Wrong Turn.

Well, after 2,200 miles of smooth sailing, I missed my exit yesterday on the way to North Carolina, and wound up in Abingdon, Virginia. I'm so sick of driving, and even though I didn't get TOO far off track, I still added another 50 or so miles to my drive, at least. GRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!It's ok though because I get to see my guy tonight for New Years Eve! And the rest of THAT story is for me to know and for you to not know. He he he...

2008's been quite a year! Had a great run with Anna McGary and the Thirsty Three and made it to Nashville - now I just have to see what kind of damage I can do to the establishment here in Music City! Haha - Stay tuned and have a happy New Year! What's YOUR resolution?

Birthplaces and Off to the Races!

I left from Mt. Vernon, Illinois this morning to complete the last leg of my journey from Missoula, Montana to Nashville, Tennessee. As I crossed into Tennessee, I crossed the mighty Cumberland River, and drove into Montgomery County, where I was born. I didn't get a chance to stop in Clarksville, but I'll make sure to go back on a weekend when I have more time to poke around. A few years ago, Clarksville was hit by a pretty serious tornado, so some of the buildings I'd remember are gone: namely Collin's music store, where Jimi Hendrix bought some of his guitars. The owner had framed a reciept with Jimi's signature on it, but it was tragically lost in the storm. My Dad used to take me to Collin's when I was little, and it's one of my fondest early memories...I remember looking at the big shiny drum kits, and the newly finished guitars hanging up. Not to mention tuning heads, strings, and accessories that I didn't understand. I also passed the exit to Dunbar Cave State Park...I remember going there with the family and feeding ducks and whatnot.

Here's the Clarksville water tower: And soon I was in Music City: I hooked up with a friend for a tour of the major areas: The rock block, with venues "The End" and "Exit/In". Broadway street downtown has more country venues, but hosts all kinds of artists. We stopped at Tootsie's for a beer - a Nashville landmark where many Country artists got their start. They have two stages in the bar. Seemed too country for me, but it was cool to go in and see all the autographed pictures on the walls. Then it was a short walk past the Ryman auditorium, and into Gruhn Guitars, which had a remarkable collection, and this was excluding the invitation-only room upstairs that holds unkown gems that produce not only pure tones but the drool of their proprietors. After another short drive, we stopped at Corner Music, which reminded me more of Music Villa back in Bozeman.

After seening some of the main points and Nashville, we returned to my host's home for a jam and some quality time with Borat.Hahaha

I'm excited to explore Nashville further and see what little nooks and crannies I can burrow my way into...Game on, Nashville, game on.

Crazy Ice and Creeping Where I Should Not Creep.

Today started off monumentally, literally, when just after pulling onto the interstate, I drove under this monstrousity:
This is the Great Platte (pronounced Pla-as in apple, tay- as in tay-) River Road Archway. The arch is huge...note the tractor trailer passing underneath.

The drive continued on, and the second half of Nebraska looked just like the first, so I won't include any pictures.

I was getting bored on the drive, so when the first opportunity for adventure presented itself, naturally I jumped at it. I drove across the Missouri River, but didn't get a good picture at first...
So I was jacked when I saw what I though to be an access road to the river below. In Montana, there are plenty of access roads that lead right down to the river's edge, and they usually have tables or an outhouse or something similar. I assumed that the road I saw just after crossing the bridge would lead me to a similar situation.

I was SO wrong. Here is the road I soon found myself on:



















Which turned into THIS:



The road wound around, and I found myself illegally trespassing, but determined to get to the river bank. The road turned to ice, and I hoped that the Subaru would be able to get going again if I parked it. I was also worried that I wouldn't be able to turn around, and would have to back out a 1/2 mile on ice. Finally I came to a turn around - well - it was more of a fire pit where several residents had obviously set up shop during the summer, then abandoned for some warmer part of the U.S. once the weather turned. I'm not gonna lie - the place was creepy. I made sure nobody was around before I got out of the car and squished through the muddy ground to get my picture.

There was ice on the river from the storm system that had just come over - likely the same one that landed me in Hardin just days before. Now the temperature was rising again and all of the ice was melting.









Definately worth it for the photo.















Next I crossed over into Missouri, where EVERYTHING was encased in ice. I don't know HOW this happened, but it was so awesome I had to pull over and get a couple of pictures. It was a breathtaking experience - I felt like I was in some bizzare ice world. This was the first glimpse from afar:
When I got out of the vehicle I was surrounded by the crackling and popping of the melting ice. Some of it fell onto the road nearby and shattered loudly.
Not only were trees, telephone poles, and things ABOVE ground encapsulated, but everything at ground level as well, so it looked like the ice was growing out of the ground.
Kansas City was easily navigated, and I was lucky enough to catch a shot of these signs as I flew past. I was instantly homesick for Missoula, even though the last sign said "Go Tigers!" instead of "Go Griz!"














