Four Autumns, Four Bobs, Four Corners, No Waiting

HEY, KIDS! RUN YOUR CURSOR OVER THE PICTURES TO SEE FUN CAPTIONS!

Wednesday, 10/21/09

After a day in Seattle recording part of the new album (and my drooling over the autumn colors), we fly en masse to Denver, where the Denver airport is SO damn long… every time I have to change planes here I invariably land at Gate 42 and need to get to Gate 95. Yes, 95! And most of the United terminal is one continuous hallway. As I told Richard, it’s like being in a Stephen King book, where a normally non-threatening setting becomes one of Dante’s Circles of Hell. But it’s OK… we’re bound for a new airport, which I find oddly exciting these days.

Durango, Colorado has four gates. And everything’s closed, so the trail mix I gulped on the plane will have to suffice. Dan’s sister Mary, with whom I have had many Facebook chats (and who I highly suspect would be Mah Drinkin’ Buddy if I lived here) picks us up around 10:30pm. It’s a crisp 40 degrees and I dig it. On the 45-minute ride to Farmington, we discuss various All-State Choruses: her students auditioning for New Mexico, Dan auditioning in Wyoming in 1990, me in New Jersey in… (aw crap!). After that I can’t get the alto part to “The Silver Swan” out of my head for the rest of the ride. On the dark drive south, as an altitude headache chooses a bat, on deck in the back of my brain, Mary fills us in on Farmington Fun Facts: Republican in a very blue state, not as near the Four Corners as I’d hoped, and sarcastically called “Charmington” by Durango-ites (Durango is “hippie snow town” to Farmingtonians. The Eugene of the Rockies?) We ascend and descend over dark mountains as fog slips in and out, Dan sees a shooting star and lights glimmer, then seemingly disappear into canyons. This is gonna be pretty when we actually get to see it on the way back Friday morning…

The Super 8 is indeed pretty super – quiet and clean, free WiFi. I fall asleep to Bill Maher and company.


Thursday, 10/22/09

The New Mexico morning sun blasts over the mesa that borders Farmington. It’s clear that this is not Farmville, the Facebook game, as I am not handed any cows or pigs upon leaving the hotel. The dry, crisp sting in the day is welcome – although it’ll eventually be in the 60s. And Mary and Kira (Dan’s soccer-player niece) are eerily functional at 9:00 a.m. We buzz Starbucks on the way to the workshop. I can’t buy the cool New Mexico mug – we have too many mugs now, and my policy is to only buy mugs from places (mainly Northern, of course) where I am sure I want to live – like Vancouver, Seattle, New York, etc. I don’t own a Los Angeles mug – ha!

The Piedra Vista Pipes are an enthusiastic ensemble of high schoolers, led by the irrepressible Virginia Nickels-Hircock, whose high desert energy is surely solar powered. The kids ask great questions and sing us a song called “Sweater Weather” that sounds like a more poetic “Kill Your Television” – the lyricist plays with turns of phrase and clichés that sound funny side by side. Matthew posits that The Bobs do it. The bigger session in the school’s gorgeous theater, for three school groups (including a ceramics class?) is also a hoot. Another ensemble sings a Coldplay tune for us and we work on group pulse with them. Their version of “In My Life” is a music educator’s diction dream.

About 25 of us head for Si Señor for some local (New) Mexican eats, but (I couldn’t make this up) the place is evacuated due to a gas leak. We’ve barely sampled their infamous “white sauce” and chips before we’re headed for Fuddrucker burgers. (No, Señor!) We mingle and munch over malts and meat at the Fudd. Some of the kids ask us about college. "Do I study music like I want to?" “My parents won’t pay for that – they want me to do X." One guy is obsessed with Berklee. How can I advise them? I say what I always say, and firmly believe: “If you can be happy doing ANYTHING else, do it. And don’t go to a conservatory-type school first if you have the option – you can always change paths later.” Later on, we’ll learn that some local kids freak out and return to Farmington when things don’t pan out for them right away after college. I can understand that instinct – this feels like a very safe place.

On the way to the show we cross town to sample Durango Joe’s, a local coffee place at which Matthew declares “A Great Cup of Coffee” is to be found.

The show is at the gorgeous Brooks-Isham Performance Center, a jewel of a venue in the middle of the high desert – literally on a county road in Kirtland, NM (past Shiprock, from which you can clearly see the huge Monument Valley-type rock it was named for). And it’s a SUPER, albeit oxygen-challenged show (we are at about 5300 feet). It amazes me how some audiences who’ve never heard of us lap us up like honey, while others completely don’t get us. It doesn’t seem to matter whether we do more conservative shows in the places where we elicit confusion – meaning mostly more familiar cover tunes and a leash on the bizarre humor. These folks are GREAT. Afterwards, we talk to the Director of the venue about returning, possibly with the Rhapsody in Bob show and more outreach programs.

The pizza at Three Rivers Brewery gets me. BBQ chicken, tons of cheese and sweet, sweet caramelized onions. Ah well. I’ll try to be carbless tomorrow. We laugh and drink and swap stories of bad gigs, cool cars and The Cilantro Takes Like Soap Gene (which Dan and I both have). The rest of downtown Farmington is closed up for the night…



Friday 10/23/09



“Hey, that’s the same sun from the pictures of New Mexico,” I groggily chirp as we board Mary and Rick’s van one last time. Rick checks us out of the Super 8 with way too much energy for 7:30 a.m. and we trundle back up the hills of the San Juans to the Durango-La Plata County Airport. The morning light reveals gorgeous yellow leaves set back against shrubby mesas, a huge, cloudless sky, and eventually, the snow-capped San Juans in the distance. We pass small farms, construction projects and many trailer parks. I pop more Advil. Dan points out The Ol’ Meat Shop, sending us spasming into giggles.

