Groggily, we woke this morning after a late check-in to the Milwaukee Pfister hotel. As I opened the laptop I thought about our intrepid crew boys who more often than not, don’t have the luxury of hotels during the day, even on some days off as the distances can be so great, they may not arrive in a new town until afternoon the next day.
Their workload ensures they sleep deeply on the bus yet are at the mercy of the quality of the freeways and some of them in the cold American and Canadian North can be anything but smooth. Last night’s trip was I would say, average and you definitely carry to the next day the effects of being bumped around in a bunk all night. Even so, they remain cheery, efficient and a true delight to work with. Ever the professionals. Hats off to them.
Not much in the way of photo’s today I’m afraid (just a bit of truck-fodder, well they ARE photogenic) as due to the late arrival last night, I just didn’t get out. Check-out was 4 pm and we were bus-bound again for the short journey to the Bradley center in Milwaukee, home to the Milwaukee Bucks of the NBA. Once inside the venue, we found that our dressing room was situated right next door to the catering area, very handy for our mid-afternoon/late lunch snack. Today’s menu was Greek, Falafels, Pita bread and the like. Delicious. Extra will power was required to resist the urge to stuff our face with dinner once we returned from our sound check. I found myself wandering the corridors with the new Banjo-uke, annoying anyone and everyone although judging by the fact that the ‘No Banjo Zone’ signs are still in evidence and the haven’t been changed to ‘No Banjo-Ukulele Zone’ signs, means that all is well backstage.
For us it was another great show and once again, Mark played another four tunes with Bob. Once all was said and done, we headed for the buses and a short drive down into our beloved Chicago and our favourite hotel. Onboard the buses was a fabulous selection of Milwaukee sausage and cheeses along with cases of mouthwatering Leinenkugel beer all courtesy of Glenn Worf’s local buddies. Glenn being of course from Madison, Wisconsin. Before we knew it, we were rolling up outside the Peninsula.