My previous experience with marathon driving was a 24-hour stint from Indianapolis to Denver with the Joanna Connor Band. This marathon shot that all to hell, and by the time we were done, my body couldn't tell the difference between a circadian cycle and motorcycle--all it knew is that it was TIRED. Terry turned out to be a superman of driving endurance, going the entire distance from Salt Lake to Omaha. The van with its V-10 was impressive on the horsepower side of things, gliding effortlessly over the Rockies, and shooting down the interstate at 80 MPH for hours on end.

I took over driving at 1:30 a.m. Friday morning outside of Omaha, and five hours later gave the reins to Jeff around Davenport, Iowa. I enjoyed my turn, listening to the whole Art Bell Show on various AM stations. I participated in Art's mass mind experiment that was being monitored by Stanford University, with his guest Richard Hoagland. Cool stuff...

Terry was back behind the wheel after Jeff admirably muscled our way past Chicago. It was another four hours before we finally made it to the Ramada in the mysteriously named "Novi, Michigan," outside Detroit. Kenny is from Detroit, and was surprised to find out that Novi was not on our current travel atlas. He finally realized that Novi was short for Northville, which then locked and loaded our destination. The police cars of Northville, however, all say "Novi," and the town signs all say "Novi." Local folklore has it that Novi is actually the former location of the infamous "Number Six" train (No. VI), and so the town adopted that as the moniker. No one knows exactly why the No. VI train was infamous, however...lost no doubt in the mists of historical bureaucracy. The city's website sheds no light whatsoever on the origins of the town's name.

Jesse had developed a bad skin rash, which he attributed to his Dilantin. He hadn't been taking it for his epilepsy while at home, but thought as a preventative measure he'd start taking it again. It was only one small dose, but it had immediate effects on his arms and legs, which were covered with red splotches that burned. He was in quite a bit of discomfort. I gave him a couple of hits of appropriate homeopathics, which seemed to cut the discomfort some, but it was a pretty severe case of rash. Jesse found some Benadryl, which helped a lot with the itching and pain, and seemed to start the rash healing.

The 5th Avenue Ball Room (read billiard room) was about two miles from the hotel in a brand new building within a brand new mall in an upscale part of town. Detroit's suburbs are mall crazy, with literally a mall on every corner. This place was big, with two double-height floors. On the bottom floor are all the pool tables and big screen TVS winking from every corner, and upstairs was mostly bar with a semi-circular stage, lights and sound system. The decor was urban-industrial aquarium, with bare metal, concrete and exotic salt water fish. One huge aquarium was home to a 3-foot shark accompanied by a small school of piranha. We didn't get a chance to see how they fed them...

I hadn't had anything substantial to eat for about 18 hours, and was getting grumpy with low blood sugar. After setting up the drums, I was really looking forward to eating. I found everyone else at a table in the back by the kitchen, and they'd already ordered. I then spent the next 10 minutes trying to get waited on. I finally went up to one of the waitresses standing around at the bar who was designated for our table. I got off on the wrong foot, saying, "Is that your table over there?" She gave me the once over, stuck her nose up and said, "I'm too busy. Order from the bar." This irritated me, and I almost got mad. Instead I stood at the bar waiting for someone to see me waving for about five minutes. I then saw the same waitress deliver a drink to our table. I ran over to catch her, but she left before I reached the table. This was becoming a nightmare. I just followed her until she stopped walking, and she turned and said, "What do you want?" I gave her my order--turkey burger with fries and a caesar salad on the side. The food came at last from another waitress who took over the station, sensing things weren't going too well with the band and Miss Attitude. She was very efficient and crisp, and soothed my aching pancreas. I wolfed down my food and felt about halfway to normal.

The venue was a deep meat market for 20- and 30-somethings. The show had been well-promoted, so there were some Terry Evans fans in attendance. The contract called for us to start at 10 p.m. and do the customary two 75's, but at 10 o'clock the word came down for us to wait 30 minutes for some obscure reason. The room was packed, and two people came up to me wondering when we were going to start. I referred them to management after protestations that the door person taking admission downstairs was telling everyone 10 p.m. The overall effect was to build anticipation, and I guess it worked, I don't know, I was too busy trying to keep my energy together.

The sound tech was very competent and made sure we were happy with everything before we started. The sound was good from where I was, but Terry was having trouble getting enough power out of his monitor, and seemed to over-sing a bit, which wasn't good after spending nearly 24 hours at the wheel with maybe three hours of sleep over two days.

The first set was smooth and there were actually a couple of moments, but the crowd was loud in conversation, and it seemed all we were doing is competing with another agenda. The second set was kind of raggedy, but I don't think anyone really noticed. There were about 20 people who were actually paying attention. The rest were deep into meat market protocols. Everyone seemed to have a cell phone, SUV, and leather jackets with muscle-defined, spa-enhanced bodies and fashions to match. It really wasn't my scene...

We got back to the hotel around 3:30, and I roomed with Jeff. We were out like lights, sleeping like "dead men" as Jeff put it, by four.