The Frontier flight is eventless, save for the plane being nicknamed “Seymore” after a baby harp seal and a super officious flight attendant. Richard is reading Stendahl’s The Red and the Black. I geekily hum Sondheim’s line from A Little Night Music, “There isn’t much blue in The Red and The Black.” Will my musical theater upbringing ever retreat into the recesses of my hard drive? (No.) And we’re BACK in Denver… shuttling to the Microtel, extremely near the airport - so much so we see tumbleweeds - and extremely quiet. We all buzz the Diner for lunch and then, I believe, all nap until we’re picked up for the show around 4pm…



…by Über-Bobs fan David McMillen (see my December 2002 Bob Tale, Silver Bobs, Part Two), with whom I arranged this gig. Super-Dave (aided by his wife Mishi, son Ty and able assistant Diane, all big Bobs fans as well) originally booked us to do a double bill will Denver local vocal powerhouse FACE. When the Mile High Vocal Jam was announced soon afterwards (an a cappella festival featuring The House Jacks and various clinicians) for the same date, he partnered with that promoter (sound god Tony Huerta) and the gigs merged, so as not to force fans to choose between the two. And as of this week, our pal Blake Lewis (formerly of Dan’s Seattle band, KICKSHAW and lately of American Idol notoriety), got added to the lineup. These festivals are always a lot of fun, although they do tend to run long…

Highlights: Rediscovering at the Meet-N-Greet that Deke Sharon (CASA, the House Jacks) is extremely funny, FACE’s trademark arrangement of “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana (YES! A fascinating choice – why can’t more vocal groups be this adventurous?), adorable Blake’s monster sampling-DJ set including audience voices (and a jam with Dan and other former KICKSHAW bandmates Trist Curless (from m-pact, here as a clinician) and Jake Moulton (now singing with the groovalicious House Jacks.


OUR short set is immense fun. Blake joins us for a funked out version of “Searchin’” and the gracious, immensely Brangin’-It Mark Megibow of FACE (who I met when I judged the Harmony Sweeps in Marin in 2007) Ginger Bakers us in a march-rock-like “White Room” in which I’m now quoting “25 or 6 to 4” in the guitar solo. The place explodes.

My Denver pals Mimi and Dan bring me a beautiful necklace… wish I had time for another full visit with them. When we played Golden a few years ago, they picked me up and took me to Red Rock for the day for a truly beautiful afternoon. And I’m reunited with a pal I haven’t seen in … dare I say it… 24 years. Dorinda and I were last seen together romping in Plays-in-the-Park’s Pirates of Penzance and Evita in central New Jersey. It’s wonderful and amazing to hear of her successes in music and film here Denver. I’ve got to come back just to hang with her and Mimi. Seriously! You can see all of Dorinda's pictures here.


Saturday, 10/24/09

Seriously excellent sleep (guess the altitude helped exhaust me). And we’re back at the Denver International Airport for the 3rd time in four days. And we’re so giddy that we’re listening closely to standby passenger announcements in order to mock people’s names. (That’s how you know we’re professionals… and… adults….) We’re picked up at Midway and shuttled to Schaumburg, showered and shipped to the Prairie Center for the Arts.

…which I am shocked that I don’t remember, having played here in 2000. It’s true that travels tend to blend together, but I’d like to think I always have at least one specific memory from everywhere we’ve played. Have I finally started losing the brain cells that contain THIS information, too? Especially since the whole staff is SO great – tech director Ethan, hospitality coordinator Pat, the humorous dudes that drove us everywhere (including the inhumane hour airport pickup for Matthew on Sunday). We’re supposed to be doing a Q&A as part of the Midwest A Cappella Fest Part II (Part I was in Detroit last weekend), but it’s canceled - a bummer for several reasons, including that we all could have used another hour at the hotel to nap… Dinner is an excellent feast from Bonefish Grill. A Cappella Festers seemingly emerge from the corners of the building for photos as Dan and I set up merchandise sales with the front of house folks. Very flattering.

The show is pretty great – a rowdy crowd again (that’s three in a row) that includes my cousins, aunt and uncle and a friend from Berklee I haven’t seen since I left Boston in 1990. We’ll catch up in Chicago on Monday, hopefully. I break the strap to my dress yet again spazzing out in “White Room”… Lots of pix with enthusiastic Fest coordinators Greg Vaden and Jeff Swearingen of Elmothumm. Maybe we’ll return in 2010 to do the Detroit show with them.


Sunday, 10/25/09

When I wake up around 9:30 in a comfy king bed, I think about Matthew, already 90 minutes into his flight to San Francisco (he’s trying to get to a Santa Cruz wedding today), Dan at O’Hare and Richard at Midway taking off right about now. Suckuhs. My cousin’s hubby is picking me up in an hour for a day of gooniness in the Chicago ‘burbs with my aunt & uncle from Columbus, my cousins and two silly little girls who like to scream when they find ladybugs in the backyard. There will be great food. I will discover the wonders of Home Goods (Cost Plus World Market-y). 4-year old Lily will propose a toast at dinner and declare that “Whoever whines gets no dessert.” I will meet a spooky, animatronic cat (my cousin is allergic but Lily is obsessed).

And I’ll end up in Lincoln Park, where the yellow/green trees, light drizzle and a soft streetlight send my brain barrelling straight back to Boston, and Portland, and my early 20’s dreams of my life-to-be. And I'll lunch and dinner with friends from Syracuse and Berklee who add to the sense of reverie. And cousin Julie, I shall never reveal on Facebook what you told me about your intestines the last night I stayed over!

September 2009 - Carolinas on My Mind

Thursday, 9/17/09

I’m glad Alex dropped me off early. LAX’s Terminal 6 is usually the SECRET terminal – you breeze through security and can still access 7 and 8. It’s a zoo. Apparently there was a TSA shutdown an hour ago that’s having an accordion effect on the line, like traffic on a highway. Thrilling. But it’s made up for – I have the entire Exit Row to myself!!!! Sadly, it’s just to Houston, where the Durham flight is delayed 45 minutes. And on THAT plane I have so little room I wonder how people as tall as Dan can even bear airplanes. First time I’ve ever seen a guide dog aboard as well – a full size Lab. So well trained, never barks. I know you’re not supposed to pet working dogs, but it’s hard to stifle that! My seatmate and I discuss Indian classical music – apparently there are rules even stricter than the Academie Francaise in this genre.

