So rather than ride a bus for 16 hours I asked my musical friends if I could join them on the plane. This tour is a bit rough. Though not as rough as climbing Mount Everest barefoot and naked but it is more rough than the previous tour legs we have acclimated to. We are moving fast and far and have lots of trucks full of gear and jumping between festivals and stadiums and everything keeps changing. Tough comes in various forms, the hard work type were you kick ass sleepless day after day and the mind fuckery tough where you are constantly chasing gremlins between the times you are trying to predict and prevent them. One has a rhythm, the other does not. So maybe rough is not the right word and perhaps more accurately stated, the motion of this tour lacks rhythm, which makes it tough.
As we are greeted upon landing by our bullet proof vest wearing pals, it becomes clear that we are not in Kansas. So of course we grab the tough guys to do a photo op with Sat Hari while crossing our fingers that bullet proof vests won't be an item I find myself wishing I wore.
Now what do we do?
And while thumbing through a German lighting magazine, memories of the good old days come rushing in
And also the age tough.... As you seem to be defying this
toughy better than some. How much mileage can one get out of a body? I guess til it's over and you don't have to think about it anymore. Ha ha!
You know what struck me most about this post? It's that I don't think I can recall you ever using the "f-bomb" in any of your other daily blogs. *lol* =D
Speaking of memories--I saw a bunch of pirates at the tall ships festival 2 weekends ago and I thought about your good ole Pirate days: