Hey there sweet family, these are Paul Kaytes' memories of the Peaches and Dreams Bus Trip which he said I could share:

“Seven turns on a highway, seven rivers to cross

Sometimes you feel like you could fly away”

It's a once in a lifetime opportunity.  For several years, I've been a photographer, shooting local community theater, sports, the ocassional wedding.  But on this night, I'm realizing a dream come true  I'm standing in front of Dickey Betts, a camera loaded with film in my hand.  But I'm unable to shoot a single frame.  I sit down on the railing separating the stage from the audience, and just listen, carried away by the music.  You see, Dickey has just started singing Seven Turns, and for the past several months, that song has been the theme for the crossroads that I have come to in my life.  That crossroads led me, in the space of 3 weeks, to quit my job of 13 years as a biologist, spend a week on the road with the Allman Brothers Band, and begin a journey on an as-yet-unmarked path.  The week on the road has been, and always will be, linked in my memory to this crossroads.   Because you see, I've been changed, and I think everyone who was on that bus has been changed in some way by the experience.  Not just by the opportunity to first hand experience 6 shows by the Allman Brothers Band from the perspective of somebody travelling with the band, but to get a glimpse into what the Extended Family is, what it can do.  Ron has asked us to write a journal of the tirp, but I can’t do that.  Because it’s not the day to day details that are important for me, although they are firm in my memory.  It’s the defining moments that are important.

-----------------

“Somebody’s calling your name

Somebody’s waiting for you”

Charleston--This may not have been the best show of the 6 (that honor, by concensus, goes to Greenville), but it became my favorite. The stay in Charleston had been magical already.  I had brought my guitar, and an impromptu jam in the hotel room the afternoon before the show led, Kevin, Jim, and Bob and me to head off for an open mic night. After a false start at a dive of a bar (but which displayed a Derek Trucks poster on the wall!), a waiter at the restaurant next door bent the house rules to allow us to play, the first time I've played guitar for anyone other than myself in almost 20 years.  It was really the others playing, with me doing the Keith Richards-style rhythm backup.  The basic repertoire, Liz Reed, Stormy Monday, Blue Sky, some others, Loan Me A Dime, Can't You See.  The Brothers of the Road we called ourselves.  Unfortunately, no tapes exist of the event, we couldn't decide as a band what our taping policy was!  It ended with the waiter, who had made it all possible and expected nothing in return, but was made the guest of the Allman Brothers Band for the show the next night.

The Charleston Colisseum is a small arena, but the stage was set up so that there was a lot of room offstage on Allen's side, and a lot of us (we became known as the "bus people" by then) watched the show from there.   There were some musical weak points, Dickey forgetting the words to Rambling Man, which seemed to throw him for the next few songs.  But the band rallied, and delivered a great end of show and encore.  What I remember, though, is that the show became a dancing fest, especially during Where It All Begins.  I felt the  energy from the stage going  through us, as if we were moving as one person.  I found myself dancing more than I have in a long time.  A voice inside my head told me that I don't do this sort of thing.  I stopped for a second, until a second voice chimed in quickly, telling me that apparently I do!  And I continued dancing for the rest of the show.  I climbed on the bus after the show, thoroughly exhausted, and thoroughly happy.                       

“Love is all that remains the same

That's what it's all coming to”

Greenville, SC  we have been pressed into roadie work, setting up and breaking down sound and video equipment.  The end of the show has been accompanied by lots of folks coming up to the sound platform, inquiring about getting copies of tapes, etc.  Packing up our stuff must be done quickly so that the real crew can do their job, so usually we were packing as quickly as possible, throwing cables and equipment into travel bags, to be sorted out later.  There was little time to talk to the people who came up to us.  We tried to be polite, but to firmly let people know that we had to do our job.  On this particular night, though, there was one woman who was particularly insistent on talking to me. There was something about her, I don't know if it was the expression on her face or the tone of her voice,  that led me to believe that this wasn't an ordinary tape grovel.  I went over to the edge of the platform.

"Excuse me, I really don't want to bother you, but could you answer a question for me?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Do they always play Little Martha after the show?"

I was taken aback.  There was a look in her eye that told me that the answer to the question was really important to her.  I dropped what I was doing, came off the platform, and informed her that yes, Little Martha is played after every show.  She gave off a glow like I've rarely seen.  That little piece of information set everything right in her world.  It was as if no matter how unfair life may be, and how inconsistent the beautiful things in life may be, it reassured her  to know that there are some things of beauty you can count on in this world.   

-------------------------------

“Running wild out on the road.

Just like a leaf on the wind

How in the world could you ever know

We'd ever meet again?”