When Dan answers his phone, I report that I’ve finally landed and will meet him and Matthew at the Northwest baggage claim so that Richard, who rented a car and drove down from Virginia, can get all of us together. He responds, drolly, “Uh, I’m in Seattle.” Codeshare flights, check-in agent stupidity, and security going through his bag with the effects pedals in it a zillion times delayed him so much he missed the noon flight. He’ll be on the redeye through Cincinnati and we’ll pick him up at 10:30am. Poor guy. Red eyes are the worst…

Richard tells Matthew and me of the awful stau he encountered on the way down, lengthening his drive from 4.5 to 6.5 hours. Then, bleary-eyed, he followed the directions to “301 Residence Inn Blvd., Durham” and pulled into the Residence Inn, where the desk clerk said there was no reservation. He re-entered the Priceline number and said, “You’re at the Courtyard. This is 201 Residence Inn Blvd. But the Courtyard is next door. And you're here in two days.” No supermarkets are open by the time we get back there, so I suggest that Matthew try the little market at the front desk of the Courtyard. Failing that, he could try the Residence Inn...

Friday, 9/18/09

The Starbucks dude mistakenly puts an extra $2.00 on my card instead of deducting it, then tells me, “Ah, forget about it… have a nice day!” So things are looking up in North Carolina. Dan had texted at 8:00 a.m. to say he was in Cincinnati on schedule, so we head back to RDU. I ask Richard if it’s RDU that’s only a written language – or is that Sanskrit? (whoop – whoop – deafening geek alarm) Matthew thought it was spelled Erdu, not Urdu. (No, silly, that’s Perdu, the lost language of Mayan chickens.)

Heading for South Carolina, I do not envy Dan all of this scrunched up traveling in a row with no break. The five hour drive is uneventful. We cross the Pee Dee River. I nap through our second sighting of South of the Border in less than a year (how did THAT happen?). We listen to XM Laugh USA, tired of the negative national news. Once in Aiken, we sense a theme… identically sized horse statues of different colors on gorgeous lawns that peek out from behind low fences. There are definitely two sides to this town. And it looks like the hotel is in the other one...

Richard tells Matthew to turn on Corman Road to get to the Holiday Inn Express. We get all of the luggage out and tromp into the lobby only to be turned away. Because the itinerary actually said to turn at Corporate Road to get to the Howard Johnson Express. Richard is officially fired as the READER of the directions for this trip. And we'll wish we'd stayed here.

Dan sacks out. I buzz the Wal-Mart for the Hartz mice Sitka likes (I wouldn’t go there otherwise for political reasons) and the Dollar Store for sunglasses (I won’t pay a lot for things I keep losing), then hit O’Charley's for dinner. While consuming an amazing steak and bleu cheese salad as big as my head, I read ad-packed local papers and an Augusta-based alternative weekly with some interesting stuff. Lee, a gentleman on his way to work at Bridgestone Tires, says hello across the aisle from me. He says he “feels bad” that I am eating alone.” (I don’t.) I really love to meet people on the road but am always wary of giving out too much information to strangers, you know? This sweet guy tells me he’s “always meeting people on the way out of this town,” and his eyes mist over. It makes me realize that I am ALWAYS on my way out of town, from the minute I arrive. Which fills ME with an odd sadness. He tells me "There isn't much culture here, just golf and horses." I am a stranger in a strange land. The cool horse art photo on the right is from here.

Reading the directions to the venue from the itinerary on Richard’s clipboard (remember, he was fired from that job), I accidentally lift three pages of paper instead of two with my thumb, revealing Richard’s To Do List. There are no verbs on it, just phrases, names, etc. But I have to ask about the entry that sends me hurtling into a Giggle Fit, “Dump.” While fruitlessly trying to grab the clipboard back from me and cursing, Richard explains that he has no city services at his Virginia farm, so he has to cart things in his truck to waste sites. Dan and I are still spasming idiotically as I snark that this entry explains why Richard’s been full of it for so long.

At the Etherredge Center on the campus of the University of South Carolina, Tech Dude/God Teddy's all-student crew keeps him hopping - and he does a quite excellent job of running up and down from the sound console in the house to the upstairs booth making adjustments – I think he lost 10 lbs.! He and Dan geek out (shown at L) over Dan's Star Trek shirt. The show is very conservative – no, we don't do any Joe Wilson jokes (although I thought about yelling “You lie!” when Matthew was giving the audience a brief group history) or refer to “hiking the Appalachian Trail.” But oddly enough, no one reacts when we mention Stephen Colbert, or the fact that we're all missing Rosh Hashanah services this evening (I gave up my usual High Holy Days gig in Beverly Hills to be here). Quietness isn't indicative of anything, although most audiences DO warm up eventually - it just means they are polite, or not used to the informality we bring to the table. It’s sometimes challenging for performers like us, but we never let it affect what we do. The proof is in the post-show reception, where our promoter tells us she loved it, and the program sponsors shower us with praise - they can't wait to talk to us about what we do!

Saturday, 9/19/09

“Well, you can cross ‘Dump’ off of my list for TWO reasons,” Richard says as we load the car, re-triggering the Giggle Fits. Although Dan and I slept well, the Howard Johnson’s was indeed a no-star affair at which I kept my socks on, and Matthew, having locked himself out of his own bathroom at 5am, easily broke the door. At least no snakes crawled up from the “pond” next to the parking lot (see the July 2006 Bob Tale, The Great Air Conditioning Tour).

