I am a wedding guitarist. I don't play in bars or clubs anymore and I rarely do concerts or recitals. I play at weddings. Ceremonies mostly, but occasionally I play background music for cocktails or dinner. I used to hate playing for ceremonies because I was worried that I would make a mistake or two. But I've gotten over the fear. Oh I make mistakes, but I'm not afraid anymore.
Most of the weddings are outdoor events. I tend to work a lot on Mackinac Island. It's a small resort island in Lake Huron, nestled between Michigan's upper and lower peninsulas. Part of it's charm is that motor vehicles are prohibited. So when I go to a venue, and there are many gorgeous venues, I travel by bicycle or horse-drawn taxi.
Not all of my weddings are there of course. There are venues scattered all over Northern Michigan. Some are obvious - like hotels or resorts. Others are on private property. A farm, orchard, or vineyard all make charming, rustic places to get married. From refurbished barns to a trellis or gazebo down by the lake or stream.
As I was driving to one such location recently I got turned around. I'd never been to this place but I found it easily enough on my GPS and so I blindly followed the directions. Until that one moment when I didn't ("I know where this road goes...") and I zigged when I should have zagged. What is it about being a guy and not following directions? According to my GPS my new route would take me an additional 10 minutes, and since I was more than an hour ahead of schedule I thought "What the heck" and decided to take the detour instead of turning around and correcting my path.
The "long way" took me down a nasty, misbegotten dirt road that slowed my driving speed by half, but the forest was lovely and peaceful - if you don't count the bouncing of my station wagon and my swearing out loud whenever I hit a big bump. A few miles later I found my way back to pavement and eventually was able to get to where I was heading. But the few extra minutes caused me to remember some of my other misadventures in "getting to the gig".
Some years ago I had an uncharacteristic "three wedding" day. The first two were on Mackinac Is. and the other was on a different island farther north. That morning was rainy so I took a taxi (horse-drawn) from my apartment to the venue and then back afterward. The skies had cleared so I rode my bicycle from my apartment to the second venue to play for a service and cocktail hour. I immediately rode from that venue to my apartment to drop off my bicycle and then walked to the docks to get on a ferry to the mainland.
Once on the mainland I jumped into my car and drove north to a small marina in a little village where I was met by a private speed boat. We bounced across Lake Huron to this little private island. The slip was designed for use by a yacht and so the ground was about four feet above this little speed boat. Fortunately there were a couple of young guys to help me crawl out of the boat and up the wall to firm ground and a waiting golf cart. The cart took me to a private home where I played for a lovely bride, groom, and their family/friends. The trip home was, of course, a transportation repeat.
As I was driving home I did a little vehicle accounting in my head: taxi, bicycle, ferry, automobile, speed boat, and golf cart. All in one day. Planes, trains, and automobiles? Heck that would be easy.