Letters from The Gentlevan: A True Story of Survival, Pt. 1

Dear Internet,
In the following series of entries, I shall endeavor to recount for you, dear readers, a True story of survival as was endured by myself and my humble man partner.  Our intentions in describing the events described herein are three-fold.  We aim to:

(1) Disabuse you of the notion that The Councilman and I are dainty fops who collapse in tears at the first whiff of adversity.

(2) Provide convincing evidence that the heavens smile upon The Two Man Gentlemen Band; and in doing so discourage those amongst you who have a mind to trifle with us.

(3) Offer practical advice to motorists, generally, and cross-country traveling minivan owners, specifically.

I begin our tale presently.

Several summers ago, The Councilman and I embarked on our very first cross-country musical adventure.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term, a cross-country musical adventure is one in which a musical combo (a duo preferably) ventures from city to city on consecutive nights, making music and merriment at every stop, with the eventual result that they have “crossed” the country, at which point they turn around and go home.  What fun, you say!  And you, friend, are correct.

But being that we were, at the time, without the crack squad of schedulers that now stand in our corner, the itinerary that governed our journey was not without flaws.  Our route of scheduled engagements was, you might say, inefficient at best, and haphazard to the point of extreme danger at worst.  It was thus that I awoke one Tuesday morning in Salina, KS (having put on a delightful performance the previous night, mind you) needing to be onstage in Los Angeles early Wednesday evening.  My calculations indicated that 26 some-odd hours of driving would be necessary.   I nudged The Councilman gently from his slumber.

“Councilman, we have need to be in Los Angeles early tomorrow evening,” I whispered.

“When is my flight?” He replied.

“Heavens no, dear friend!  We are driving.”

“You are a fool.”

I eased his frustration by fashioning some makeshift bedding in the backseat of our intrepid minivan.  Rest your head on this dear friend, I shall drive you!

And drive him I did.  We embarked westward, knowing full well that the next 40 hrs would try our strength, our patience, our supply of comedy tapes, our endurance, our man-ness… times two!  But, really, sirs! we said to ourselves.  How dreadful can this be?  Surely countless young men – having need to visit their ailing grandmothes or survey an iron mine – have journeyed from Salina, KS to Cedar City, UT in one thrust?

But countless young men we were not to be!!! (Huh?)

To be continued….

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