St. Louis was a mess and a half to get through, especially since it was after dark, but I made it and stopped for the night over the state line in Mt. Vernon Illinois. Nashville, tomorrow, baby! YEAH! I'm so sick of driving! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa can you say CABIN FEVERRRRRRRRRR???????????????????????

Wyoming. Nebraska.

Today I woke up to clear skies, and a delicious continental breakfast at the American Inn in Hardin. I downed 2 cups of apple juice, toasted a cinnamon raisin bagel and slathered cream cheese atop its perfectly crunchy surface and finished with instant oatmeal. The waterslide outside looked less than inviting, being covered in snow, still I made a mental note of it for my future life when I come back as a penguin.



As the sun crested over the horizon, I was glad to be on the road again. I still had three hours to go before I made it to Casper, which is where I SHOULD have been leaving from just then.



Wyoming looked like the following picture the entire way. The interstate was hellaciously windy between Sheridan and Casper - so windy that the exit signs
were rippling as I passed, and the mile markers fluttered like thin oragami paper tied to a fan. I passed a semi that was laid out on its side,
excavation project in process, on
the opposite northbound lane. I was
glad I had waited until morning to
drive this stretch.

Pedal to the metal, baby!


There was a Wyoming talk radio show on that was pretty funny - The Bob and Tom show, I think.

Then I got to Nebraska...where they live the good life, apparently... I can't imagine it's a better life than what I'm leaving behind in Montana though.


Anyway, Nebraska looked like THIS the whole way:


Not much different from Wyoming...fewer hills and drier roads. After turning East, the wind was now behind me and I hurtled on to Kearney, Nebraska, arriving after dark.

This morning my trip counter was at 415 miles, and it ended at about 1150, so I put in almost 750 miles today. I am whoooooped. But back on schedule, as I so love to be.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.................

Wow. I'm Really Doing This.

I was up at 5 this morning at my Dad's house in Bozeman checking the Wyoming road report. When it became apparent that I could not get a new car battery until at least 8am, I got up and started playing the Espana, which drew Dad out of his room almost immediately. We chatted for a bit, and then went outside and spent a half hour shoveling the 8 inches of snow from the driveway that had fallen overnight. I was really glad to get the workout since I knew I had 2600 miles ahead of me yet.

By 7:38 the driveway was done and I was off to Walmart for a battery, trailed by C.R. in the Yoter. I HATE being behind schedule, and I'm not going to miss my date on New Year's Eve. The boys at the shop were all friendly, and I'm sure were glad to have the cookies that I left them. I had four dozen. I can't eat that many before they go bad.

Across town, I stopped at another friend's house to say goodbye and made my way back to Dad's for breakfast and to load up my guitars. It was hard to make room for the newest addition, but it happened.

Dead set on getting to Casper, WY by the end of the day, I hit I-90 East and after I got over the Bozeman Pass, the roads seemed to clear up...or did they?


Above is Crazy Peak, just northeast of Livingston, MT.

Hmmm...it seemed to be getting windy as I approached Billings...


And this next photo is what I was driving through as I-90 turned South. Amazing what one little degree of lattitude can do, isn't it?

It was at this point in the drive that I realized the gravity of this situation. I'm driving across the United States of America, away from everything I know, alone, but armed with the past. It was at this point in the drive that each lesson my dad ever taught me about surviving winter storms in the West became a priceless antiquity among my many memories.
It was at this point in the drive that I felt relieved to have in the passenger seat: water, headlamp, shovel, heavy-duty gloves, matches, food, and an atlas.
It was at this point in the drive that I thought: "Wow. I'm really doing this."

I almost started hyperventolating, but reminded myself that I had everything I needed, that there were other people on the road, and that Hardin was just up ahead. I decided that I could survive the next 15 miles, top off my gas tank, use a ladies' room, and snag a road report before I went on.

As I pulled into Hardin, the 18-wheeler in front of me got stuck and I had to wait for ten minutes while he jeed and hawed, and before he was even clear, some guy behind me was blaring his horn for me to move out of the way pronto. I introduced him to the state bird and pulled into the Conoco to fuel up. I used their restroom and talked to the clerk for a minute or two. She informed me that a semi had flipped onto its side just down the road and that she wouldn't travel if she were me. And I'd have to go across the street to the Sinclair, because their gas was frozen. At the Sinclair, I filled up and got the same story from their Clerk. The woman buying fourteen lottery tickets had just come from Sheridan and said the road might be closing soon.

You know, cell phones, car chargers, and the internet are each pretty awesome, but in a trinity, their powers become priceless. I was able to call my Dad, have him look up the Wyoming road report and storm report online and tell me what the storm was doing.
"Well, it looks like you're right in the middle of where all the cloud cover is."
Great.
I wanted so badly to get to Casper tonight! That "Arrive Alive" slogan kept running through my head though, and I just had a bad gut feeling about getting back out in the whiteout. Nobody seemed to be pulling on to the interstate. The weather was supposed to blow over in the morning, so I booked a room in Hardin and decided to gamble my life another day. I've got too much to do to wind up in a ditch. I know some people already had in the early afternoon. My number had a much greater chance of coming up than that woman's fourteen lottery tickets had of winning. At the motel, they booked me in a room with no sheets, so I chatted with the housekeeper, Lisa for about ten minutes. She had gone to U.M. in Missoula for a couple semesters, and was content to talk Missoula for a bit. As soon as she left, I drew up a bath and unwound from the last couple of days.

