The tour was over. Arcata was the last show.
We had a really early breakfast with Sam’s uncle and cousins. His uncle told us how pissed off Grandma Ford was at the Arcata Hotel for screwing us over the night before. Sam’s cousin told us he’d tried to do some modeling. Sarah and I both thought he should get his ass to a big city. He was clearly bored where he was. Sarah and I split a big pancakes plate; Sam and Max split an omelette. We lulled around afterwards, then took off north.
We got into Oregon, went through Grant’s Pass to get from 101 to I-5,then went straight up.
Except for one detour… which took two hours. Sam the Idiot wanted to get his antique bobble, but our way was blocked by big fucking river with not-working ferry. So we had to find the nearest bridge, which was way back down in Salem, a good while backtracking. We got it. He was pleased… but he never said sorry. The detour was an epic culmination of a sort. We were so close, and yet we were held up. And I would blame fate – surely it’s just fate that is keeping my desire from being realized. But no, it’s always other people. No grand finale, no grand return. Just a wet impasse.
I loved my time on the tour, but this isn’t the time to express my gratitude and ruminate on my luck. We unloaded in Portland, Oregon at the practice space, then got a ride to the Pearl where we checked into our swanky Condo we were housesitting with Ian for the next several days. It was heaven. For a day or two.
And then it was time to call a spade a spade, see big things to their logical conclusion, and then grow up with a humor that’s sharpened by suffering, all while realizing that the meaning of life is other people and everything else, all of whom and all of which I will love first, and best. Ah-men.
-for Tuesday May 15th, 2012