It was not one of my better ideas: deseeding an eighth of cheap weed on my lap as my friend Greg pointed my four-speed, 1979 Volkswagen Rabbit down I-85 South towards Athens, Georgia. So much could go wrong...

But let’s take a quick rest stop to pause and remind you, Dear Reader, to please keep “What’s Left Behind” on repeat (via Spotify, Apple Music, etc); to please post, ‘Gram, Tweet or otherwise share your enthusiasm for the record; and to please get your tickets for next week’s epic album release show; they’re going fast. Now, back to the road ...

We’d somehow convinced our parents that a 1476 mile “pilgrimage” to R.E.M.’s hometown was a reasonable undertaking for two freshly-graduated 17-year-olds on a late-summer, long weekend. It would be as far as I’d ever traveled under my own steam.

The year was 1989: pre-Internet, pre-Google. We had a AAA map, $200 cash, a boom box, and a few Rolling Stone Magazine clips as guide. No GPS, no cell phone, nowhere to stay. 

R.E.M.’s “Document” was scarcely a year old. Greg and I had seen the band (second row, natch) at the Spectrum (RIP) that fall — my first concert. Michael wore eyeliner, and stomped confidently in front of screen filled with fish swimming in slow-motion, the moon rising through clouds, and kudzu (lots of kudzu). They weren’t\ international superstars. They were still ours.

We spent the first eight hours of the trip in the parking lot of a local elementary school waiting for our friend, who we'll call Ian, to deliver aforementioned goods. When we finally scored and hit the road, it was rush hour in I-95. Traffic was unbearable, but we carried on through to a rest stop somewhere in northern Virginia where we slept in our seats. We made it to Athens (despite the potential of a “Deliverance” detour) Saturday afternoon. 

We checked into our Holiday Inn (lying that we were old enough, and paying in cash), and set out by foot to find whatever evidence of the band we could. There were no guide books, no Segway tours to light our way. All we had were those clues gleaned from the pages of Rolling Stone. 

Athens was bright, lush and green. We wandered aimlessly, wondering if every church was THE church on Oconee Street. We found our way to Wuxtry Records (where Pete Buck met Michael Stipe) to purchase an arm full of local music, and the 40 Watt Club. We were too young to enter, so snapped a few photos, and headed back to our hotel. (I later triangulated its address with R.E.M. HQ’s, pitched and landed an interview with Michael — my first ever.)

We were back to our hotel room (and that deseeded baggie) before dark. We scanned the radio dial until we found University of Georgia’s freeform WOUG, recorded a 90-minute cassette from air, and listened to it the entire way home. We’d never heard anything like it: Velvet Underground, Chickasaw Mud Puppies, Hank Williams, XTC — it was all there, punctuated by a 30-second, mashed-up promo spot that even today strikes me as a feat of tape editing. 

Sunday morning, we rolled past Walters BBQ (“It’s automatic!”), and headed home. We packed a bowl, and cranked “Pilgrimage” (“Take your time / Take your fortune”) every hour on the hour, sped northward, and pulled into the driveway just after sunset.

This Tuesday was Maggie and Elsie’s last day of school. Elsie was particularly eager and anxious. She sat quietly in my lap as I read, "You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose."

Today, The BWD Newsletter comes to you from Athens, Greece, another on the long list of cities I never imagined I’d visit. I just landed for 48 hours of conferencing. I’ll be home for Father’s Day, and begin rehearsing with Downstate Darlings for our Rockwood Music Hall album release. Thursday night, the Darlings (Chris Abad, Tony Maceli, Jamie Alegre, Paul Maddison, Dan Golden) will perform, and then I will join them for a set spanning everything from “Crash Site” to “Great Lakes.” 

It’s the journey of a lifetime, isn’t it? Athens, Georgia to Athens, Greece. These are the miles that make us who we are, brand-new with every passing second.