When I got out of the bath, I was interrupted by the groundskeeper banging on my door asking me to move my car so that they could plow the parking lot again. It wasn't a big deal, but I was so happily relaxed and less than ecstatic about jamming my feet into wet tennis shoes and shuffling out into the beastly weather again. When I got back in, I started the blog page, and I'm going to restring the Espana now before bed. Hope the roads are better in the morning and I can get out of this storm.

It's 70 degrees in Nashville right now.

Remember that saying about grass being greener on someone else's lawn? I'm definately on the fence right now, and I'd gladly rather be at home or in Nashville than wishing for clear weather in Hardin, but hey, at least I've got guitars...



Thanks, Dad, and Mel, and Claude - I'm playin' for you too!

Pretzels, Demo's, and Tow Ropes!

Christmas Morning, 2008

Time to say goodbye to Missoula and hit the road for the big time - Nashville, Tennessee. There are so many people that I'm sad to leave.

But the Subaru packed to the brim, the guitars are secure, and the new fallen snow will make for exciting Montana driving conditions!

My mom braved Highway 93 and drove down for Christmas Eve and to help me pack and clean, and she'll catch the train to Portland today to visit my brother Clark.

But what kind of adventure would this be if there wasn't a problem to begin it?!

I woke up this morning to find that my car's battery was dead. Game on.

So I got a jump from my Madre, filled up and didn't shut the little black Subaru off until I reached Bozeman. On the way out of Missoula, I stopped at my friend Kally's house and picked up a box of Christmas cookies that also included chocolate covered pretzels she had made. They didn't last long.

It's very surreal watching the places and people that you love fade in the rearview, but it amps up my incentive to do well in Nashville. The roads were hardly treacherous today as I had expected, and didn't cause any trouble before Butte.

Butte, America. What a city. I laughed as I drove throuugh remembering a gig this past summer with the Thirsty Three. Drummer Aaron Johnson is from Butte and had given us the insider's tour, including stops at the Pekin for excellent cuisine, Venus Rising for coffee, and a walking tour of some of the amazing Butte architecture. If you want to see Butte at it's rowdiest, stop in for St. Patrick's Day, or for the Knievel Days celebration in the summer. No open container law. Enough said. This summer, Butte also hosted the National Folk Festival for those of you into Folk music at all. Anyway, the Thristy Three and I all drove to the top of Butte and threw rocks at beer bottles before we played at the Silver Dollar Saloon, Uptown. It had been one of our best shows, for us AND for the audience. Butte's just that awesome...their "Downtown" is actually "Uptown" - up the hill. Yeah, Butte!

As you ascend from Butte up Homestake Pass to the East, it feels like taking off for flight, and I hope it's worth just that to leave this awesome state.

I stopped in Whitehall to say goodbye to my friend Ryan...his Grandmas were over learning how to use the webcam to talk to Ryan's sister Cassie in Korea. They would ask Ry a question, then make him ask Cassie. What a riot!
"Ryan - ask her if there are any trees..."
"Grandma, you can ask her - just talk to her!"
Webcams really are amazing.

Back on the road, I called Gil and Deb at Peak Recording and Sound to let them know I was in town. I drove over to pick up 20 copies of Javelina and to say "adios for now" to these awesome friends.

I was ahead of schedule at this point, and called my Dad to see if I could crash the Christmas dinner he was attending with Howard (Dad's roommate) and Patti.

On my way through Downtown Bozeman, I took a few shots of the lighted trees that have been over Main Street for years. Although a probable fire hazard, these gems are much too beloved by the town of Bozeman to be replaced by any other decor.




















I parked the Subaru at Dad's, hopped in the Yoter (Dad's white Toyota Pickup) , and headed up Tabyshockup Road.

After getting incorrect directions and driving three extra miles before I found the house, I finally arrived, and it was well worth it. Our hosts provided me with guest slippers upon entry, and their immaculate home was decorated in a way that would make Scrooge sing Fa la la. It wasn't long before I ended up in front of the fireplace with a guitar in my hands, trading songs with another guest who had brought his own custom made classical guitar along. With a full stomach and a few new friends, our party of four said adieu and walked out into the blizzard that had developed during our dinner.

I don't know how I got into the ditch, but nevertheless there I was. It's not a real Christmas until somebody goes in the ditch, so not wanting to dissapoint, I facilitated just that. 30 minutes, 27 profanities, and one Ford Excursion later, the Yoter was free and we were all soon safe at home. I put in a load of laundry, gave Dad his Christmas present, and hit the hay. It had been a long 24 hours, and as I drifted off, and was snoring faster than you can say road trip.