Enjoying a day off in Martha’s Vineyard after some of the oddest travel and encounters in my professional life. The past 24-48 hours have been boring, thrilling, terrifying and bizarre at times.
Immediately following the Philly Folk Fest, we rode to a near by hotel and grabbed showers and napped on the bus for a few hours before rolling to downtown Philadelphia for the World Café Radio gig. They treated us very kindly there and the whole thing went off without a hitch. It went so well that we finished an hour or so ahead of schedule so Sean and I bolted to the airport for an earlier fight than our scheduled 3:30. We were leaving the bus, you see, to head off to Durham, New Hampshire to film some spots for a PBS program we hope to release in the Fall.
We got to the airport just after Noon. The best of intentions were met head on, however, with a not so joyous lady at the US Air Counter who informed us of two things. One, the earlier flight to Manchester was oversold and we cold not get on it, and two, our 3:30 flight was delayed and would not be departing till 5:00. We had 5 hours to kill in the Airport. Boo.
After much pacing, email checking, departure screen staring, cel phone flicking, coffee drinking, supposing, doubting, scheming, tabloid magazine browsing, scrunched up paper ball and garbage can basketball playing, and self loathing, Sean and I finally got on a plane at 5:15.
We arrived in Manchester, an hour or so late and were picked up by a kind lady who drove us in the woods. Yes in the woods. In about ten minutes we were surrounded by nothing but tall trees, foliage and shadows.
It’s all staring to look very Soprano’s. Jaysus, are we about to get whacked?
Turns out the road to Durham NH winds through miles of farmland and countryside and the driver lady had no malicious intent. Our destination was the New England Center, a conference center and hotel planted deep in amongst huge pine and oak trees near the University of New Hampshire, but feels completely isolated. From the drop off point, hotel guest need to wander down a winding path through the forest to get to the Hotel Lobby. It honestly felt like being in a Robin Hood movie. I kept expecting the Liv Tyler ride past on a white horse, whispering in Elvish or something. Surreal destination after a long day.
We ate in the hotel restaurant, which was quite good, and both retired fairly early as we were knackered. I lay in bed for a while trying to get interested in the Olympics. I watched some Table Tennis and some Trampoline or something. Now, as many of you know, I am a pretty big sports fan. But I cannot seem to give two shites about this year’s Olympics. With the exception of the magic fish dude, Phelps, there seems little to discuss. I’d hoped that my evening in front of the TV would renew my hope, but no sir. Table Tennis and Trampoline just did not do it. I s’pose I’ll have to wait for 2010, when Moose Hunting and 120’s are expected to be demonstration sports.
Myself and Sean met in the lobby at 8:30 AM and were picked up by a kind Gent from New Hampshire Public Television. We went up the street, past the gorgeous campus (very Harry Potter) and were met by a few kind ladies who ushered us into a boardroom to discuss the business of the day. This station has agreed to present parts of the Courage, Patience and Grit DVD to America in the Fall. We were there to film interviews to accompany the broadcast.
After some discussion we were led to a TV Studio where we began taping. Just before the questions began between ourselves and our interviewer, another announcer lady did a little intro, in a pleasant and reserved tone…
“We hope you are enjoying this program. If you’d like to show your appreciation for programming such as this, we have several gifts to say thanks for your pledge for Public Television”
I’m telling you, it was perfect. It instantly sounded like one of those PBS Pledge shows where we all watched Riverdance or whatever for the first time. They’ve got it down, for sure. Very cool.
We were done ahead of schedule and bolted once again for the Airport. This time, Logan Airport was our destination. We dashed to the Cape Air counter and once again tried to get on an earlier flight, only to learn once again that, the earlier flight was oversold, and we were bound to spend another block of time wandering through airport halls.
Mercifully, the time past quickly and we were walking down the hallway to the gate for the plane. Just before we get to the big door at the end, the Cape Air employee, who looked to be right around half my age, turned hard right and headed down the steps where they normally pass down the stroller and stuff. Figuring I was first in line, I followed her down the steps where an even younger dude took over, and led us round the corner of the building to our awaiting “plane”.
Forgive the quotation marks above. I do not mean to suggest that a 9 Seat Cessna 404 is not a real airplane. I just could not think if a better way to convey my sense of surprise to be approaching a commercial airplane that I’d have to step down into. Holy frig. My Mini Van is bigger than this plane. I’m serious.
The young dude led us up to the plane and asked me to enter first as I was to be the co-pilot. Funny, I thought. That must be his standard gag to break the ice when people look nervous. Wrong. He lifts the side panel and points to the seat next to the pilot. “Up you go”, he says.
No joke. Ten seconds later, I’m sitting next to Captain John, and I can feel the wee steering wheel rubbing against my thighs. Sean almost barfed.
Five minutes later, we are 3000 Feet above Boston and I am one dude away from being at the helm. It’s truly unbelievable, in this post 911 World that this scenario happens numerous times a day. I could feel the steering wheel move, matching the Captain’s every turn. I almost got my foot stuck under one of the operating pedals below.
Two things occur to me. One, I could send this plane crashing to the earth if I felt like it. If I had the slightest chaotic or suicidal instinct, I could sucker punch Captain John and take this plane wherever I wanted. Thankfully for everyone involved, I have no such instincts so this course of events was not going to happen. The second thing to occur to me was a little more disturbing. What if Captain John has a brain hemorrhage? A heart attack?A sneezing fit? A freaking nose bleed? I will be left flying this plane. Me. Alan, many moving violations cant parallel park can’t drive a standard transmission should never have got a driver’s license, Doyle. With the possible exception of the infant in the back, I must be the worst candidate for this job.
I figured it would be a white knuckler, but I could not have foreseen this turn of events. Despite the fact that it was a lovely day with no turbulence and the flight afforded a grand view of Cape Cod and Nantucket, I still kissed the ground he moment we stepped from the plane.
We strolled, weak in the knees from the airport to the gig, which was only a few hundred meters, where we were met by an awaiting driver who was to bring us to a radio station for an acoustic performance. We barely had time to tell the lads about our harrowing experience when before we found ourselves traveling across Martha’s Vineyard. All seemed well till the driver made a sharp turn off the highway and started down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. In ten seconds we were completely out of sight of all civilization.
It’s all staring to look very Soprano’s. Jaysus, are we about to get whacked?
Any way, we arrive at this converted house/ radio station in the middle of the woods and sing a few tunes and are back in the car in no time at all. Shortly there after we got back on the bus next to the gig and announced that we were never getting off it again.
Rock On.
Cheers,
Alan