The Finish Line

I’ve been staring at a blinking curser for the past fifteen minutes, my road weary brain a messy collage of future plans, humorous exchanges while being mistaken for opener Nick Waterhouse, and recalling how much joy it brings me watching Point Break in the front lounge with Steve “Bluto” Libby, belly laughing and drunkenly roasting a doe-eyed Keanu Reeves.  

And this is what the final 12 days of a 77 day tour look like - hoping that whatever well-adjusted parts of myself robust enough to survive three months of cheap whiskey and rider sandwiches maintain their tenuous grip on the wheel.

Everyone’s tired and ready to reconnect with their lives outside the band, but moral’s high - the key, I’ve learned, is letting things descend into ridiculousness, like today’s soundcheck where we sang our tour manager/FOH Ryan “Bear” Drozd’s praises over an especially dumb reggae groove. I’m sure we didn’t give Bear what he needed to, you know, do his job, but we had a laugh (Bear included), and that’s what the push to the finish line’s all about.