Birmingham  This had been a roller coaster of a day anyway.  Earlier, I had run afoul of Kirk by being late for the bus (through no fault of my own) I wound up carting everyone’s luggage to the bus.  This led to me coming close to losing my pass, rescued, though, through Kirk's good graces.  Or was it?  I was later to find out that the peril my pass found itself in was a concoction of Kirk and Ron, although it taught me a lesson, and I was never late for the bus again.  It turned out to be a great show, on a beautiful star-lit night, and after the show, hanging outside the bus with Bob Russell, he turned to me.

"Look who's coming!"

"It looks like Gregg". Sure enough, Gregg Allman was headed my way, and looking me straight in the eye.  Now, I had no illusions of any close contact with the band during the trip, whatever would happen would happen.  But here he was, the man who's music had moved me for 25 years, headed right for me.  What would I do?  What would I say?   Stay cool, Paul.   I stuck out my hand, he took it and shook it firmly.

"Hi Gregg."  Not profound, but it was what I came up with at the moment.  It turned out he was looking for some videos to take on his bus for the trip to Memphis.  I led him onto our bus (our! bus) and pulled the videos out of the storage compartment.  He took some, passed on some others.  By this time, several people who were in the back of the bus came up front, greetings were exchanged, Gregg was complimented on a great show.  An awkward silence, then  Gregg broke the ice.

"I don't know if anybody has told you this, but we really appreciate you guys being here."

I think everyone on the bus at that moment was touched by the statement.  I know I was floored.  Here, Gregg Allman, a music legend who casts a shadow larger than life, both literally and figuratively, had  expressed his gratitude that we, essentially a group of crazed fans, were along for the ride.  We had assumed that the gratitude was the other way around, that our being there was something invited by the band and its management, but that our presence was more a matter of accomodation  than gratitude.  A round of thanks were exchanged, followed by some uncomfortable silence.  I felt like more needed to be said, and what would that be?  From somewhere inside of me, that I'm not quite sure to this day where it came from, came:

"Well, thank you also, Gregg, this has really made us feel like part of the Family." 

The Family.  The Extended Family.  The vision his brother had all those years ago.  My comment came not from having been invited on the bus, but from having witnessed, and felt like a part of  the Family in a way I never had before.  At that moment, at that point in time, all the years of my involvement with this band and the things it stands for, coalesced.  My hand was resting on the back of one of the captain's chairs.  Gregg took his hand, put it on mine, and our eyes met once again.  Except this time, there was a twinkle in his that I'll remember for the rest of my life.  I'm sure there was a twinkle in my eye also.  There was no other verbal communication, he left for the band bus.  At least no other exchange that I remember.  But the non-verbal communication was volume’s worth.  I immediately went into another world, with a stupid grin on my face that wouldn't leave for several hours.  His thoughts I don't know, but I felt like he was truly touched.    I hope that the wordless exchanged communicated to him just how much the Extended Family  means to us, the fans of the Allman Brothers Band.  I think it did. 

-------------------------------

And sometimes in the dark of night, you see the crossroad sign

One way is the morning light

You have to make up your mind

And so now that my journey on the bus is over, what of my unsettled journey in life? 

When the trip was over, it was hard to believe that I had been on the bus in the first place, and that the bus trip was over.  All I wanted to do was to get back on the bus, rolling down the highway, headed for the next ABB show, the next night of magic.  And exchanging emails with others on the bus, I know I was not alone.  I didn’t want it to be over.  Now that some time has passed, I’m not sure that it is over.  Because what I’ll forever have for those 8 days , moreso than backstage passes and memories sleeping berths and glimpses of band members of hotel corridors,  is the music and the Family,.  And _that_ road definitely does go on forever.

In Birmingham watching Dickey sing Seven Turns, I realized what The Allman Brothers Band has meant to me on a very personal level.  In Charleston and Greenville, I witnessed first hand, in a way I never had before, that I am not alone.  And finally, on that bus in Birmingham, I realized what the fans mean to the Band.  I hope that by my friendship with the folks on the bus, and my conversation with Gregg, that I was able to give something back to the people and to the band that mean so much to me. 

Several days after the bus trip was over, I was standing in line outside the Riviera Theater in Chicago, waiting to get in to another Allman Brothers Show (through the front door this time).  Striking up a conversation with the guy behind me, obviously a taper, we spoke of great shows of our past, and great tapes.  He mentioned a particularly good ‘94 board tape I didn’t have.  Just as I started to ask to trade for it, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a DAT of the show, and handed it to me.  “Send me something if you’d like,” he said.  It was then that I realized. The bus is in your mind, even if you’ve never been on it. Whether it carries a waiter in Charleston, a young woman in Greenville,  a taper in Chicago, or a biologist taking one of those seven turns, the bus rolls on forever.