Following a tip from a wise audience member last night (I get these all the time now!), we head for a Yankee oasis in Aiken: Bagels Baking. The Stern family moved down here from Manhattan about 20 years ago and now run an excellent New York themed business with their partner, “the Grumpy Chef.” We laugh, joke, yak and egg with Mark Stern for about 20 minutes about New York and New Jersey, about which his knowledge, particularly of Metuchen, is astounding. As we drive away, Dan remarks that "Bacon is the only possible substitute for good coffee in the morning."

Bursts of storms chase us up Route 85 but Dan Bob is undeterred. We listen to XM’s NPR NOW and “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” and assorted iPod tunage until, finally, we’re back on Residence Inn Blvd. This time at the Residence Inn! (Whose suites feel like castles after the HoSchmoes.)

Matthew and I head to Food Lion (“So I can cook eggs in my underwear again,” he says – a long-running Bobs in-joke.) I buy Italian cold cuts and cheese, then wait for him by the car, where I realize I am actually quite hungry and start to dig in. Then it dawns on me that I’m standing in a parking lot, eating sliced meat from a bag, which is kind of sad. Clouds gray and ungray above and pickups putt past towards the Dollar Tree.

This afternoon we’re recording a short kids project which I’ve dubbed “The Lion King Sleeps Tonight.” Long time Bobs fans know that even mentioning the Wheem-O-Way to us is not only strictly verboten but will elicit the world-weariest of stares from us. But when we’re hired to do a project, we do it with gusto. In this case in The Residence Inn Studio (Room 822), where we move the mike until the hum from the generator outside isn’t overly loud and keep passing one pair of headphones back and forth. We’ve done this before. In fact, parts of Get Your Monkey of My Dog were recorded at the Best Western in Marshalltown, Iowa during the University of Iowa’s SPOT Residency program we did in 2007. Today, “This is the Way We All Can Learn” quickly becomes an earworm that will haunt our individual attempts to sleep for days to come.

Dinner from Sal’s Italian Restaurant is molto yummo. I spend the night learning to navigate Blogger.com, Facebooking, watching lame TV and not sleeping. This “too hot to sleep” thing is getting annoying, especially since I had the AC set at 60 degrees…

Sunday, 9/20/09

Maura and I head down the street to the aptly named Golden Corral, now an industrial sized buffet overflowing with entire stations of pies, desserts, pancakes, and other sugar and corn syrup-filled selections. Luckily they also have unlimited meat and salad, so we sign up. I gotta say, they sure don’t seem to encourage healthy eating here. I sometimes think it should read “all you SHOULD eat” instead of all you CAN eat.” I don’t know. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I might posit that the corn industry makes bad food cheap so the health care industry can treat the problems it causes, and consumers are literally just the in and out venues for food and money. IF I were a conspiracy theorist. (You know, like that song from Fiddler on the Roof - “deedle daidle deedle dum… etc/”) Anyhoo, it’s great to hear about Maura's new job, especially since she doesn’t have to uproot her family, as she was planning to do last summer. Wish I could hang with Maura more. Twice in one year has been a treat (I got to meet her kids last spring when we played in Carrboro).

WKNC’s Glenn Weeks is brimming with enthusiasm. Apparently he plays our CDs all the time on his Sunday morning show! We give away some tickets to the show tonight and he asks great questions about the evolution of the band. Wish we’d known he was here the past few times we’ve come through North Carolina.

Back at the “studio,” Richard has edited the work we did yesterday into a sweet two minute piece including a cool African groove and rainforest-y percussion. We hope they like it. Sometimes clients can’t verbalize what they want, so you have to glean it from what they passionately tell you what they want. So you try to do exactly what they describe, hoping they don't re-categorize, re-phrase it or change it drastically. It’s like someone telling you all about a really great dog, but you, as a breeder, may be picturing a totally different, equally valid dog that their words implied. Meh - we’ll tweak this next month in Seattle if there’s any problem.

Papa Mojo’s Roadhouse is in the Greenwood Commons Mall. You’d never expect that killer Cajun cuisine and great performances await you in Mel and Diane’s sweet suburban hideaway. BUT THEY DO. Our experience here immediately paints a layer of super fun over the weekend. Uber-fan Bob brings a program from The Bobs’ 1994 show at the Carolina Theater with truly funny program copy written by their then-agent Scott O’Malley. Another brings a vinyl LP of Songs for Tomorrow Morning for signage. The crowd is rowdy. I let loose all of the South Carolina jokes we didn't say to uproarious cheers. A woman in the front row starts mirroring Richard’s infamous hand gestures. Dan characterizes them as a drunk muppet. We christen ourselves as a new band: Death Panel featuring Drunk Muppet. The BBQ bleu cheese salad dressing is beyond amazing. I leap onto nearby chairs for the screaming guitar solo in "White Room." Perhaps we’ve found a new home in North Carolina!

Monday, 9/21/09

I don’t sleep well and am wide awake at 4:10 a.m. before the alarm goes off. Yes, 4:10. The cab dude shows up 10 minutes later to take Matthew, Dan and me to RDU. My throat is killing me, but I may not be getting sick – I’ve just been breathing recycled air for hours on end (and am about to breathe more all day).

It’s gonna be a 22-hour day for me – headed to Seattle for tech week and the opening of the first workshop production of CARL SAGAN’S CONTACT (a new musical version of his book, on which the movie was based), for which I was commissioned to write the lyrics.

6:00 a.m. RDU to Charlotte, then we race across the Charlotte airport for the 7:35 a.m. to Seattle. Too nauseous to eat until at least 8:00 a.m. The planes are packed to the lip, way too hot and uncomfortable as always. We will land at 10:15 am Pacific Time, at which point we’ll already have been up for 9 hours.

Confession: I STILL LOVE THIS LIFE.

