I awoke to the sun creeping over the treeline, and turned to watch guiltily as it shocked Jeff into regretful consciousness next to me on the tarp.  I washed the dust out of my mouth and walked down the lane to see the resevoir I’d missed last night pulling in under darkness.  It reminded me of the reservoir I grew up frequenting, Rimrock, where I first rode a dirtbike (sprained wrist), once shit myself (chili feed, no spare pants), first brought a girl up camping (turned down), and once watched two of my friends hand-paddle out to an island, steadily sinking on account of the hundred beers or so they’d stocked their cheap raft with.  We made some gay-cowboy coffee (campstove instant made in an empty soupcan, but then smuthered with fu-fu flavored coffeemate), packed up, swam in the res a bit, and hit the road towards the second day and first gig of the tour.  We drove through Napa, Sonoma, and Santa Rosa wine country, the omens gaining clarity, starting with another, a redder ‘Moose’ sign peeking out of the bushes inexplicably.  We sampled the culminations of these regions at a few of the tasting in Healdsberg, which are ubiquitous.  There was an incredible 8-piece cover band (horn section, two female vocalists) playing in the town’s central square, doing plenty of justice to some of my favorite old funk tunes– cougars with pipes, damn.  A couple was exhibiting a series of their paintings– a kind of Russian modernism with small squares– at the cafe before we set up, and it offered an interesting window into Bay Area are and wine culture while eating my meatloaf sandwich.  The boys played the closest thing to an acoustic set that they do, and even off on the electric trance jams until the end when a MILF-pack tore through the place, air-humping in ecstasy and criticizing the music simultaneously.  Afterward we drank some very good syrahs, cabs, and pinot noirs, packed up and drove to San Francisco to Tom’s friend Allison’s place.  There we ate the best baked mac n cheese I’ve ever had, sticky buns, and I slept in a Very Soft Bed (a treat somewheres along the lines of a ribeye to a man that’s dated a vegan for five months).

Quote of the Day: "Are you guys in a band, oh my God!  Wait, I have a sticker phobia, I’ll totally puke if I touch your guitar case."
–excitable small girl

by Jesse Shell