Well, it turns out there really is a place called Bakewell. It’s right outside Chattanooga Tennessee, close to the Georgia state line. It has ceased to be a mythical place (or a Fig Newton of Eric’s imagination) and is now something I can find my way to in a car… well, almost. I just drove here in the middle of the night, and Eric and his cousin Cory went to great pains to freak me out on the road, trying to get me to pull over and turn off the car so I could “experience the darkness,” as though there were no other dark places in the world. Anyway, they were talking so much I missed a turn. They didn’t stop talking though. Needless to say, I didn’t stop and turn the car off.

Anyway! I’m having fried chicken with Eric’s mother, grandma and a bunch of cousins. Outside the air smells different than the Northwest, and the bird and bug sounds are much thicker and more musical than anything I’ve heard outside the jungle. Pretty awesome.

The show in Chattanooga was fun. The place we played had a fantastically clean Hammond B-3 organ and no less than three Leslie speaker cabinets, all looking like they were never moved from that spot since the day they were purchased new. We were wondering if they needed someone to take that rig off their hands…. heh heh.

Tomorrow… Nashville! Now… Grub time.

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