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This pic was taken in the Nashville airport last month... Bob Malone and I were on the same flight back to Los Angeles, having rocked the Wildhorse Saloon and BB King's together at the 2009 Just Plain Folks Awards. We performed together and with other acts in the showcase and awards shows, but both struck out in our nominated categories - him for Male Singer/Songwriter and Pop Album, me for Best Modern Rock Song and Female Singer/Songwriter for my solo album, and The Bobs for 3 others. Exhausted, Bob and I thought this plush snake was a mirage, but no... it beckoned from the Nashville Zoo store. How could I not buy it? SNAKES ON A PLANE!

The Best Laid Plans of Moose and Me: The Bobs in Alaska - March 2009

The first thing you need to know about me, if you don’t already know it: “For a Los Angeles resident, Amy Engelhardt has solid Alaska credentials.” (That’s from the Sitka Sentinel, March 13, 2009 edition. It’s in print so it must be true.)

Alex and I were married north of the Arctic Circle in Coldfoot, AK. I've driven almost everywhere in the state that has a road and through part of the Yukon. My idea of drop dead gorgeous is the George Parks Highway between Fairbanks and Anchorage, in about mid-September. Alex and I have visited the Kenai Peninsula, met a bear on Mendenhall Glacier in Juneau, hiked amongst the spruce in Sitka, lazed in steaming Chena Hot Springs as the aurora blazed above (-12 degrees out in mid- February), laughed our butts off Ice Bowling at Fur Rondy (Anchorage's Winter Carnival) and ferried down the Lynn Canal, North America's longest fjord (not the Fjord Fiesta) from Skagway to Haines to see the Bald Eagle Preserve. We intermittently scheme to go to Barrow, Nome, and the Pribilof Islands. Alex is currently working on a new documentary about the Iditarod, and was in fact in Anchorage for the "Ceremonial start" and in Willow for the "Actual start" this year.

So why would I not scheme to bring The Bobs to Alaska? The Bobs last toured Our 49th State right before I joined the band. Lori Bob got to go to Anchorage and Valdez with them in 1997. So when Alex and I visited Sitka in 2002, I contacted a local promoter to see if I could get the ball rolling. Many e-mails, plans and moons later, it all came together with the addition of dates further into the state courtesy of super-promoter Trudy Heffernan - Fairbanks, Anchorage and Kodiak Island! It was to be the dream tour for me in many ways. I'd get to do what I love to do in a place that makes me simply sigh in aesthetic wonderment. Some of which happened!

Thursday 3/19/09 - Sitka? I already Knowya!

I am so very excited to board our 7:50am flight to Sitka. (And yes, regular Bob Tale readers, Sitka is the beauteous spot for which the beauteous kitten Sitka was named.) And it does seem inherently wrong to be going to Alaska without Alex, but hey, he just did it without me! As we descend into Juneau, I see the glacier on the left... forgot to tell Dan to look out for it... And walking to the terminal I am grinning madly. God, it's gorgeous. No real food in the 4-gate terminal, just vending machines... Sitka will be even smaller, tee hee. We land and it's as beautiful as I recalled. Walking to the giant Sitka Fine Arts Camp van, Roger Schmidt, with whom I engineered this Bobs show, is excited we're here, too. I note that the parking lot is now at least partially paved...

Goofy Footnote: Sitka is the only real city on Baranof Island. Population is about 8000. My cousin Lorie's hubby's brother Paul and his wife live here. When Alex and I were here, after a great dinner with us, Paul and Karen offered us their car, to use while they went to Anchorage for the weekend. "Just leave the keys in the glove compartment." It's really the Sitka way. On this island, stealing a car is a misdemeanor, but if the ferry's docked it's a felony. Where you gonna go? There are limited roads! When we got to the Sitka airport for our OWN departure, one parking space remained. We had to park hanging about 5 inches over the painted line defining the space since the person next to was... inconsiderately positioned. Karen emailed us a week later to tell us she had received a voicemail from the Sitka Police Department while she was in Anchorage telling her that her car was spotted at the airport, and it was "ALMOST illegally parked." WHAT THE??!?!?

A semi-cold day. Deserted streets. No cruise ships in town in March. It was crowded when Alex and I were here in autumn. I treat myself, nostalgically, to a bowl of salmon chowder at the new Level II restaurant downtown (used to be The Bayview - we have a magnet on our fridge). I nap and do email all afternoon, and Karen picks me up for dinner. More salmon! Yum! Their cool new house is gorgeous, and their kitties Cinderella and Lucky (a recent rescue) very sweet. Their lovely daughter Abby (who DOESN'T like the internet and loves to read) tells me all about the worm compost farm in the kitchen. Karen and Paul were Bobs fans before we even met. Kinda cool. We have a great conversation about... everything. Paul is teaching his students about one of the last terrible Native American massacres. Karen reveals that she too has a Facebook account (Paul didn't know). It's cozy. I offer to house-sit for them for a week this summer and we agree to keep in touch about it. How amazing would that be?!?! The view of Mt. Edgecumbe alone, from their livingroom, makes me weep!

The Bobs take over KCAW's Raven Radio that evening for about an hour. Many thanks to the effervescent Rachel and her young assistant, Savannah. While we're on the radio, fans who were "just driving by and heard you" drop by the studio THREE TIMES! Where else in the country can you get that kind of hometown greeting? We sign a quilt that's being donated to a local organization, Rachel gives us some great Raven Radio swag and we head back - across the street, basically - to the hotel. My cell phone doesn't work here, or I'd call Alex... I fall asleep dreaming of places as gorgeous as... where I actually am!

Friday 3/20/09 - Quoth the Raven: "You're Not Doing The Show."

