I’ve had a few weird days of travel on my way out to New Jersey and back to learn about a new insulin product- on the way to the east coast, we had quite a few delays due to bad weather around the country. 

Due to fly into Newark, we eventually landed in DC at Dulles, as New York/New Jersey airports are “closed” due to all Of these diversions – but, they had shuttles waiting for us. No problem right? Except It was a 3 1/2 hour shuttle ride, leaving at 11pm. Rolling through Baltimore and Philadelphia, I was ultimately going to Princeton, so I waved as we went by the Ivy League berg trudging the additional 30 minutes to the confirmed destination of the Newark International Airport.   

Much to my relief, my car service was still waiting- which I didn’t know, as my phone had gone dead, resuscitated by a $10 battery pack purchased at the last possible stop along the New Jersey turnpike shortly before Newark, and I discovered the message.  

Reversing back 30 miles to Princeton in wooded rural New Jersey, considerably more comfort in the Lincoln Town Car than the free airport shuttle (which, in retrospect, seemed a lot more like prison transport for their “day” job) I arrived at the hotel at 3:30 AM EDT. 

On the return home today, this time actually flying out of Newark, I bypassed a giant security line with my usual wheelchair assist service- good thing, because I just got to the gate in time to witness a brawl between 2 large black women. Apparently, one was drunk, and the other didn’t care for that, but despite a lot of experience in this area, I was unable to ascertain which one was which. “VACATION ISNT ABOUT BEING DRUNK ALL THE TIME”. “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT”.

My flight had some minor delay, apparently unrelated to the fight, but I had a 28 minute layover in Minneapolis to get to my next gate and flight home to Grand Forks. Soon that was down to 18 minutes, but with only 8 gates separating. I start flipping though some airport hotel options (Lisa is messaging me some too at this point), just in case. This takes on a slightly more maniacal tone upon our initial descent, but I decide I’m “all in”, a perfect strategy for a man with an old gambling problem. 

As we are taxiing to the gate, lightning strikes the infield at the airport, which necessitates shelter of ground crews, and no use of jet bridges. I’m now down to a 2 minute “layover” when I enter the airport.
I’d been first informed that there would be no wheelchairs, but in fact there were 2- I picked the one with a bigger attendant (albeit, older) who I thought could probably run whilst pushing my conveyance. It’s now departure time for my other flight to home. 

He did run, even running down the moving sidewalks (where wheelchairs aren’t allowed- he asked me not to “rat him out”). I’m snapping nitro tabs and skittles by now to fight off Angina and low blood sugar, its going to be a razor thin margin, I’m ready to beat people with my cane. By any means necessary, I am making this flight. I get a flash message my bag has gone to baggage claim- not my connecting flight- It’s getting crazy.  

The same lightning strike was still delaying my flight for North Dakota- the last flight of the day- but that change wasn’t on the big board, so I didn’t know.

I slap a $20 in his hand as he’s sucking air, and board the little commuter jet. We fly through a little turbulence and lightning on the way out of the metro area winging our way to “fly over” territory, home.  
What can I say? I’m Eric.

My travels often get me to Chicago at the head of Route 66 on the banks of Lake Michigan and to the old Northside neighborhood known for baseball.  This was a different kind of night. 

A joyous show tonight with perfect weather and the history and tradition of 2 Great American Institutions; Century old Wrigley Field and The Half century old Grateful Dead (well, at least Dead & Company this time around) finding a confluence, not unlike the Chicago and Illinois rivers along the banks of Lake Michigan in Chicago- the great American city and long time and frequent host of this great American Band.

The first set was enjoyable and well played, but the second set was one for the ages for this band. An extremely hot Dancing in the Streets into Playing in the Band took the crowd from feet to heart to head in a completely organic and righteous way.  
The invocation of Jerry, although that was yet to be revealed fully, began as Oteil sang a pure and graceful Comes a Time. Scarlet Begonias was inspired, again incanting the dancers rolling into a unique and very well played transition into Fire on the Mountain, the latter also sung well by Oteil. 

A subdued but somewhat fierce The Other One followed out of space, with John displaying a dense psychedelic core not displayed in his own solo work. To say his playing was remarkable on this song would be an egregious understatement. 
It’s a cliche, but Jerry “was in the room” in a city that loved him and where he made his last live appearance when Bob offered a heartfelt and heartbroken tribute of Days Between to his old Marin County musical brother. A spirited Not Fade Away allowed John the chance to bridge the decades yet another, with solid rock and roll stylistic touches. The “Fare Thee Well” chorus of Brokedown Palace left hardly a dry eye. 

Maybe the most “complete” show I’ve seen by this band, (in person, For certain) a strong case made in Bobby’s on stage unspoken musical endorsement of his new musical brother, John Mayer. One can only hope for the future of this group.