The entire ride turned out to be an exhilarating sampler plate of biking terrain. The street route included those famous Asheville hills. My GPS directed me through a rocky, but manageable dirt trail along Hominy Creek just to get to the greenway. This unexpected path was energizing because the rocks and tree roots required my full attention to navigate safely. The greenway itself was mostly paved and meandered alongside the French Broad River and right through the middle of an RV park and primitive campground. I enjoyed the ride immensely and made it back in time to load up and head out as scheduled.
I drove the three hours to the Sweetwater Brewery in Atlanta. Along the way, we passed through several mountain towns in northern Georgia that looked like fun places to stop and possibly stay awhile and explore. Perhaps someday I'll do just that.
We arrived at the venue and loaded our gear onto the outdoor stage. However, it would turn out to be the gig that wasn't. We were greeted by a representative of the brewery. She needed to see everyone's ID. As I had at the few bars we visited after our own gigs, I explained that I had lost my wallet at FloydFest and that I'm 42 years old. It wouldn't be enough this time. I said I would stay outside, and even suggested they draw black X's on my hands because I'm not drinking, but still no dice. The young lady said it was Georgia law that everyone on the premises have a valid ID and that the email they had sent us explained all of this. I'm sure she was absolutely correct, and I harbor no resentment towards her or Sweetwater. I had been lucky to have gotten by without my wallet all this time, but my luck had run out. She said she couldn't make an exception, and I told her I completely understood. It seems ironic that my personal journey of recognizing the pros and cons of getting older, and confronting my alcoholic tendencies would end with me not being able to play the last show of the tour because I got carded and couldn't produce proof of my age. Out of options, we loaded our equipment back into the van. The worst part was that our friends Bryce, Shane, and Vaughn had driven up from Jacksonville to see us. I feel terrible about disappointing them and anyone else who showed up to see us.
We grabbed lunch with our Jacksonville friends plus Jack and Mark, friends from Atlanta, at Grindhouse Killer Burgers. I attempted to cope with my mixed emotions by ordering a "Gringo Style" double veggie burger (somewhat facetiously named with pico de gallo, avocado, jalepenos, and diablo sauce) and a side of fried pickles. It actually did help me feel a bit better.
We were all experiencing varying degrees of disappointment, guilt, and frustration surrounding the anticlimactic ending to our tour as we left Atlanta behind us. On the plus side, we would get home that much sooner.
On the ride home, my sister sent a text to my dad and me letting us know she was thinking of us with a deep gratitude. Then I remembered that we lost mom twelve years ago today. I'm neither religious nor spiritual, but my mother's memory lives on in my mind, and in a sense, I feel she's with me wherever I go. I'm grateful for this feeling. There is a liberation in the realization of our own mortality. I don't believe in an afterlife, and as far as I know, we only live once, so I ought to make this one count. Realistically, I only have forty or fifty more years if I'm lucky. The Sweetwater fiasco hardly seems to matter in the overall scheme of things.
We stopped at a convenience store, and the boiled peanut station let me know we were, indeed, getting close to home. I bought a cup of the Cajun-flavor comfort food.
We made it back to Jacksonville about 8:45pm. I was able to see Jen outside our apartment just before she had to leave for band practice. She plays keyboards in the Cruxshadows, and they'll be at Dragon Con in Atlanta this coming weekend. I brought my bags and belongings inside, and reacquainted myself with the place; I was home. My wallet (sent to my home by FloydFest's lost and found) and a stack of mail was waiting for me. The textbooks I had ordered for the classes I'm taking this fall had arrived, as well as Shadowfax's new front bag. Jen's cat, Felix, seemed happy to see me.
So there you have it; this is the way the tour ends, not with a bang but a whimper. It's bittersweet. I'm glad to be home, but I already miss the road. The boys and I plan to avoid each other until our meeting with One Spark and subsequent band practice on Thursday. Jen will be home late tonight, and we're both off all day tomorrow, so we'll have a chance to spend some time together before our bands take us in opposite directions again in three days. I imagined this blog would coincide with the tour, and so it seems this should be my last entry. However, it occurs to me that perhaps a final post on my 100th day alcohol-free would not only be appropriate, but would allow me the time I need to reflect on my experience and share any final thoughts. Therefore, with your permission, I will now cease my daily updates and post a final entry at the end of Day 100 (or the day I fall short of my goal, whichever comes first). I will address the idea of gratitude in more detail on my final post, but for now I want to thank Brett and Mikey for making the trip possible, everyone who provided us with a bed or sofa or floor on which to rest along the way, and you for reading this very personal blog and sharing your thoughts with me. You have kept me accountable, and for that I am genuinely grateful. If all goes according to plan, I'll post again in ten days!
Until then, cheers!
- Jon
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