December 21, 2003

6:58 p.m.

Got back at 3:00 this morning from a Vermont weekend, during which I spent the single most miserable night of my touring life to date. It was half my fault for spacing that I needed to bring the airbed. Somehow the conversation with my band that went,

"Do I need the airbed?"

"Yes, bring it, because otherwise you'll be sleeping on the floor. And bring towels."

changed, in my mind to,

"Do I need the airbed?"

"Heck no, just bring towels."

and I went utterly unprepared for the horror that was to be Friday night.

We played at a little place in Ludlow -- an area, mind you, which we have not yet conquered -- and, once there, were told that nobody was drawing there at any time of year, in spite of a month of advertising, lots of posters, etc. We played to four people from the outside world and about four more who were employed by the place. It's not the first time it's happened, but we always think we're past it and then reminded that the world is vast and we're only known in a tiny piece of it.

We'd gotten directions to my bandmate's friend's house about 1/2 hour away, and came prepared to stay there for the night (except for the abovementioned omission). She warned us that the road to her house was "life-threatening" (because of snow and ice) and her driveway in particular was extremely rutted and dangerous, especially that last little hill. So we headed out to the lodging, and made it down the icy road all right, and up the driveway, in spite of some REALLY deep ruts that we had to get out and examine before deciding whether to risk bottoming out the cars. Finally up the hill, we dragged our acoustic instruments (six guitars, a bass, a mandolin, and overnight bags) into an open, lofted cabin THAT WAS HEATED TO ABOUT ONE HUNDRED DEGREES by a woodstove. After the removal of several layers of clothing, it was discovered that I, the lucky winner, was going to be sleeping on the loft floor, or a slightly padded version thereof (one moving blanket, two very thin unzipped down sleeping bags, and a narrow egg crate -- all of which, when lain upon, squished to the thickness of a potholder). Our hostess offered to sleep on the floor and give me her bed, but I thought I might be able to manage -- it was only one night, after all -- and I reasoned, even though I was severely dehydrated from the gig, that if I didn't have any tea I may not have to climb down the LADDER in the middle of the night to go pee in the compost toilet. We chatted around the table for a while, and around 11:30 our hostess excused herself, as she had an early appointment. I went upstairs to go to "bed."

The first thing I noticed was that, although the downstairs had cooled off to eighty-five degrees or so, the loft was still at about a hundred and ten. I swear to God it was the hottest place I've ever been inside where there wasn't steam coming out of a vent and people with towels lolling about. I opened the one window, to find that cool air did not so much billow in as get pushed farther away from the house by the hot, sultry air that was falling over itself to get OUT. I lay down on the potholder and began to pant. I waited until those downstairs had turned off the light (no railing on the loft meant that if I moved around at all, I'd be seen) and took off my clothes. I opened my water bottle and dampened my face and body, hoping the evaporation would cool my blood. I turned over and mashed my shoulder into the soft, comfy wooden floor. I turned back onto my back. I rolled the water bottle over my temples. I did this for THREE FRIGGIN HOURS, and at 2:30 I realized that it was starting to cool off. I put my T-shirt back on and thought, maybe now I'll be able to sleep a little.

Then my bandmate downstairs started to snore.

In hotels this isn't such a big deal; I wear earplugs anyway, and we usually have the fan running, you know those ac/heating units under the windows. The three of us often have to share one room on the road because we just can't always afford two, and my two mates are married to each other, so we only need two beds anyway. I'm kind of used to the hotel routine. But here we were in a cabin, all open, very woody and acoustically live, in the middle of nowhere with no ambient noise to cover the nocturnal sins of coughing, sniffing, and snoring. I was doing plenty of the former as I'm still getting over a cold -- clearing my throat into a pillow, trying not to wake anyone up. But you just can't do much about a person snoring, especially if they're downstairs and you're upstairs naked and paralyzed with discomfort and misery lying on a potholder with a lukewarm bottle of water against your head. I thought, I'm not falling asleep anyway, so I'll just wait it out.

It only lasted about half an hour, until about the time I started getting congested and really needing to cough for a while.

I wish I could say that I figured out a road to world peace or wrote some incredible new song during my plight, but the truth is that somewhere between 4:30 and 5:00am I fell asleep, and had at least an hour and a half of dreamtime before waking up at 6:30, realizing that I had to climb down the ladder and use the funky john with the mulch in it. At least there was a hint of dawn and I could see where to place my feet. From that time I napped on and off until 8:30 when I couldn't stand it any longer, and got up and showered.

I was in a pretty poor mood Saturday morning. For one thing I knew we had a gig that night and then had to drive 3 hours home. But I put on a good face and knew that it would pass... and eventually we drove back down the treacherous driveway, rode out of town to pick up some Vermont cheese and a couple of souvenirs, and headed to our next gig.

Aside from a slight headache, Saturday wasn't too bad, and I obviously got home all right. The gig was much better than Friday's; people came, they were effusive, they sang along (and we don't even DO singalongs), they got all the humor, and they bought CDs. Some relatives of a presenter in Wisconsin where we've played showed up and brought a lot of people. This basement venue is called Middle Earth and it's modeled after all things Shire-ish, down to the carved trees holding the ceiling up. Great fun after hardship -- and that's just the order in which I like my experiences, thank you very much.

It's still birthday week so I'm feeling quite privileged and special. Tomorrow we go to a yoga retreat for a few days, where we'll play a Christmas Eve concert. I always love going there, and there's someone we know who might come whom I think is cute. He's not really available, but it's pleasant every so often to lay eyes on him. Easy thrills for one so long alone.

I've had two dreams lately of people sort of interrogating me with trick questions to uncover some kind of false pretense in me. I wonder what it is about which I think I'm not being genuine?