Full disclosure – I am writing all of this many days after it has happened. My recollection of all but the best espresso is dim and shaky and not to be trusted. We are currently making the drive from Omaha Nebraska to San Francisco.**
Last night, we drove 2 hours after the show to get us to Grand Island, NE (note: it is neither Grand, nor an Island) where Tour Manager / Mr. Manager Henry got pulled over by deputy Wayne… and let off with but a warning.
This morning up at 8:30 to get Phil to an airport so he could fly home. We, meanwhile, drive. The upside is that we’ve had 2 nice espresso stops today.
One in North Plains, NE, and one in Laramie, WY. Here’s the espresso machine at Cold Creek Coffee in Laramie. A truly beautiful thing. My dream android would be this, self-powered, on wheels, with the added capabilities of an R2 unit (i.e.- it would also help me fly my X-wing.)
But when our story left you all, we were breathing the sweet air of peace, and were sleeping in Troy, Illinois. So that is where we shall pick up our tale.
We woke up in Troy, and headed to Evanston – a suburb of Chicago. My heart and mind were filled with thoughts of deep dish pizza… alas, dear reader, this was not to be. Maybe next time, Chicago (pause to wipe the heavy, single tear from my eye).
The drive was not memorable, nor was the espresso.
Space, the venue in Evanston, is notable for its hospitality and fully-rigged recording / rehearsal studio attached to the venue.
When the show was over, we ripped some pretty tasty funk jams in said full-rigged studio… Funky, that is, for a bunch of suburban white kids.
We went to bed, and slept the long, weary, hard-won sleep of people who have been driving too much, sleeping too little, and finally are looking forward to a short drive day.
Where did we get espresso the next day? Who knows. It’s all a blur when it isn’t superb.
We drove to Madison, Wisconsin the next day… I think it was Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.*
Madison was our second date playing with our new band-buddies, Trout Steak Revival. They are awesome players and even more awesome people. Some of the more cynical people of the world claim I only say this because they let me sit in with them playing electric guitar… pshhh. I mean, come on! Pshhhh, I say again. Harumph, and piffle, and the rest of it.
As I was saying, we were playing our second show with the wonderful Trout Steak Revival (who have excellent taste in guitar-players, as I believe we’ve mentioned) – and we were in Madison, Wisconsin – which, it turns out, is a beautiful, lovely, and very pleasant place to take a long walk for coffee and sunset-viewing. I’ll gloss over the show this night… was it us, Madison? Was it you? Was there something you wanted that we couldn’t give you? More bass solos, perhaps? Whatever it was, we were like ships in the night. If you get the Madison Weekly, when it comes out next Wednesday, you’ll see the personal add we posted after the show. It’s posted under “Missed Connections.”
You – the audience in Madison, Wisconsin. Us – The Brothers Comatose. Sorry we missed each other. See you in the Fall. We promise more bass solos.
We sacked out in a nearby motel which probably had a number associated with it… probably a 6 or an 8… and it was another reasonable van call to get to St. Paul, Minnesota the next day. Again, I have nothing to say about the espresso we had this day. One of the doses came from a Whole Foods, which is always disappointing. No local flavor or vibe when you’re at a massive, nation-wide chain.
The show was super fun. The Minnesotans were bad ass, and they got rowdy with us, and it was a great party.
The venue – The Turf Club – had some kind of crazy Minnesota underworld connection, and through a series of phone calls, secret hand shakes and palmed bribes, we stayed at The Radisson. You may notice that the name of that hotel didn’t have any numbers in it at all. Or the words “rodeway, travel, econo, discout, budget,” or any such thing as part of their name. A real, legitimate, hotel.
We had made it.
Not necessarily because we wanted to, but merely to do our duty according to the contracts we all signed when we sold our souls for Rock N Roll, we trashed the rooms.
I know that Ben and Alex left their beds completely unmade. Kyle and I each used 2 towels for our respective showers, and dropped the wet, used towels right on the ground. Ryan and Phil left their empty pretzel bag and apple core in the trash can in their room. Henry threw the TV straight through his 11th story window, and scraped “BROCO FOREVER” into the bathroom mirror with his straight razor.
The last show of our short run with Trout Steak Revival took us to Iowa City, and The Yacht Club. It was also prom night, and saturday night, and we were in the most college of college towns I could remember being in.
The show was a good rowdy time, but no where near the spectacle and experience that was the line for late-night pizza slices. It was awesome. If you ever fear for the future of America, just go get pizza at 1:30am in a college town on a Saturday, the weekend after finals. You’ll come away knowning that everything is just the way it’s always been, and that we’re all just the same savage animals we’ve always been. Our progress as a nation can be measured by the cultural diversity in the toppings.
We said our teary good-byes to our new Trout Steak buddies, promised to stay sweet, to never change, to have a great summer, and went our separate ways into the balmy mid-west night.
The last show of the tour was going to be in Omaha Nebraska. We drove the drive. We must have had espresso, because I am still alive and able to type this to you right now… but I don’t recall where it was…
Omaha Nebraska on a scattered-cloud, warm Spring Sunday afternoon was exquisite… and deserted. I was taking photos of the sun-setting city scape in the middle of the main streets at 6 o’clock… with nary a car in sight. I was wearing sunglasses with polarized lenses… and this is what my eyeballs were seeing:
Despite the ghost-town like emptyness of the city streets, we had some great and goodly folk roll out for the show. We frolicked and sang songs and drank Nebraska beer, and ended the tour in warm and welcome company.
That night began our long and sleepy drive home… which brings us full circle to the beginning of this blog entry.
One more epic drive to go.
*This is not true – I’m great with Thursdays. It’s Wednesdays and – mostly – Sunday afternoons that I struggle with. But never pass up an opportunity to quote Douglas Adams – that’s what my writing teachers would have been wise to say… though they didn’t. Mostly they said things like “This seems tossed off, and written last night in a blaze of procrastination-fueled inspiration. Take your writing more seriously, try proof-reading once in a while, and sit up straight.” They were very observant teachers.
**Editor’s note – we made it from Grand Island, NE to Elko, NV in one day. 18 hours in a van, over 1,000 miles. Insanity. We are all going mad.