The Whiskey Daredevils just returned from a road trip in Europe. Frontman Greg Miller fills us in on what happened.
Leo is snoring very loudly in an animalistic wheeze five feet to my right. I’m not sure if I should whack him with a pillow or call for immediate medical attention. This nicely compliments the bass roar of Martin’s snoring, about 15 feet down the hall, collapsed on a mattress like a corpse. It’s 830 am, and I guess I’m up now.
Gary is sleeping face down on a mattress like he had been executed mob style, and they left his body like some kind of warning. He doesn’t appear to be breathing, but I can’t really get involved in that right now. I scurry off to the shower and leave him to his fate.
When I return, Gary has risen like Lazurus. He is extremely disheveled and continually repeats “Eins, zwie, prost!”. In the frivolity of last night, the Germans taught him this as some sort of toast that was really hilarious at 4a.m. I guess it got even funnier when they ran out of beer and got into the plum moonshine. There are probably a lot of things that get real funny when you bust out plum moonshine.
Gary isn’t so much hungover right now, as still drunk. Well, O.K., he’s not “drunk”. He’s still shitfaced. It’s 1030 am, and he is tearing into breakfast rolls and cheeses like a man that has been adrift at sea for 10 days. As he chews the rolls open mouthed, he repeats his mantra “Eins, zwie,, Prost!”. He’s going to have a great day today, or a really long nap.
We head out and once again admire what is known all over Germany as “The Park Job”. It’s a quick ride to Stuttgart, and Christoph needs to get there to meet his family for his youngest daughter’s hearing test. Not that this medical visit wouldn’t be extremely entertaining, but I choose to get dropped off at the Porsche Museum with Leo in tow. The museum is very sleek, like you would expect a Porsche museum to be, and is located right next to the Porsche manufacturing plant. It’s a totally solid decision on our part, as Leo and I kill two hours walking around the museum. The highlights for me are when Leo points to cars saying how much “it was just like his Porsche”. (Leo bought an old Porsche 914 in 1989. It had to be towed to his house. He never got it running, and it didn’t appear he really even tried. He did say he “partied” in the broken down car while it sat in his driveway. Shortly after this purchase of the broken down car, he sold it to a “hillbilly”. This “hillbilly” made a few quick adjustments to the car while in Leo’s driveway and drove it away out of Leo’s life forever. Hence, the time of Leo P. Love, Porsche Owner came to an end.)
This article appears in Jun 17-23, 2009.