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The Guggenheim Grotto



Last Updated: 12/8/2009

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Status: Single
City: Dublin
Country: IE
Signup Date: 8/5/2005

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Tuesday, December 22, 2009 
Back a week now. Still struggling with jetlag. Waking at five AM. Drinking tea and sitting on the most uncomfortable chair to be found trying to keep the eyelids peeled at seven in the evening. I’m half a step away from putting a needle under my chin. Tiredness wins every time …

In the half-light and eerily dulled silence of early morning the memories flood back - “he wants a shoehorn, the kind with teeth …” All those things we meant to find out - who plays at Icahn Stadium in New York? Why are the roads called Turnpikes? What does ‘adopt a highway’ mean? Could goo-goo-google them now but that’ll mean I’m actually, definitely awake. No. No. Better to roll over and hope sweet, gentle sleep returns …

Kevin calls. He is suffering similar post-tour blues. Though he is operating on the inverse of my clock - sleeping in the day and awake through the night. Still it affords him an opportunity to work on new lyrics, arrangements and plans for the new album. Things are put in proper perspective by Mick’s predicament - he is really messed up and suffering the ultimate reversal of the rock star lifestyle, waking round nine every morning …
5:05 PM 
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Monday, December 21, 2009 
Not quite sure what to do at this point, we interview the first person we see in the Terminal from the airline and explain our predicament - our flight was delayed and our connecting flight long since departed. We’re told to go to the desk downstairs and most likely we’ll be put in a hotel over night and on the next flight tomorrow. “What about our luggage?” “Best to collect it from the baggage reclaim.”

We’re almost the last at the Baggage Reclaim with two lonely bags being taken on laps around the belt. Another airline representative happens on the situation - we may as well interview them about the luggage and where exactly to go down stairs. “Oh you are passengers Lynch, May and McDonnell. You’re booked on a flight to London. It’s leaving in fifteen minutes. You better hurry.”

We didn’t delay. Where is the luggage? God only knows. We’re now en route to Heathrow and will be getting a connecting flight to Dublin.

Well north of irritable by the time we land again, we inspect the signs for Aer Lingus. Terminal 4 they advise and so we beat on. Through tunnels from which Dame Judi Dench may appear at any second as M to take us aside and explain our mission. When we arrive at Terminal 4 via the train, there is no Aer Lingus desk - they are based in Terminal 1. The signs have been changed erroneously during the week. With time ticking quickly again, we bolt back for Terminal 1.
5:27 PM 
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Friday, December 18, 2009 
Finally, we are sitting aboard the plane. Guitars and ukulele safely stowed away randomly around the cabin where we’ve found suitable room. We have a two hour window to catch our connecting flight from Chicago to Dublin and now all appears to be back on track.

We’re next up to take off - the pilot has been on the intercom, but just as we are about to go he is back advising there is an “issue” with the plane. A mechanic will have a look. Our hearts sink as we know instantly, that’s Aughrim lost, in terms of making our connecting flight. “What’ll happen now?” “Who cares. Not our fault now that the flight is delayed …”

We’ve been sitting back at the terminal for nearly two hours with intermittent announcements from the pilot that the mechanic is looking at the “issue.” We ponder as to why he hasn’t volunteered a reassuring, “It’s nothing to worry about,” but don’t dwell on this, preferring to stick our noses back into the assortment of books we’ve gotten for the trip.

Finally. We’re up, up and away. Gawking out the window somewhere over the Rockies a plane shoots by on a lower flight path but close enough to see faces clearly inside the windows - it’s a surreal sort of moment …

Landing in Chicago, we notice but pass no remarks that the cabin crew don’t take their landing positions until the last possible second. All the window blinds are drawn closed for the landing too. Just after we’ve landed the pilot announces, “There’s no need for panic if you see several Fire Brigades outside the plane. One of the engines is on fire but it’s under control.”

We let everyone else off before we gather up our gear. Leaving the plane, we overhear a snippet of cockpit conversation - “This plane won’t fly again.”
5:10 PM 
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Thursday, December 17, 2009 
Fortunately I was close to the top of the queue before it began to really swell and snake around the room and out into the main hallway. As I reached the last corner inside the roped-off area, I glanced back and spotted Kevin a few corners back. “Where’s Mick?” “No idea” accompanied the shrug back. I moved on and we abandoned our conversation out of deference for the others in the queue.

