Thurs., May 21, Chicago, IL - THE END-- I got about five hours of sleep, the result of a late checkout. I thought Petra had said she was going to pick us up at 1 p.m. I was ready to go at noon, so left my bags at the front desk and took a much needed walk. About a half mile from the hotel were country fields and large immpeccable German vegetable gardens serviced by gravel and dirt roads. I timed my walk to arrive back at the hotel by one. I was in a serious state of crossroads fever. Things had come to a splitting point with my career, and I could feel the heavy hand of fate working its mystical destiny. I was now sure I was leaving the band, and the details of how to do it were consuming my focus. About halfway back to the hotel, I remembered Petra had said a quarter to one, instead of one, so I jogged the rest of the way and met up with the van a couple of minutes late. Dede spotted me coming about a 100 yards off, and joined up with me. "Well, are you still going to do it?" She asked. "Definitely. Any word from Joanna?" "Nope. Nothing. No thanks, no note, no apology." Well, then, it was full speed ahead on getting back to Portland. Petra handed out the money, and Joanna had actually remembered to pay me for Dede's plane ticket, but had the price wrong--$336 instead of $363. Figures. I had $1800 in crisp US 100-dollar bills, and realized this was my escape money. The Frankfurt Airport is about three hours away, so we headed out to be sure we got there in plenty of time for our 5:30 p.m. flight to Chicago. No one said anything during the entire trip, other than necessary communication. On the rest stop breaks Dede and I plotted on the best way to pull off the separation. My main concern was getting a same day flight for tomorrow without spending a huge amount of cash, although it was Memorial Day weekend. It was obvious we would have to stay at a hotel after arriving in Chicago, so we decided what the hell, save some cash and stay at the Spa again. Depending on the flight schedules, I would have to hook up with Darnell to get my drums out of Joanna's apartment. This was causing us both some trepidation. Although I didn't think he would, there was the possibility of Darnell going in the petty tyrant direction and somehow blocking me. So we decided not to say anything to anyone about our plan until I was at Joanna's with a taxi waiting. The flight was pleasant enough and went by pretty fast. We flew back on Lufthansa, and it was the best flight we'd had yet. We got to Chicago around 8:30, and had to go through all the falderall of customs to get our bags. No hang ups, really, just slow. Darnell showed up after we'd waited about ten minutes, all happy to see us and bubbling about the NBA playoffs and Chicago-type things. Because Joanna had told him the wrong gate, he had parked on the other side of O'Hare, necessitating us taking the remote train to that parking lot. We went back and forth a couple of times and finally got there, after having to drag our heavy bags about a half mile. It was chilly and windy and we were dog tired, just praying for a hotel room to lay down in. Vic had a ride waiting for him, so it was just Tony, Dede and me. Darnell loaded the bags into the van and we were at last on the way to the hotel. This is where Darnell got lost on his way back from O'Hare. After about an hour, we were desperate to go to ANY hotel, so we ended up stopping at three places. They were all either booked up or way overpriced. This was getting ridiculous. Darnell was really frustrated because he knew we were mad. It took another hour to just get back to The Loop Downtown Chicago. We spotted a Quality Inn, and finally managed to guide Darnell to it off I-90. The rooms were available, but they were charging $149 each for singles! Dede related the short story of our predictament as international traveler compose a letter of resignation citing specific reasons, and did so to both our satisfaction, as we munched our overpriced oatmeal and eggs. I tried three times to talk to Darnell via phone, but each time there was no answer. On the fourth try it was busy. I figured he was probably out late driving around aimlessly and now was sleeping in. On the fifth call, he answered with a sleepy hello. I told him I'd be there around noon, and he said he'd be there. Now the plan was set. I was nervous about hitches, because I had no idea what Joanna was telling Darnell while we had been plotting our departure. I said goodbye to Dede and hopped into the cab. The cabby was having a good time listening to my comparisons of Germany to the U.S., and was genuinely likeable. I managed to get him to Joanna's apartment back door, where I would load out the drums. Darnell answered my knock, and looked awful. "I'm really sick," he explained. I said, "I hate to drop this on you, man, but I gotta blow out of here." Darnell said, "Yeah, I heard what happened, man. Hey, ya gotta do what ya gotta do." I almost asked what Joanna had told him, but I figured what was the point? As I packed the Chevy Caprice taxi with my drums I wondered if Joanna had expected this, and was already working on my replacement. Or maybe Vic had already told her about someone she could use. Whatever. It was over anyway, and I didn't really care. Despite a big traffic jam on the Kennedy we got to Union Station at 1 p.m. As we drove to the taxi entrance, there was Dede! She had figured I'd need some help with the drums and all, and the hotel was only three blocks away. It turned out she was invaluable helping me get all the pieces of luggage checked in. Amtrak only charged me $20 for baggage overage, and that was just for the overweight pieces. Great! I'm going to do a train ride! My last one was back in 1974. Dede saw me off through the gate, and I made my way to car 2714 with service to Portland. Soon the backstreets and neglected pieces of American commerce and living were flying by. I felt so much better. God's hand had taught me much, and now it was time to get back to business...

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