Portland 2019: Idaho to Utah

On June 29th, a couple hours after we had said goodbye to our hosts in Boise who let us crash at their bachelor pad, I wrote this in my journal:

On the road to Utah! Last time we drove through this part of Idaho, I thought it was a barren wasteland. But because of our time spent at Willow Creek farm near Fairfield two years ago, now I look on the landscape with a sense of familiarity and fondness. White-tipped navy-gray mountains, swaths of green farmland or green-gold grassland, the occasional pond or canal: but mostly miles upon miles of sagebrush plains. Hazy stratus clouds float above. I've seen hawks dogfighting and pelicans soaring over a reservoir. I hope I get to see an antelope soon.

Okay, maybe it was a little barren. Still pretty, though.

Our show tonight would be in Logan, Utah, a smallish town about an hour north of Salt Lake City. The landscape grew increasingly dramatic as we approached, and we soon learned that the town rested in a valley filled with a sprawling marshland, full of wild birds and paddle-boarders. 

Since it was a relatively short drive, we had some time to kill before loading into the music venue, so we walked around the downtown, poking into antique stores, marveling at the poster that advertised decorative dental fillings, catching glimpses of the Mormon temple on a nearby hill, and eating hummus wraps and cheap ice cream cones at a local grocery store.

The venue, a black-box-theater-style setting with twinkle lights and local artwork adorning the walls, was beautiful, but the show was dismally attended (although those who did show up were enthusiastic). I felt grumpy because my cello kept slipping out of tune, making it impossible for me to play well (I was often transposing a quarter-step to half-step up, depending on which string!). We played a fairly short set, and then I retreated into the green room, huffing as I sat down on the couch and wondering if my cello would ever be in tune again. 

My costume that night

This graffiti in the bathroom made me smile.

The night improved when we learned that 1) we were allowed to sleep at the venue that night, and 2) instead of the normal drink tickets that bars give bands, this venue handed out tickets for slices of pizza from a nearby parlor. Pizza makes everything better!

Indeed, I felt downright happy once we returned to the venue with pizza in hand, along with a bag of cherries we'd bought earlier that day. Nolan plugged his phone into the sound system and began playing some Scandinavian and Celtic-inspired bands that he likes, and the five of us sat around and spat cherry pits into napkins and talked about the music and about Utah and about the bands we like. I ended up giving everyone back rubs (everyone's muscles were completely knotted from so much time in the car), and Adrienne gave me a back rub, and then I curled up on a couch, listening to my band mates' sleepy conversation as everyone settled onto various couches and the floor (and a row of hard chairs, in Nolan's case), brushed their teeth, brushed their hair, did all those little things you do when you're traveling together and you're in each others' space.

I think that's the moment where I really began to feel like the band— even Jessie and Nolan, whom I still didn't know very well— were family. I still missed Zach, but I was anything but lonely. No matter what the next few days of tour would bring, I was with my family, and because of that, it was going to be good.

~~~