My dealings at the desk were mercifully straightforward and I was booked on a flight due to leave in an hour or so. While explaining to Kevin about the flight another queuer wanted to know if I was packing a Tommy gun in the ukulele case … Kevin continued to queue and managed to get onto the same flight.

Turns out Mick arrived just after I’d left and told Kevin to go for the flight while he checked in. We figured Mick must have missed the flight too but had no way to contact him. With a little time to pass, we may as well have a coffee. Sitting by the window and watching the people traffic go by, we spot Mick. He too was aboard our new flight though until just now he’d had no idea we’d also missed the original flight.

Returning the car, Mick was told he owed considerably more than had been agreed when the car was hired. As he protested and asked to be allowed show the proof of the agreed price in his email, he was told he was not authorised to use the PC. With no other option, he asked people in the queue there for the loan of an iPhone. Someone obliged thankfully and eventually the cost issue was resolved but the car rental representative could scarcely have been less helpful.

Still, our fellowship is three again …
4:36 PM 
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Wednesday, December 16, 2009 
Against a smoggy, hazy, bluish grey sky, we left Long Beach and faced for LAX.  Our fellowship of three.  We had packed the car - the last few personal bits and bobs pushed into side pockets of suitcases and rubbish into a bag we would deposit in the nearest bin.  Mostly done in silence.  Plans already finalised.

Mick dropped Kevin and I at the terminal to check-in ourselves and the gear.  There was ample time it appeared for Mick to return the car and get back to the terminal to check-in himself and for us all to get the flight together.  However, with time ticking inexorably by, Kevin and I exchange anxious glances - where the hell is Mick, will we make it …

Eventually, Kevin says, “You may go on.  No point us all missing the flight.”  So, with disappointment,  I headed on.  Security was difficult -  “Put everything in the crate sir.”  So I did.  “Take out your shoes sir.”  So I did.  “Put everything in the crate sir.”  So I did.  “Take out your shoes sir.”  So I did.  I thought I was in some ridiculous version of Lanigan’s Ball …  Time continued to tick.  I raced for the gate but alas, the plane, which had been oversold, was full and taking off - “what the …”

With no idea where Kevin and Mick are I head for the ticket desk to find out how I can make it to Chicago for the connecting flight …
5:14 PM 
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Tuesday, November 24, 2009 
Denver is the mile-high city but after Laramie it was positively normal for us. Indeed the couple of hours driving between the two made us feel almost a little cheated. Watching the sunset over the Rockies in the distance was pretty cool though.

The guys are back opening for They Might Be Giants tonight at the Gothic in Englewood. It’s a sell-out again and there is a surreally comic moment perambulating toward the venue when a scalper inquires if we need tickets - I mean, does this guy not know who we are, hah-ha …

After Denver, it’s back up through Colorado and Wyoming and on to Utah and into Salt Lake City. We passed by Cheyenne en route and I was reminded of Garth Brooks singing about its beaches - he must have been having a laugh …

Salt Lake City is Mormon country and we’d been told to expect a dry county and straight laced types. The presence of an alcohol stocked bar in the venue and the tattooed bartender showcasing her vocal talents and personality with Gwen Stefani’s ‘Hollaback Girl’ immediately torpedo our preconceptions from the water.

It’s another big crowd and the guys win them over quickly, bringing the whole thing to a crescendo with ‘Her Beautiful Ideas’ cheerful refrain before finishing with ‘What is this feeling’. As the Merchandise Desk is inside the venue this time (as opposed to the lobby/foyer), I actually get to see the whole show for a change. I was beginning to fear I might be left saying, “I toured with They Might Be Giants but never actually saw them play.”
5:22 PM 
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Monday, November 23, 2009 
I woke short of breath and with a throbbing headache. Guzzled some water and hit the shower. The head was still pounding and I was still struggling for breath. As I opened the roll-on deodorant, the ball popped out and hit me on the chin. Through the bleary-eyed entrance to Laramie I hadn’t noticed the altitude. It’s over 7,200 feet up here and takes some getting used to. A couple of hours later, as I reached down for yet another bottle of water, I feared I might never actually right myself again.

Wyoming boasts a landscape that a Beckett play would be proud of and is the highest state in the Union on average. It has one university, no escalators and was the first place in America to give women a vote. It is also the least densely populated of all the states. The sign at the entrance to Buford - where we stopped for go-go juice, boasts a proud population of 1.

