Editor’s note: this is a four-part series that will run during the upcoming weeks documenting the trials and tribulations of a musician’s life on the road – the trials and tribulations inflicted by reporter Boonie Boone.

Boonie bravely decided to enter this world by signing up for a 10-day trek across the Midwest with New Yorker Bari Koral.

Koral was generous enough to take Boonie out on the road. Little did she know what she was getting herself into.

Boonie Manilow? That’s what Bari said would be my name if I were to marry Barry Manilow. She wanted to be Bari Manilow, but it wouldn’t work out because he doesn’t swing that way. After repeated listens to “Mandy” and “Copacabana,” Bari (not Barry) commended me on my patience and ability to sit through the “Essential Barry Manilow” collection. But Bari insists I validate the listening as nothing but a throwback to her youth. Really, it wasn’t, nor will it ever be, a serious listen. And please don’t take Manilow as an influence to Koral. Bari is much, much better.

So how did I manage myself into a conversation over a nutty nuptial and a campy compact disc?

Earlier this spring Bari Koral stopped at the Maintenance Shop while on a short Midwest tour. I played the role of sound engineer for the native New York singer/songwriter. We kind of hit it off, kept in touch over the following months and then she offered to take me out here on the road as sound guy/tour manager/friend and a confidant.

I’ve been wanting to get out on “the road” for quite a while. I wanted to be the guy walking into a new venue every night instead of the guy waiting at the M-Shop for the artist to show up.

I was so anxious to leave this week, I thought I’d give my mom a case of the worry warts and head to Iowa City at 1 a.m. without telling anyone. I guess this didn’t sit well with those loved ones back home. What can I say? Some girls have the ability to get a fella to make pseudo-irrational decisions late at night. Throw caution to the wind-sometimes you just need to leave without anyone knowing. But I’m okay, Mom, I’m here in Wichita with very little to do but type these nonsense ramblings.

Bari and I made it into Wichita by way of Des Moines in about seven hours. We called the Candlewood Hotel for directions but then decided to get dinner first. We ate at a restaurant in Old Town and asked our waitress for directions after realizing we’d become somewhat disoriented. She squinted a little, started mumbling and I listened with an equal amount of confusion as she rambled off street names I was all too unfamiliar with. We thought with her sloppy directions and the hotel’s previous directions that we’d make it to the Candlewood no sweat.

An hour later we pull into the parking lot to unload our luggage. In that hour we made lefts that should have been rights on the recommendation of the hotel’s receptionist.

Bari was starting to become uneasy and irked that we hadn’t found the hotel. We pulled into an Amoco station so I could ask Cletus where exactly this elusive “Webb Street” was that the Candlewood was located on. Much like our waitress, he squinted a bit, thought really hard and began to count the number of stoplights we’d have to go through out loud. It was getting late and we had no choice but to take Cletus’s advice. We were both shocked when we found Webb Street. Cletus came through . sort of. He said we’d go through three lights; it was actually five. So I’ve learned that at least some people down here 1) can’t count and 2) don’t know north from south or east from west.

The two shows at Club Indigo went pretty well. On Saturday night we were put upstairs on an outdoor patio. It really wasn’t that bad aside from the overbearingly loud hip-hop music across the street.

Bari’s bass player, Ken Rich, just happened to be in Wichita this weekend for a wedding and agreed to come play a few tunes with her. When he showed, Bari’s face lit up with the excitement of a little girl anticipating a Friday night slumber party.

Sunday night we were fortunate enough to relocate to the main bar downstairs.

Upon setting up, Bari had a pest of a boy relentlessly requesting Beatles tunes. She pleased him with “Ticket to Ride” and he eventually left. The highlight of the day for Bari was having one of the owner’s daughters show up to see her play at the Indigo. Earlier Nabil, the owner, and the rest of his family showed Bari the wonderful sights in Wichita.

It’s 9:28 a.m. and we’re dreading the day’s drive to Minneapolis. It’s not that we don’t want to go, but a 10-hour drive on Memorial Day spells longer than 10 hours. Oh well. Did I mention we were driving to Lincoln, Neb. on Wednesday? Well, we are. I don’t mind spending the time with Bari, just Barry.

Boonie Boone is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Madrid. He hopes to graduate someday and bleeds buddyhead.com.