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.

It’s amazing the trouble one can get into with just a couple of days off. Especially when one only worked two shows and has the energy to go out and, how do you say – ah yes – tie one on.

The drive to Minneapolis wasn’t that bad at all. Sure, it took us 12 hours to make it, but we stopped along the way at a fine eatin’ joint just south of the Iowa border by the name of the Dinner Bell. Being the Midwest boy I am, I’m used to hot sandwiches smothered in gravy served up by women like “Flo” or “Alice.”

Bari told me it was just days before this she was sitting at the Union Square Caf‚ enjoying some of the best cuisine New York has to offer. I had no idea she would be offended by the plate of iceberg lettuce, croutons and low-cal ranch dressing set before her. As she rambled on I grabbed her plate, took a big bite and said, mouth full of food, “What’s your point now?”

We hopped back in our car in hopes of hitting Minneapolis before the nightlife died. Unfortunately I had to break Bari’s rules of the road (“You are so cheating! You can’t go back home. Do you see me going to New York?”) by stopping back home to deliver the first installment of these stream-of-consciousness writings to the Daily.

At 11:30 we finally pull up in front of Bari’s friend Andi’s house south of uptown Minneapolis. The first thing I said to myself was this was too nice for me. Plush furniture, a 20-foot vaulted ceiling and books I’ll never read by Ayn Rand. Despite feeling out of place, I’m very grateful to Andi and her roommate Jean for allowing us to crash at their fine place for two days.

With the whole day ahead of us, Bari and I took to the streets of uptown, slipping in and out of bookstores and record shops, but spent most of our time in clothing stores per Bari’s request. “I need clothes to wear on stage,” she claimed. That was Kool and the Gang with me. Give a little, get a little. Besides, I saw a few choice items I wouldn’t have minded picking up for my lady friend.

The day had been overcast all day and outdoor activities were not looking good. What’s a boy to do when he can’t play outside? None other than to call his friend Collin and hit the bars at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I made Collin’s acquaintance during Veishea at the Soul Asylum show, as he is their sound engineer. I knew he could hold his own after stopping over at my brother’s apartment with Asylum frontman Dave Pirner after the Veishea show. Though it was clearing up outside, we began what would be a hellacious night inside the Uptown Bar. We both threw down a few beers and opted to move a little further on down the road to Mortimer’s, located on Lyndale. There we engaged in some serious Golden Tee competition.

By now, it’s 8:30 p.m. and we’re ready to hit downtown. We’re both feeling pretty good right now. We pull up to Eli’s and order a couple of beers.

As we continue to talk about sound equipment and the music industry in general, someone walks up and says “I thought that was you with those sideburns.” Of the handful of people I know in Minneapolis, my good friend and former Ames resident Chris Thrailkill just happens to be dining in the same place we’re drinking. Weirder things have happened.

By now, I’ve long abandoned any semblance of sobriety for the rest of the night. We’ve left Eli’s and are now on our way to First Avenue, where Collin has worked for almost 10 years. With a handful of drink tickets in his hand, we walk into First Avenue’s smaller room, the 7th St. entry. Despite Chris’s attempts to buy a round, Collin throws his drink tickets down with the intention of letting the ocean know he has a thirst that would make it proud.

It’s a drink there, a drink upstairs and another drink upstairs before we decide to head over to the Fine Line and take in some live karaoke. That’s right, live band karaoke. Scoff all you want, but there were quite a few people lining up to strut their musical skills, or the lack thereof.

We closed the place down and I’m thinking we’re done, but Collin would like to prove otherwise. He insists we go back to First Avenue for another drink. I’m done by now. A dead man’s sneeze would have knocked me over. After quite a fiasco that consisted of actually losing Collin for a short period of time and then trying to convince him not to drive, we managed to lure him to Chris’ place two blocks down the road.

I hit the couch already asleep. Finally, I was somewhere safe and quiet, as was Collin – or so I thought. When Chris woke me up this morning, we were both shocked to find the other couch empty and the bedding still folded from the night before. I suppose I should take the time to call Collin today and make sure he’s okay. It is 15 miles from downtown to his place. If you see his wife, don’t tell about her about this night.

And here I sit typing a rather lengthy saga of what was supposed to be a day off. I’m fresh out of the shower after walking a mere 30 blocks back to the house from downtown. Bari just brought me some hash browns from breakfast in uptown.

Boonie Boone is a senior in pre-journalism and mass communication. He wishes Mark Eitzel would have played “Jenny” last Friday in Minneapolis.