The past month has been scattered with moments of epic beauty, both visual and human. We haven’t played as much as I’d have liked, but we did what we set out to do with only two really “skipped” nights (we took the nights off in Fort Collins, CO and Nashville, TN – deciding, wisely, to spend the time with friends instead of our playing music). We’ve passed through a number of different mountain ranges, and ranged our drives from whatever our lowest point was to whatever our highest point was, which I don’t know – but I DO know there was at least 8000 feet betwixt the two. We’ve burned a lot of gas, but less than we would’ve in almost any other vehicle that wasn’t purely electric (Heather’s Hyundai, on a good day, actually gets better mileage than most hybrids), and we’ve eaten a lot of meals of varying quality with the best (probably – the various seconds were CLOSE seconds) being at Justin McMahon’s mom’s and the worst (definitely – the various runner ups WEREN’T close) being at the Dive Bar… and we’ve definitely NOT gotten enough sleep (I was logging mine but then got too depressed). Moods have ranged from blinding rage to ecstatic giddiness and honestly, hashtag Tourlife is just like hashtag reallife except compressed and amped up.
Today we’re driving past mountains of kudzu beyond which mountains of MOUNTAINS skulk (the Smokies are off to our right, but after the Rockies it doesn’t seem worth the photo) and we’re headed to our last show of the tour. Raleigh, NC will be welcoming us with open arms and a sold out show and we’ll be SO grateful not to have a drive afterwards. We’ll sleep as long as we need tomorrow (but STILL not as long as we’d like) and then drive HOME.
I dread the state of our carpets.
The allergies, congestion, sneezing and itchy eyes that plagued me throughout the Mid-to-True West have calmed and though I hate it, I guess my body’s telling me I really AM adapted to the east coast – a land of worn down mountains, horrible traffic, and more familiar pollens. The Appalachians are a gentler drama.
I’ve avoided being tuned out. I’m sad about the news and continue to be horrified by Trump and his antics. And “antics” are the right word. Just chaotic nonsense tearing the country apart piece by piece. Listening to tales of Jennie’s or Justin’s nephews and nieces, or Gail and Kyle’s grandkids, meeting Whitney’s children, or simply parsing the barrage of messages from Heather’s kids – I dread the world they’re inheriting.
And I guess that’s why we’ve been on the road for a month. Welness check on America, right? I didn’t see a land of cruelty. I didn’t meet people who’d gleefully lock immigrants in children and joke about feeding them to alligators. I didn’t meet anyone who feared their pets might be eaten by their neighbours or gesture meaningfully to their guns. We saw no blue bluer than that surrounded by red, which frankly might explain why we haven’t seen any Confederate flags or really horrific bumper stickers since we’ve left home. It’s the bastions and rage of defense and minority.
I hold out hope that despite the damage being done, it has more to do with a dying gasp than a true pendulum swing, but the dying gasp is that of a monstrously powerful fist and even if it dies, it’ll grasp us all from beyond the grave with AI-generated avatars, coal powered machinations and gluts of cash clogging our information superhighways, choking off our ability to discern the fact that we don’t actually hate one another.
I’m an exhaustobunny
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