the road, the storm was gone. I kept thinking back to the WSP show I had seen and how far along I would be if I had just blown it off and kept driving. I tried to forget it and just continue with my trip. Wyoming became Montana. I got through Billings and over the pass to Butte. Outside of Bozeman, right after sundown, I took a nap in a rest stop. Well it was supposed to be a nap. I ended up sleeping for 8 hours.

I woke up and headed towards Washington. I made it over Lookout Pass. At the ID/WA line, I decided to stop one more time for water. As I pulled into the rest stop, my ABS light came on. Shortly after that the Check Engine light came on. I pulled into the lot, turned off the engine, and tried to restart it. It wouldn't start at all. Barely 300 miles from home, I was broken down.

Maybe I was still 300 miles from home, but I was broken down in perhaps the best place possible. I was 10 miles away from Saturn of Spokane. It was only $80 to tow to there. I got out and started praying for it to be just an alternator. That would be a cheap repair after all. I waited to get the news. Around 11 I got the answer. It wasn't what I was hoping it would be. It was even cheaper. It turns out that something was wrong with my fan. Running my heat caused a fuse to blow. If I hadn't seen WSP, I would have been using the heat at night and might have broken down in South Dakota. If I hadn't slept for 8 hours, the breakdown would have been in Lookout Pass. Instead, I was right near a Saturn Dealership, perhaps the only Saturn dealership within 1000 miles. They charged me $100 or so, and I was on my way; the repair would have been ten times that in Wyoming, maybe twenty times. Sometimes I suspect that I do lead a charmed life. At least this once, the gods of tour were looking out for me.

[1]Sung to the tune of "Whoop, There it Is" Whenever I say "Butte" for the rest of this column, add the "There it is!" yourself for extra enjoyment.

[2]A control city is the major city on a highway sign. In general, highway signs try to give two cities, a local destination on top and a major city on the bottom. A good example is I-90 heading out of Seattle. It says "Bellevue [eastern suburb of Seattle]/Spokane [280 miles away]"