The folk singers recruitment poster should read: "Become a folk singer, see the country, and expect the unexpected." Maybe it's my karma kicking in for writing about hitchhiking in January's "notes": I mention the good parts about standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and it decides to pay me another visit.

The first week of the tour on the way to Colorado, north of Des Moines I became familiar with a particular piece of I-80 after what sounded like a bomb going off in my engine forced me to pull over. At first I tried to flag down a car for a cell phone, but realized that the wind chill temps and the slush spattering semi's were going to keep me off the highway. I resigned myself to wait for a state trooper to come and call for a tow. An hour and a half later this occurred.

Relief is a warm tow truck to a garage with a warm waiting room. Three hours later I was back on the road, the van as funkily functional as ever. The illusion of functional lasted two days and 550 miles. After departing Lyons CO, something went amiss again south of Boulder and over I pulled. The weather was fair and it only took minutes to catch the attention of a helpful older fellow in a huge dump truck with a cell phone. Back in a tow truck again we set off for Arvada where I was reassured I'd be back on the road in no time. This was good because my gig tonight was five hours away with eight hours to get there. This was a family owned garage and everyone was friendly and talkative, yet after a shipment of incorrect parts I began looking at the clock. Finally, with my window of time narrowing, the repair was finished and I set out like stock car driver out of the pits. This was a race against time to make the gig.

My van loves to go downhill. Down the hills we fly, and make up for the time we lose going up the hills. Up the hills....... well, you know the kind. The kind you cuss at 'cause we're going even slower than the trucks. The altitude was part to blame. I-70 through Colorado tops out around 11,000 feet, and that's too high for a cranky old east coast van. The higher and wester we crawled, the weather worsened to snow, slush, and later freezing rain. So I'm tooling along and I figure I'll make my gig by 20 minutes when I notice the volt meter sinking. I commence to praying, and mentally willing the needle to stay above the red. Thank the powers that be I reached Grand Junction, had a good gig (fueled by adrenaline I'm sure) and slept well that night.

The first chore of the next day was to find yet another garage to replace the alternator. After this was achieved it was on to Orem, Utah, a solid five hours distant.

Three weeks of shows have come and gone without major incident. Some lovely gigs: Jeff Emery's "Backroads House Concerts" in the hills above Santa Cruz is a fantastic place for a show. My great appreciation goes out to all the folk DJ's in that area for being so supportive of acoustic music.

The van is hanging in there, but for one persistent weakness: ye ole' carburetor. As I'm writing this, the van is in the shop again getting a rebuilt one put on. After all, this week I'm bound to go over the mountains again, north and east to Washington and Idaho. After that it's Montana, Wyoming, and Nebraska before going home.

Next Day: I didn't mention the muffler, did I? When that aforementioned "boom!" went off to disable the car in Iowa, it apparently ripped the muffler open like a punching a blown up brown paper sack. We'll, I hadn't visited a Midas yet this whole trip, and there is one just down the road, so in I went for a free replacement. Of course they give the exhaust system a good once over and duly inform me that the muffler wasn't the only thing ruined in Iowa. My catalytic converter was also blown to dust. So where am I going tomorrow? Back to Midas of course!

All this gives substance, I think, to the well worn joke:
Q- How does a folk singer make a million dollars?
A- They start out with two million!

I can scratch my head and try to think about maintenance, but short of purchasing a new Toyota, with the 50,000 miles I drive a year there's only so much you can do. I change my oil and monitor the fluids as regularly as some folks go to church. The rest is serendipity. So far this tour I haven't missed a gig. That's the miracle! I try to appreciate the unexpected and unexplained. This touring is mostly a flexing of the faith and trust muscle with a lot of "what doesn't kill me will make me stronger" stuff going on. We all do this to varying degrees with our lives. I didn't need to go to college to become a philosopher. All I have to do is drive a rattletrap van that has an agenda of it's own......or does it drive me?

Transportation is the lifeblood of this job; the instigator of stories. It takes me across the stage and provides the setting and the props. The Chautauqua performers traveled from gig to gig on the railroads, sleeping on station benches between connections, and in later years got stuck in the mud of oil boom-towns in their Model T's. Without the process of getting there there may be no story to tell at all. I'll get a reliable, modern vehicle eventually. Meanwhile, this bucket of bolts I drive is a great teacher.

That's my notes from the road for this month. There's stuff that happened and stuff I saw that just didn't fit into this months ramblings. I'll save it for later. I've got a cool new song written in Nevada/California and called One Way Ticket. I'll play it for you sometime.

Note:  We're almost ready to move this whole website to www.robinsongs.com! Hopefully everything will be working properly there soon.  Until then, take a cruise through this site, the schedule and the guestbook especially. Send me a note, let me know what you think.

Take Care!
Dana