We walk across the street at 8:00am to do another KCAW plug for the morning host, Robert. Good silly fun. Coffee at the Back Door, then a great workshop at Sitka High School. I can't help but wonder, as I did on Lopez Island (in Washington state's San Juans), how growing up in a breathtakingly scenic place influences you. Yes, family drama is family drama, but does it sculpt your mind? Your general outlook? How would seeing the Baranof Island Range and the Alexander Archipelago versus, say, a brick wall and a dumpster outside your bedroom window shape your view of the world and its possibilities? I announce our website, myspace, and Facebook presence, and am pleasantly surprised when the kids boo Matthew's son's comment that "Facebook is for old people." (I will rub Duncan's face in that later when I find him and FRIEND him on Facebook!) We stroll through the Performing Arts Center, a stellar new addition to the high school, where "we" will be performing tonight. It puts some Lower 48 venues to shame.

It's about 40 degrees and the sun keeps playing a supporting role in the sky, so I am shocked that none of The Bobs want to join me for a very non-strenuous, mile long hike in the Sitka National Historical Park. This totem- filled rainforest trail is a canopy-filled wonder of Sitka spruce and western hemlock right on the rocky coast (yes, a forest on the coast), offering views of the harbor, the little islands, the towering, Baranof Mountains glistening in the snow. It's... Mmmmmm..... The trail itself is surprisingly un-slushy and I pass several mid-day joggers and dog-walkers. It's calming, oxygenating, crisp. The Visitor Center Ranger asks if I want to see the movie about the park. "No thanks, I got what I came for." I cruise back to the hotel, stopping to get some goofy souvenirs downtown. It is a perfect afternoon. I'll get dinner later at the venue. The peanuts and lo-carb bar I just ate can hold me until then.

CUE HORROR FILM MUSIC! I'm instant messaging with a friend in Massachusetts when my descent begins. I proceed to vomit, shake and... basically... Loo It Up all afternoon, freezing cold and increasingly dizzy. I can't figure out which end to toilet first! Huge headache. It felt like food poisoning at first but that is eventually OVER, and this was much more severe. All that salmon yesterday? I'd have been sick last night. The peanuts from Fred Meyer? Were they part of that recall a month ago? At 5:30, Matthew comes to fetch me and I toss the van key out to him, praying this will subside. They'll do soundcheck and send someone to get me later. At 6:30, a lovely girl comes to fetch me (she must have lost a bet). I am on the floor in the bathroom mumbling something like "Oh god, oh god." Before I am able to get myself out the door I will vomit in the bathtub WHILE sitting on the pot. It's that horrific. I get to the venue eventually and consult with a doctor. I unpack my stage clothes. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?! That it would magically stop and I'd be able to sing a Bobs show. I run for the bathroom. I crawl out. When The Bobs walk into the dressing room I am curled up in a ball in the corner and have no saliva. Matthew orders me to the ER. I apologize profusely to Roger, saying how heartbroken I am. Sitka is Russian for "Archangel." That would be Dr. Connie Kreiss, who drives me to the ER at 7:20pm as I barf into a garbage bag into her car. I see happy people heading into the theater as we pull out of the parking lot... bleahhhhh.

I watch the Bobs show tick by on the ER clock at Mt. Edgecumbe Hospital as Aidan, Connie, Christine and another doctor whose name I cannot recall pump SEVERAL liters of fluid into me that... doesn't come out... as well as an anti-nauseant (which makes the rest of the evening semi-bearable). The good news is that this ER is only three beds wide and I'm the only patient. Not quite the ER experience in, say, Los Angeles? The staff is really wonderful. I call Alex on a nurse's cell (remember, mine doesn't work here) and ask him to call our insurance company - I can't think clearly enough to deal with that and can't remember if we're supposed to do it... ah, our wonderful health care bureaucracy! They run tests as I freeze under 3 layers of clothes and 3 layers of heated blankets. It is, as they say, "Not My Idea of a Gig." Connie comes by at intermission to check on me. It's going well. It occurs to me that The Bobs have never played here, so this audience doesn't know what we are normally like... and boy howdy are they in capable hands with Dan, Richard and Matthew. I am just, well, I think disappointed pretty much sums it up. Disappointment Pants. I tell Connie to go back and enjoy the show. She's too shy to give The Bobs the message, "Quit talkin' trash about me!" I am diagnosed with a classic case of Viral Gastroenteritis. It is not food poisoning. Antibiotics are ineffective against it. You must treat it symptomatically and wait it out. Connie comes back around 11 as I am just finishing my IV drip and shuttles me back to the hotel with some medicines that should..."hold me" over the next few days.

The guys come back with Roger about 10 minutes later and I meet them in the lobby. I think we are all shocked I am awake and mobile, not to mention standing upright, considering what I must have looked like when they left me on the dressing room floor, crawling towards the bathroom. The show was fine - they got a Standing O - and Roger says, "You'll just have to come back." What a great guy. I still feel sad but I am actually really happy the audience got their entertainment dollar's worth. Dan was in the hospital a few years ago (acute pneumonia) and Richard, Matthew and I did a trio gig. It felt... hole-y to us but was a fine performance. Oy. What can I say? I head upstairs to pack - we leave at 4:40am.

Saturday 3/21/09 - Is This a Dry Town or is it just Me?

Fairbanks Webcam Link

I tell the desk clerk to sterilize the room I was in, we board the shuttle and cross the bridge to Japonski Island, home to the Sitka Airport. There are people from last night's audience on our flight. "Is that the sick girl?" They ask this and point as if I am a doll or something! I am so out of it I hardly notice our TWO landings (Juneau and Anchorage) on the way to Fairbanks. I actually sleep on the plane. Mace, who is one half of Acoustic Adventures, our Fairbanks promoter, meets us at baggage claim. Heading to the rental car, it's 4 degrees outside and windy. I am laughing but wishing I could REALLY laugh... In the Subaru wagon, Wyoming-raised Dan cannot help himself... "I've been in cold before, but.. this is...... F**k!" There is a cord in the car- you plug it in overnight so it will START in the morning. I remember laughing when Alex and I did that here. Mace is another angel - once we're at the hotel, she offers to run to the local Fred Meyer and brings back bananas, apple juice, water and... extra strength Imodium. I sleep on and off all day, confused when it's a different Law & Order case on the TV.

