coffee...from the road.

Alan Doyle, from Great Big Sea, writes frequent "From the Road" tour diaries...he wrote one recently all about coffee. I loved it. And I have to share it. So here it is...enjoy.

xo C.

February 19, 2006
Tour Diary Denver, Colorado
Dressing Room

I woke at 8am and could not get back to sleep. We still had an hour or so to go.

I needed coffee. So I went at the coffee maker. This is always a mistake. Coffee makers and I do not agree. I don’t like coffee makers and they don’t like me. I find making coffee a fairly coordinated and complicated procedure. I need my wits about me and I need to be fully awake to attempt these types of jobs. In other words, I need coffee to make coffee. There’s the hitch.

I generally avoid making coffee. I live in the city because I HAVE to be able to walk to a coffee shop in the morning. A job as important as coffee making should only be undertaken by seasoned professionals. The ladies and gents at Hava Java in St. John’s take care of me daily when I’m home, but traveling as I am I had to look after myself.

I am fairly level headed. I have not punched a wall in a long, long time. I do not swear at my computer, I don’t throw phones or alarm clocks, and I don’t give other drivers the finger. I don’t think I have become a Prima Donna Rock Star. I don’t require the red M&M’s to be separated from the other colours, I don’t require Turkish rugs or a certain flavor incense backstage, and I don’t cause a fit if the water is one degree too cold onstage.

But here’s the sad truth. I beat up coffee makers.

Yes, that is the one crack in my attempted Zen. They bug the shite out of me. They mock me. They seem to work fine for everyone else, but not me. Even when I follow the instructions exactly, the water flows over the filter or the coffee is way too weak or strong. F*%$ coffee makers.

I smashed one with a mag-lite outside the bus in Rochester a few years ago. I tossed one from the moving bus somewhere between Phoenix and Vegas on a recent tour. I am generally given a free ride when it comes to coffee making on tour, but as no one else was in the front lounge, I had to give it a go.

I had just begun to survey the coffee, filters and the machine when a few of the crew lads drifted sleepily to the front. A few of them had taken their seats eyeing the US vs. Sweden game this morning before they realized what I was attempting. A couple of the lads are new so they would not be fully aware of my checkered past. Still they must have heard something as they became very nervous when they saw me approach the new, apparently “state of the art” coffee system on the bus.

I forged ahead, convinced this day I would break the coffee make curse. I put the ground coffee in the filter. I poured the bottled water in the back and none spilled on the counter. I closed the front and pushed the red button, and waited. Moments later coffee started to appear in the pot below. I did not rush and trust the ‘pour and go’ spout that has so often shagged me, sending hot coffee up my sleeve or down my pants. I waited and poured coffee from the full pot into my “City of Brantford” Travel mug (compliments of the Mayor) and replaced on it’s stand. I poured in the tiniest drop of milk and the coffee went white. Too weak to drink.

I did not swear, but bowed my head and tried convince myself that this was not a big deal. It was not working. I stared with rage at the beast that had once again made a coffee making fool of me. Just then, Sean walked through the door and entered the front lounge rubbed his eyes and looked startled when he realized what was happening.

“What’s going on here? Who let Doyle at the coffee maker?” He asked the crew guys who pointed at each other.

“It’s too weak.” I was ashamed. Foiled again.

“It’s alright, dude. Dump it out and we’ll make another one.” He calmed me.

I went in to the washroom to dump it and through the closed door behind me I heard Sean whispering, informing the new lads of “Keep Alan from the Coffee Maker” rule.

Sean made a good pot, by apparently used five tablespoons, not teaspoons of ground coffee. Who can remember such details before they have caffeine? The day has been great ever since.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

Looking forward to a big gig in Denver tonight.

Cheers
Alan

Today...

wake up happy. chase a cloud.
savor a memory. laugh out loud.
whisper a promise. whistle a
tune. fall alseep with a smile
for the moon.

Yesterday was my birthday. I'm now 23. Twenty-three feels older than twenty-two. I feel like a real grown up now. Am I? I think I might just be. Wow...how did that happen? I'm so happy with my life right now, and wouldn't change anything (well, more money might be nice...but we can't have it all now can we?)...but it still feels like it's not really my life. It still feels like I'm just on vacation...I still get the "do I really live here?" feeling every so often. I guess it just takes time...for everything. And at the same time, whenever I've been gone for more than 24 hours, it feels amazing just to be back at my apartment, to be home.

Here's to another fabulous year of friends, love, music, and fun times....thanks everyone for being part of my life....you rock.

xo C.