More Road Stories
When we arrived at the hotel in Cleveland, the entryway contained a huge table with a large Bible on a stand at one end. It was open to the twenty-third Psalm, which John intoned while the rest of us stood in absolute silence. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…” Then we were shown to our rooms. One had a large, perfectly round bed, another had mirrors on the walls and ceiling, and all were completely different. Mine had a bed that was at least fifteen feet wide. The contrast between the mood of the Bible reading and the bedrooms was… striking.
Just before our trip across the border to Toronto, it was announced that a collection would be made of any and all illicit substances that might be in the possession of anyone on the tour. I believe the instruction was, “Anything you wouldn’t feel comfortable going through customs with goes in this bag.” They were to be driven to Ann Arbor, Michigan, where we would be reunited with them after our trip to Canada. The customs folks at the Toronto airport were thrilled to be searching John Denver’s luggage. Fortunately, we all stood around and grinned, knowing nothing would be found.
As we boarded the bus to the concert hall in Washington, D.C., the driver seemed a bit unsure of where we were going. The venue was called the Capitol Center, but he drove us to the US Capitol instead. In Kansas City, we were driven to the wrong city—it turns out that Kansas City, Missouri, and Kansas City, Kansas, are on opposite sides of the Missouri River.
On a very late-night bus ride from Springfield, Massachusetts, to New Haven, Connecticut, John was not on the bus but was instead in a station wagon driven by Kris, which was the way they had toured for years, usually with a complete sound system in the back, though not, of course, on this tour. As they passed the bus, John gave us a “moon” salute from the passenger seat. A few moments later, everybody who could get to a window on the right side of the bus returned the favor. This was indeed “big-time road,” but without all the smashing of hotel rooms and similar escapades we’ve all read about as punctuation to rock tours. This one was mostly sheer joy.