We head to UAF campus NPR station KUAC with Dan's friend Dorly around 6:30 and it's still light out... daylight savings time in the Great White North. Fairbanks itself is not particularly scenic but the quality of the light when you are this far north is distinctive. Beautiful. The sun seems to rise and set somewhere in the South... it's odd, magical. You cannot tell time by the sky here. Sunsets linger. We have a great time on the program and I get to throw around my Alaska pedigree a bit. I decline dinner @ Dorly's place - not ready for that yet. I'll just get toast from the hotel restaurant. I am so hungry and sad to have to eat all of these carbs, which I don't even like anymore. They aren't filling, and I have felt famished since Friday. And all the sugar from the juices and breads makes me sleepy, so I can't tell if the dizziness is from the dehydration or the carbs as I fall asleep on every chair, sofa and bed in the room over the next few days!

Sunday 3/22/09 - The Fairbanksest of Them All

I pass when Richard calls at 10am to say they are headed out for coffee - still not that recovered yet. More toast. But I am feeling much more human today and.. all's quiet internally, so maybe I'll eat real food tonight. At 2pm we unplug the car (!) and head for our 4pm matinee at Davis Concert Hall at the University of Fairbanks (UAF). It's particularly odd to hear from Matthew that The Bobs have played here twice because when we get there I recognize the lobby. Alex and I stood right here in 2002 and peeked in this concert hall, and I said, "I wonder if The Bobs could play here." The building's right across from the bookstore, where we bought cool UAF gear. KUAC serves as our dressing room. I am kind of dizzy in the show - it's difficult to get breath support (singing a Bobs show requires a TON of this, O Vocal Students), sometimes hard to focus. Not surprising. I am drinking water like a fish. And I have noshed on some veggies in the green room... feels OK so far.

After the show, Trudy, Mace, their kidlets and friends take us out to an Italian dinner on the outskirts of town. And in Fairbanks, the outskirts feel just like the tundra! The sun is just beginning to set as we head into The Veletta. I dare to have a small salad but skip the onions, and about 1/3 of some chicken parmagian. Later on we're joined by someone I went to high school with, now a glaciologist and scientist studying the impacts of climate change on the arctic landscape. I haven't seen Matt in 25 years. In my mind he's a baby-faced, kid wearing a corduruoy blazer with elbow patches, a wisecracker at the back of Mr. Bertsch's trig class, leaning back on his pastel plastic chair until it tips over. He's a tall, weathered guy with extremely long hair, a beard, and a eyes that say, "I have spent a lot of time mapping the Arctic." Softspoken. The people at the table know him from the university. He is more at ease with them. We didn't really know each other at school. It's still kind of fascinating just to look at him side by side with the picture in my mind. I can't help but wonder what he is thinking. Oddly enough, I found him through the Iditarod Insider, an online subscription Alex has for the documentary. I clicked on a page that had Matt's name. He filmed the background images used in the musher GPS tracking software. How cool is that?

It's just getting dark around 9 and we head back to the hotel. Matthew and Richard aren't interested in going to Chena Hot Springs tomorrow. The workshop we're doing is 18 miles down the same road that ends at the hot springs 40 miles later. I'm kind of shocked. To each his own, I suppose. But you can't convince these guys. I know I am a lot more psyched to be here than they are, but their lack of adventure is puzzling. Dan is game, though. Ah well. Back at the hotel I think about Matt. He asked me about our 25th Reunion this May. He'd probably be the farthest flung Prepster there. His laid-backness doesn't begin to convey the scope of his amazing work and the places it has taken him. When I asked him why he came to the Arctic after college, he said, "What was I going to do? Just get a job and an apartment in New Jersey?" Indeed.

Monday 3/23/09 - Various Eruptions

I do NOT feel good today. A semi-relapse. Maybe I am not timing the medication correctly... always tricky with GI illnesses. I think I ate real food too soon. I will not make it up to Chena Hot Springs to see the Aurora Ice Hotel. Probably not a good idea to keep putting myself in places that are further and further from civilization when I have this stuff going on! I can't effectively communicate how sad this makes me. I love Alaska so much, so having this happening while all I want to do is frolic and do what I love to do, on a tour I basically shepherded into being, is... well... words cannot express it!

We head up Chena Hot Springs Road. When I came here with Alex, we took the Resort's Van from the Airport up to the hot springs. I remember spotting moose in the wooded areas on the side of the road. You don't want to encounter a moose, though - just point and be amazed! Out at Two Rivers School, Trudy has set up a sound system. She's super psyched that she was finally able to bring a band out to this school for a workshop. The kids are great. Dan is particularly goofy today, too. Which is good since I am so dehydrated again I feel faint and need to sit between our 30 minute sessions.


And then the Mt. Redoubt volcano erupts in Southern Alaska. All flights north of Anchorage have been canceled as a precaution. We were supposed to fly to Anchorage (about an hour flight and a 7 hour drive) at 5pm but are rebooked for tomorrow morning, assuming the wind changes direction. That's a new one to deal with! Our Anchorage show isn't until tomorrow anyway. Well, this hotel is really comfy and I'm not... I ask Matthew to pick up some bread up for me at Fred Meyer. He returns with the most fiber-rific, grain-encrusted dark loaf I've ever seen and rhapsodizes about it. Sweet. I park in front of the computer, waiting for the next round of medicine to kick in. Facebook and the Internet are lifesavers tonight. They keep my mind off of my tummy when I am not tired. Sans Scrabble with folks around the country and previously missed episodes of ER and The Daily Show, I would have gone bananas (instead of eating them) obsessing about my insides.

