Missoula, Seattle, Portland, Olympia, Portland, Bellingham, Eugene, Missoula. Ten dates over 12 days.

A 4Runner so overloaded – including both a roof rack and a hitch rack, thankfully with very good waterproof bags – with 4 bodies, 4 guitars, two amplifiers, a drum kit, gig bags, merchandise, and personal effects that I literally had to leave my Birkenstocks behind. Two hours to figure the optimum load configuration. Loading into the hotel/airbnb — then the venue — then load out — then back to the hotel/airbnb again. By the end of the tour we could have it all in and out in about 10 minutes flat.

Storming, norming and forming; getting to know my band, musicians who met on a Monday and had their first gig on Wednesday then got in a car together for 2,307 miles, late nights and early rises to get to the next show. 10 pounds dropped in a matter of days since we’d underestimated the need to find time to actually EAT, believe it or not. By day three or four, we literally did not know what day it was or where we were (cue the importance of having a tour manager).

The wonderful joy of playing and meeting new people who run the venues, and the other bands who were beyond generous in their support. The blessed two days in a friend’s home and the normalization of a Memorial Day barbecue (and the fun of a night spend doing Karaoke in their designated room).

The wonder of muscle memory after such an intense gig-a-day experience is such that I took a week off, then ran through the set and it was note-perfect—when normally I’d notice some skill drop off when I don’t play for a few days.

A touring band. Officially. And yes, it’s a banner that not all bands ever carry.