As it transpired we were relatively lucky to get into and out of Laramie - the previous week, there had been two feet of snow and all roads in and out had been blocked. This is the last of the lads’ own headlining shows on this tour and I want to give a big shout out to Anna Radar on the Student Council at the University of Wyoming who was responsible for bringing The Guggenheim Grotto to Laramie - much appreciated.
4:22 PM 
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Friday, November 20, 2009 
Driving in Ireland, you get used to steering with the right hand, using the left to change gear and so on.  Your reflexes become conditioned.  Driving here is very different and takes some getting used to.  It’s not just that everything is on the ‘wrong’ side.  With the automatic and no clutch, your left foot is redundant - your right still operates the brake and accelerator but slap it into cruise control and your right foot is obsolete now too.
 
Cruise control can be a Godsend as it was driving through Nebraska during the night.  Literally hundreds of miles on a two lane interstate.  There was little traffic for the most part as you would imagine and with such good roads, there is an inevitable temptation to put the peddle to the floor but the limit is 75 and we’re conscientious tourists (well, most of the time anyway …).
 
It becomes a bit like a computer game - you see the tail lights of a truck in the distance and you guess how many miles it will take to catch up to and then overtake them.  It gives you something to concentrate on and aim for - at times of potential mind numbing boredom like these drives, you cling to what little you can to help you get by, especially as the two rock stars are snoring away in near perfect harmony.
 
It was an epic trip.  Having left Minneapolis around half eight, we docked in Laramie about ten the following morning.  Driving through Nebraska didn’t change any of the perceptions I had developed from listening to the Bruce’s album of the same name - the first thing we saw when we entered the state was a Highway Patrolman …  It was a beautiful clear night and as we headed west, I kept an eye on Orion’s pursuit of the Scorpion across the sky, getting my first glimpse of the Rockies in the distance to boot …
4:30 PM 
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Thursday, November 19, 2009 
St Paul, Minnesota - twin city with Minneapolis, and home of F. Scott Fitzgerald of The Great Gatsby, This Side of Paradise, etc fame. We decided to make this our base camp the night before we rocked into Minneapolis for our rendezvous with the Giants and the guys’ charm offensive with Kylie Bunbury on the CW Network’s Beats Per Minute Programme.

St Paul and Minneapolis seem like great places to hang out - beautiful cities with lots to see and do. A real bohemian vibe to the place with extra pride this particular day because Brett Favre had just gone back to the Green Bay Packers with the Vikings and come away with a victory. It wasn’t that cold during our visit but it generally gets very cold - so cold there are skywalks between most buildings on the main streets so that you don’t have to wrap up in 57 coats to go from one place to another. Can’t really say I am sorry to have missed out on that particular experience but would have loved more time to spend here.

We landed into the venue and the guys did a very relaxed, chilled out interview. Kevin kicked some butt at Tetris - must be the practice at packing the car and we hung about with the TV guys and had a bite of ‘corked’ beef before the show.

Alas, with the next gig in Laramie, Wyoming - a mere 947 miles away, as soon as the guys’ set was over we were packing up and heading on. The set was great. The Giants’ crowd were very receptive and there was excellent feedback. The venue itself we discovered is where Prince shot the video for Purple Rain.
4:08 PM 
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Wednesday, November 18, 2009 
Mick and I are continuing our bonding now that we are back on the highway again. Speaking of highway, the sky to the right at the minute resembles the opening to that old TV show - Highway to Heaven.

The Buffalo Bills are being picked off with relative ease at the minute by Houston and there is more than a touch of disappointment in the voice of the Bills’ radio announcer. As we approach South Bend, I begin to regal Mick with tales of Notre Dame - Rockne, the Gipper, the Chicken Soup Bowl and the conversation inevitably leads to a discussion of the ultimate American Sports icon, David W Gibson, more often known as Joe Cool, Hollywood Joe and even occasionally Joe Montana.

We stop by the University campus to do some drive-by tourism and take the obligatory photos.

Another hotel is located and we feel like we are reluctant extras in The Road to Perdition. We shoot some pool, throw some arrows and consume some beverages before adjourning to the cots and preparing to do it all again tomorrow …
4:32 PM 
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