Road Trips & Speed Traps,
As a lifelong author and musician, I’ve road-tripped for about 30 years. The overwhelming majority of out-of-town excursions have been delightful: Frequently playing lovely venues, meeting friendly folks, as often as not savoring scrumptious local scenery or cuisine. The next level down is a much smaller collection of subpar performances, people in dirtball towns with unrealistic expectations, and Cheez-It dining in my car enroute to the venue because there’s no time for anything else.
John Duggleby album BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
And then there’s the handful of true bummers due to the proverbial circumstances beyond my control. Motel lobbies where I’ve checked in through bulletproof glass, schlepping in most of my gear because I don’t dare leave it even locked in the car. Conducting an author program at the prestigious Milwaukee Art Museum (which included drawing a live chicken), chatting and signing books with pasted-on smile until the last attendee left, then making a mad dash past the Georgia O’Keefes to the nearest bathroom to throw up. And racking up virtually all my speeding tickets since 1996 trying to either make gigs on time, or pull into my home garage at trail’s end before falling asleep.
But I say, when life hands you lemons, make vodka and lemonade. I mashed my worst road trips in the following song, Heart of Wisconsin. Many of you can probably relate, and I hope you enjoy. And here’s a pro tip: If you EVER have to drive to a gig on Wisconsin Highway 26; if you can’t avoid the village of Rosendale completely, be ready for a speed limit that freefalls from 55 to 25, faster than you can say, “Oh crap, a radar cop!” Who will materialize from behind a storage shed and surely sting you faster than the local mosquitos at dusk if you pass the village limits sign doing 26. And as mirthlessly as your worst audience member, will just as surely issue you a ticket with no negotiations, ifs, ands, or buts. This burg of 1,000 is the most notorious speed trap in Cheeseland; to the extent that local Blumkes Food Mart sells t-shirts proclaiming “Rosendale: Just the Ticket!” Here’s a lyric from my song that details my one (and one is all it takes) learning experience:
Now I’m sidelined at a speed trap getting dissed by Barney Fife
Saying goodbye to half my hard-earned pay
Too bad that I’m alone, or else I’d blame my pregnant wife
But I’m sure he’s heard that whopper anyway
I’d tell him, ”Take your ticket, stick it where the sun don’t shine”
But I’ve not enough years left to pay that fine
