July 12, Saturday night / July 13, 1986 - Sunday morning.
One of these biggest lessons I have learned as a musician is to know your audience, always be prepared to play something they know, and above all, keep in control of the music at all times. Hell, I was only 23 years old that summer. I wasn’t a professional musician, by any stretch of the imagination. I knew some songs, but they weren’t necessarily the kinds of songs you’d sing around a campfire.
For as far back as I can remember, one of the things that used to drive me crazy was trying to play guitar songs together with Mark. He was way into punk music. He didn’t really know how to improvise pop, blues, rock or country music. His brain worked a whole different way than mine musically. I guess that’s why we played in so few bands together.
Clearly, our campsite was probably pretty loud this night. I’m surprised we didn’t get a warning from Ranger Rick for noise.
The next morning, Mike was in some sort of mood. I honestly don’t remember what was bothering him. I can guess and say that it might have been a problem he was having with his car. I say that because, if I’m not mistaken, I had to pull Mike’s boat back to Racine with my car at the end of our trip. Not really sure.
Door County 1986