CURSE OF THE I-5 CORRIDOR PART 2

The violet light of dawn and dusk in summer and fall in the Pacific Northwest has me transfixed as I drive toward Seattle a second time in a week. This time it’s dusk and a purplish circle of sky floats above the beautiful Cowlitz River, named for the Cowlitz Nation who have been here thousands of years. I am in a loop on this highway. It has less sting since I did it last week, much thanks to my cousin. I can’t stop seeing those clouds of mist looking for their lost ones on the clear-cut, bald mountainside scrapes though…

I’m headed to rehearsal for our show at the Gorge opening for the Dave Matthews Band. I arrive at the Graduate hotel in Seattle’s U District around 10:30. I am wrecked, hungry and quite dirty. The desk clerk insists I am not on my reservation despite the fact that I have all the info and he has checked in the rest of my party. I try to give him my confirmation number again as I know our tour manager and our travel agent made sure to have everything sorted when we all arrived. “You’re not on the reservation,” he interrupts. I am very displeased, especially when he tacks on a “ma’am.” “Don’t call me that,” I hiss. I am NOT a ma’am. “Ma’am” is usually meant as a dismissal disguised as “high road” or manners, which is also bullshit. I step to the side and call the tour manager, Mike. He explains that he only has the same info I do, but he’ll call the front desk and give it one last gasp. Seconds later the desk clerk is saying I am ok. Wait? So, a random man you just talked to for maybe a minute over the phone, with no ID is more legitimate than I am, standing in front of you? I walk away. I have done this to avoid escalation. Ma’am is not amused and goes out to retrieve their car from the valets, who unfortunately have already parked it far away, but the valets are really kind and give me back my vehicle free of charge. I over-tip them and park across the street, and get on my phone to try to find a hotel. Unfortunately, Bumbershoot, a fan con and Metallica are happening so I can’t find a hotel anywhere. Not even at Sea Tac airport. I rack my brain. I remember a fancy hotel I stayed at years ago called the Arctic Club, which is way outside my price range. I am between a rock and a hard place so I call. The desk clerk was so kind and managed to find me a room. When I arrived my credit card didn’t work because I had already paid for a block of six rooms for two nights at the greasy-ass Graduate. Fuck. Me. I pulled out my personal debit card and hoped I had enough for the room. Thank god it worked, but I know I’ll have overdraft fees. 

By the time I got to bed it was 1:30 am. The next day I had a wicked headache from lack of sleep, too much driving and rage. I had to lay down on a couch for a couple hours in the middle of practice. My kind bandmates pressed on. Turns out I wasn’t the only one who had trouble with The Graduate. Paul walked into his room to find a used condom on the floor. I realize this sounds made up, but you can’t make this stuff up. There were unsupervised dogs barking their poor heads off at all hours and lot’s of towing the company line with “It’s our policy…” I had escaped to the Arctic Club but my poor bandmates were not so lucky. We had a lovely second day of practice and boarded the bus for the Gorge, my favorite outdoor venue. (I am a little home-state biased I’m sure, but it’s drop dead stunning.) I was so exhausted from mixing, driving, feeling, and rehearsing I found a couch and passed out after soundcheck for most of the afternoon. I needed it badly. 

I woke up and groggily prepared for the show. I did a vocal warm up with the band, which I have only started doing since the last tour thanks to Adam Schatz. Why had I not been doing this my whole life!? It really helps and it’s good for you. I guess at 53 it finally sunk in. It’s a little embarrassing. It was very hot and dry at showtime but we were all excited to play. It was beautiful when we hit the stage, the sun was getting lower and golden hour was upon us. It felt good to stretch from the inside out. To see the people sitting across the terraced slope on their blankets enjoying the beautiful day. Most people did not know who we were but it didn’t matter, they were kind and warm. That is one of the good things about Dave inviting us to play the show; playing for new people. I don’t know Dave well but we have played together a few times and he has always been incredibly kind and inviting. He even hangs out for the show! The band and I are very grateful to him and his band and crew for their generosity. 

What do you eat for dinner after a hot, dry show? Why, two pieces of cake of course! (Don’t tell Rachel’s kids I did this…) I wasn’t in my right mind and ideas of nutrition were not apparent. As the sun went down I dangled my legs over the edge of a porch ledge and stared out at the Columbia river. I thought of how horrible it is that that beautiful, powerful river is named for Columbus. How horrible it is that the Grand Coulee Dam stopped the salmon from running upstream and greatly fucked up the salmon culture of the Spokane Nation. The government thought of the Spokane people starving as a fortunate side effect of the dam going in. There is so much heartbreak here. I thought of the massive sturgeon who live in the Columbia. They are huge, gentle dinosaurs. It makes me feel ill when I think of humans just cutting out their eggs. They live to be very old and according to statistics they are more critically endangered than any other group of species. But people want caviar so fuck them, right? Yep. Or they just want to sport fish them? Fuck that. People have no thoughts beyond next week, I swear to god. It’s extra cutting that the August full moon was “Sturgeon Moon.” For some reason that makes me feel incredibly alone. I run my hand along the side of a bumpy, silky sturgeon under the water in my mind and music begins to echo off the cliffs and hillsides. It warps and swells which makes it sound somehow more magical. The sound of happy people in the warm night air soothed me a little. 

After some more driving I somehow I finished another week in Portland, a bit of a husk. I flew home, record unfinished, in time for my 54th birthday. I am spending it alone which doesn’t usually make me sad, but for some reason this year it does. I’m happy to see Coco and the cats, but it’s bittersweet to return home to no Jerome the dog, or my horses. It feels like I failed somehow. I know this isn’t true, but it hurts anyway. Some kind of change is coming. Big change. 

This was my view out the window of my hotel in Seattle. The fence surrounding raw ground downtown was banded by painted names of many of the tribes of Washington State. I found it very powerful and it was very moving to see it and read the names I’ve heard all my life. I learned them for a reason and they stay with me.