I was driving Dinty's van down the 81 in PA, thinking about the possibility of a per diem, when I casually mentioned that I had shot my wad at the Cracker Barrel. Ry suddenly needed a bathroom break and Billy tactfully volunteered to drive...I'm probably a little paranoid but that's when you realize you really are on the road and that there's a Cracker Barrels every twenty miles...
  Vermont to Tennessee is a pretty good run, so we started fast as a flying toad from Cambridge. Dead Flowers and Restless Heart one night. American Girl and No Expectations the next. Jenny's pony was out of the barn, down the hill and before we knew it Sean had dedicated You Stupid Motherfucker to Billy Ruane for his great enthusiasma.
With growlers of CBC ale in a box... What's it to ya fat boy?
...we headed to Hadestown, well the Monty of Vermont. Anais kicked us like she knows the Tennessee Stud, and dove deep in dark water through Soft Parts, and brought the boys of summer too. Meg and Ben had the cafe booked up and the onion river flowed. But there were no dungeons or dragons for us because we had to drive. And so the next morning it seemed like the NYC traffic started in southern Vermont. At least by midnight we were sipping Sauza with Lilly at the Rodeo Bar, and realizing that this was not the last we'd see of Will Garrett. Well he wasn't in Roanoke the next night so perhaps that was our best gig. (just joking Will). But then again, thanks to JP and the Kirk Ave. Music Hall it probably was.
    Like a Hatch Show print Nashville was beckoning and beautiful, but we were hacking so bad by the time we got to Sarah Siskind's house we couldn't even sniff out the moonshine she had in her freezer. Damn. Talk about stuffy. Grimey called it the junk when he heard Ry coughing, or was it when he saw the mike and table? haha. But with the Wheels and Kevin Gordon, with Angelo and Frank and Angeline too; with Madi and Kyle and Jordan singing I'm on Fire, just for a moment we was back home. Listen to Don't give up on me and heavy heart. Listen to me explain in great (metaphysical) detail later in the van why Jimmy Reed is the King of rock 'n roll just like Kevin says. (It has something to do with Dubuque). The bartender's eyes twinkled as he poured the Patron. He'd been at the Plough and Stars in '86 when we were young.
By the time we crossed the Smokeys the bunny was deep into Watership Down, and Sean was slicing tomatoes up front on Dinty's deli special ice chest. After breakfast we wandered from Shoney's to the Dixie pawn shop downtown, looking for something to be redeemed. And for some good coffee.
Well we knew the West End Wine bar would be waiting for us just over the hills of Caroline, so it was back to the van...