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Tuesday, 13 October 2015

Seems I am Doomed Never to Get to Buddy Guy's Place

On our first run through the Windy City (some four weeks ago now) we schlepped along Wabash to find Buddy Guy's club closed for a private party. We shrugged, and decided we would save the pleasure for our return trip. Thanks to a six-hour delay on our Amtrak service from Denver, we got here at nine o'clock last night. By the time we found our hotel (a very salubrious apartment, in fact, with a fully fitted kitchen, out along the Gold Coast) it was ten, and by the time we had eaten it was close to midnight. Ho hum, maybe another time. I did see his younger brother, the late Phil Guy, in the UK, but that was many years ago. Close, as they say, but no cigar.

Today we take the train - maybe I should say we hope to take the train - to Charleston, West Virginia, where we catch up with a fellow I've known for... 55 years. I have a lot of catching up to do on here as well, so watch out for upcoming posts on: Taos Pueblo, where we saw the San Geronimo festival activities and ate ourselves silly in other people's houses; on our three-day trek on horseback in the Huachuca Mountains; perhaps too on our visit to the Canyon de Chelly (below).