Getting Schooled, battery suicide intervention and fans with deep pockets on the way to Washington D.C.

After bailing out our RV from the mechanic (to the sickening tune of $1300.00), we packed up our meager belongings and, with the renewed energy of 7 days at home, we jumped back on I-70 for the long trip to the East. We picked up Ike outside of Columbia and drove until we dropped-stopping in Richmond, Indiana at an RV park just after 1am. Now considering ourselves old pros at RV camping, we pulled into the park, skipped the office (who would be up to greet us at that hour?) and went to look for a spot. After a few passes through the park, we were just lining up to back into a space when we saw a sleepy and obviously angry RV park owner hustling towards us. She asked what the hell we were doing, and ever though it was obvious, we tried to explain that we were just trying to find a camping space. She was obviously vexed and told us that if we would have stopped at the office, she would have damn well SHOWN us where to camp. We tried to smooth things over and finally she agreed to let us camp where we had already decided to camp and let us pay in the morning. This is an example of what we in the band call "getting schooled". There have been many times in the history of our travels that we, due to our lack of experience, ruffle the tail feathers of the locals who then explain our transgressions to us in none too polite words. I remember the time in Nashville, when we were schooled three times by three different people over three different infractions in less than 30 minutes. So after getting "schooled", we prepped the RV for the night and were in our sacks by 2am. I got up the next morning and, after taking a shower, went to face the RV owner who looked a little less angry and a lot more awake. I told her that we were the rude Winnebago hooligans that had crashed her sleeping party the night before. She was still a little mad but I told her, "we're a bluegrass band on our first east coast tour..."and so on until I got her to smile and take our money and forgive our trespasses.

Our destination was Cleveland, Ohio and we set off for another long day of driving. As a precautionary measure, we stopped at a Wal Mart outside of Dayton to buy a new battery for The Chief. For the last few weeks in the west, we had noticed a recurring lack of battery power to start the engine and had relied on our backup battery to do the job until we got home. Since we hadn't had time to buy a new battery while the RV was in the shop, we decided to correct the problem before we got into the east coast hubbub. We pulled the battery and took it inside but unfortunately the Wal Mart did not have a match. We got directions to an auto parts store and without really thinking about it, decided not to hook back up the battery for the one-exit trip (it was dead anyway, right?) Ike pulled The Chief back onto the highway and within 100 yards it died. We realized that, dead or not, the main battery needs to be connected in order for the old guy to run. Ike pulled safely to the shoulder and with the semis speeding past us, we got out to hook it back up. The battery compartment on The Chief is sort of like a big heavy dresser drawer that slides out and I had been nervous for the entire western tour because the pin that holds the drawer shut had been missing since we bought it. We got back on the road and after a particularly violent stretch of road construction, I noticed another RV driver next to us pointing at our passenger's side. I've learned that when people point like that, it's usually not to say, "wow man, nice RV!". Ike looked out the window and saw that the battery compartment had broken it's latches and was trying to jump to it's death in 5 lanes of Ohio traffic. We quickly pulled The Chief to the side of the road and made a quick fix until we could get off at the next exit to fix it properly. With battery suicide thwarted, we got back on the road and within an hour or so and a near thunderstorm miss, hit the Cleveland city limits.

The club, called The Winchester, was a very cool place with a great stage, nice sound and lots of seats and tables awaiting what we hoped would be many eager people. We sound checked and went up the street for some pizza. When we returned, Nate and Betse went inside to set up our product and came back with the disappointing news that there was an audience of about 11 people inside. We figured it was just early and got dressed in our duds for the show. There were two other bands on the bill and when we got inside the second band was just starting. We sat and had a beer and while we were watching, three people left. We took the stage at about 11pm and played for a crowd of 8 people + the club owner and bartender. We shrugged it off and played an energetic set anyway to the "Cleveland 8" who whooped and hollered for more. After the show, I counted our cd sales for the night and realized that all 8 people had bought all three of our cd's!

Since we were playing at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. the next day, we decided to hit the road after the show and try to knock off some of the 8+ hours that we would face the next day. Nate took the wheel and drove through horrific fog for several hours before we finally stopped just off the Pennsylvania Turnpike at a Wal Mart for a restless 3 hours of sleep. We got back on the road, badly needing showers and food and through the miracle of coffee, a bagel and cream cheese, and a chocolate milk, I negotiated the perilous Pennsylvania Turnpike for 4 hours while Ike and Nate got some additional sleep. Ike took the wheel next and, like threading a needle, negotiated our beloved behemoth into the D.C. area like a 13-year-old playing a video game. We got to our hotel with enough time to quickly take showers and get dressed for the show. The Millennium Stage at The Kennedy Center was a fantastic experience and we were thrilled for the opportunity to play for the appreciative audience. As Betse mentioned before, you can watch the result in real time on The Kennedy Center's website.