Despite the bench seats, this Ford van is pretty comfortable, which had became a definite factor as we rolled into Salt Lake and wandered around deciphering directions to the Travelodge. Salt Lake downtown is not easy navigation, as a combination of confusing street number names and preparations for the Olympics twisted us up some.

We had time to grab about three hours of sleep before the proposed 4 o'clock sound check. We found the Zephyr club locked up tight, however, upon our arrival. This didn't sit too well with Terry, whose impatience continued to build over the next 45 minutes as we waited outside for someone to show up. The gig was a last-minute booking, and got Terry's red flags up, since we were going to be playing down the street on the way back next month.

No one showed, so Terry took off on foot down to the Dead Goat, which would be our destination mid-November. Terry wanted to find out if that club owner knew about our gig at the Zephyr. Who knows, maybe these club owners were tight and all was copesetic--maybe they even had a promo plan and all was well. But, Terry didn't think so.

When he returned to the van, the Zephyr had opened, and Terry's bullshit detectors were on full blast. Turns out the Dead Goat owner knew nothing of the Zephyr booking, and the Zephyr owner knew nothing of the Dead Goat booking. So, the shoe would fall upon Terry's booking agent who apparently saw an opportunity and grabbed it oblivious to the obviously precarious politics involved. This pissed off Terry, and rightly so. The other disturbing factor was that the Zephyr said they had received no promo for the show from Terry's agent, and the original 8-dollar admission charge had been dropped in favor of making it a S.I.N. date (service industry night). This got Terry wondering if he would be getting his full pay.

After a conference with the Zephyr owner, Terry waved us to load in at last--it was about 6 p.m. All was well, and with sound check completed, we headed out for Chinese on a food payout from the club.

They'd recommended a Thai place on Foothill Boulevard. Well, Foothill Boulevard was seeming to be further and further away, and after 15 minutes of driving, we decided to opt for a closer Chinese joint on a main drag in a converted Burger King-type building. We were the only customers, and the head waitress was running the place like a Gestapo general. She had us seated immediately, and was promptly demanding our orders. She got the orders and was gone in a flash before anyone could fully think through the order. Then Jeff pointed out a xeroxed review displayed under the clear plastic table top. The dining reviewer gave the place kudos for taste and quality, but noted under "Service: Rushed." "That's her!" I exclaimed. So we weren't the only ones...

Although there is a general set list by which the songs are arranged in Terry's show, he has a tendency to call out whatever seems appropriate to the audience and him at any given moment. This had me on edge a bit, since the show moves right along and although I know the songs, the kick offs had not gotten fully connected to the song names. Hence there were a few too-pregnant pauses as I racked my sleep-deprived, road-rattled brain for beginnings to the songs requiring me to start them. Jesse, Jeff and Kenny were very forgiving, and Terry just seemed pleased things were going as well as they were.

It was a very sparse crowd, which took some of the pressure off me, but was a letdown for Terry. But those who were there, seemed to be very appreciative, and the sound was excellent in the room. We did two 75-min. sets, packed up and headed back to the Travelodge for a few more hours of sleep...about four, since we were outta there at 7 a.m. for our 32-hour trek to Detroit--straight through.