Tuesday 3/24/09 - Iditabobs

The folks at the front desk tell us people have come in from Anchorage this morning! A great sign. And I am feeling much better today. We check our bags at the Fairbanks Airport, and after VERY brief debate at the Alaska Airlines counter, rebook our flight back to Seattle for tomorrow instead of Thursday. The airline is waiving all change fees (Acts of God and all that - and take THAT, Bobby Freaking Jindal!) There is no way we will chance flying to Kodiak for our show at the Orpheum Theater, which NPR station KMXT was to sponsor. Without the threat of being stranded because of the volcano we had been willing to roll the dice - folks are routinely stuck on Kodiak Island because of weather issues. Matthew gets us seats on the 6:30 am to Seattle tomorrow, and our flight down to Anchorage takes off without incident. We can see some greyness in the southwest but not major stuff. Denali is out today and the Alaska Range is as breathtaking as I'd remembered. I can't stop smiling. It was worth the whole trip to see this again. I am excited as we descend over Cook Inlet...

I'd forgotten about the massive stuffed bear in Anchorage's Ted ("The internets is a series of tubes") Stevens International Airport. Alex smiles around every corner here. The first thing the Kodiak promoter tells Matthew when they speak is that the show's not gonna happen - they were pounded with snow and nothing's moving there. So we made the right choice. And it's 40 degrees here! The airport's bigger now. The city's bigger. More and more locals are calling it "Los Anchorage," still a stretch. The promoter is Mike McCormick from the University of Alaska at Anchorage - but he's pure Bostonian. And a great guy. His restaurant/coffee rundown of downtown Anchorage is encyclopaedic, but I am half-listening. I am staring at the mountains. They are hypnotic. Surreal. Amazing.

The weather's so nice I walk downtown and buzz the Downtown Deli for some oatmeal, a good first meal out. I call Alex. Yes, he confirms, the Iditarod Dog statue on Fourth Street a block away was where the race began on March 8. A lot of the street snow has since melted but there's still quite a lot. Alex tells me to go to the top of the parking garage @ 4th and C (the "eagle" floor) for a panoramic vista. It doesn't disappoint. I buy some gifts at the Official Iditarod Store and have to diss the staff for not knowing who JUST got the Red Lantern in Nome this morning (traditionally awarded to the last musher who finishes the race). Come on, you guys. You work here! I live in Los Angeles and I KNOW! It clouds over, so I bag a plan to walk a bit of the Knik Arm Trail that begins downtown. I kind of feel jinxed about doing that anyway since I got so sick after my wonderful Sitka hike. Sad but true. So I do laundry and nap before we leave for UAA - in palpable traffic!

The venue is a gorgeous, 200-seat recital hall in the UAA Fine Arts Building. I read the interview Richard did for the student paper, the Northern Light. Apparently their photo editor planted a flag about our normal publicity photo (the power tools pic). "Concert photos only" - which we don't have. I'll come back to that. Kind Mike runs to the cafeteria to fetch me some chicken soup and I'm visited by locals Mary & Janetta, two fabulously smart, wry gals who used to run a B&B in their Cheney Lake home. We hit it off immediately when Alex and I stayed there on our first trip (in 1995, when we got married) and again in the winter of 2000. We just clicked right away, and 9 years later it feels like we're continuing the same great conversaion. They even asked about our stuffed moose, Marty, a constant companion on those trips. Why yes, he is back at the hotel!

The show is LOTS of fun. A crowd of all ages, from music students to longtime Bobs fans. I am amazed when 1/3 of the crowd raises their hands when we ask how many people have seen The Bobs before. Same thing happened in Fairbanks. GET YOUR MONKEY OFF MY DOG is a phrase you could hear at the Iditarod. Richard asks if there are monkeys at the Iditarod. "Sure - they're the ones who scratch." In the Tom Spath intro I reference Palindromes ("hey, didn't she run for VP?"). And I insist that we get a "concert photo" for The Northern Light. "OK, act like we're really into something we're singing." The audience loves it.

After the show, lots of fans. Kyle, who puzzles about how to get the folks in the a cappella group he founded on campus to commit, to not be afraid to make funny sounds. The sweet young Arts editor of the Northern Light, apologetic and fresh-faced (!), folks who saw The Bobs in 1997. When I tell them it wasn't me they saw in Alaska with the group, they try to refute this point, so my new tack is this: I ask if the woman they saw in the group was awesome. If so, it was me. If not, it wasn't! I snag a cool poster from the wall and Mike chauffeurs us back to the Clarion Suites. Wish I could stay longer and hang out with Mary & Janetta. Wish I could see those mountains every day of my life.

Wish there was a thermostat in the room. When I ask the front desk folks what I can do about the fact that the room's boiling hot (a frequent hotel problem in Alaska, actually), the woman tells me there's a thermostat under the window. No, that's the heating/air conditioning unit. She says, "You turn it from hot to cold." That's not a thermostat. A thermostat has a temperature reading. It adjusts the room to the setting you program.. "Hey," the dude next to her says, "Do you want me to show you how to work it?"

Wednesday 3/25/09 - NOT a Kodiak Moment, or Best Gig Cancellation Excuse Ever

The room is way too hot and the air conditioner is too noisy so, no sleep. That's OK for the last night. We board the airport shuttle in the dark at 5:00 a.m. It's a positively balmy 42 degrees outside. Spring has sprung. And planes are still flying in Southern Alaska - it's the northwest part of the state that is now affected. Later on, we will look back on this exit strategy as a stroke of pure luck. It's the last day of this week that most flights will be allowed to leave Anchorage. If we hadn't rebooked we'd have missed our shows in Port Townsend and Seattle. The volcano will continue to erupt all week, covering the Kenai Peninsula and putting Anchorage in a Volcanic Ash Alert. We all have exit row seats. I see the sun rise over the mountains and glaciers of Southeast Alaska and note the British Columbian coast peeking through clouds.

No, it wasn't the Dream Tour I'd imagined. But Alaska is still a Big, Wide, Magical place. I'll be back. AND NOT STUCK IN A DAMNED BATHROOM FOR HALF OF THE TRIP!!!

(C)2009 Amy Bob Engelhardt