Raleigh

Once again, for the third time in three weeks, days after returning from Orlando (and mostly recovered from my cold), I was packed and on my way to the airport for one last summer adventure (though it was only June). I chose Raleigh, NC (my third city in three weeks), for a quick weekend getaway with one goal: fly down Saturday morning, see Lindsey Buckingham and Christine McVie (two-fifths of my all-time favorite band, Rumours-era Fleetwood Mac) in concert on Saturday night, and fly home on Sunday. (I was running low on time off from work, so a whirlwind weekend trip was my only option.)

I had attempted this kind of trip twice before: once successfully (Stevie Nicks, Columbia, SC) and once disastrously (no Stevie Nicks, Houston, TX), so, based on my track record, I had a 50% chance  of catching all my flights and actually making the concert. 

To support my cause, I booked a 6:00 a.m. flight out of my home airport, followed by connecting flights with at least 90-minute layovers in between, arriving by 11 a.m. in Raleigh for the 7:30 p.m. show. (Ample napping time, if all went well.) The inevitable downside, though, was a 3:00 a.m. wake-up call, followed by a long, dark, hour-long drive to the airport. But I was flying on a bottomless reserve of nervous energy, plus I was inexplicably gifted TSA PreCheck, so I breezed through security, ordered and ate breakfast, found my gate, and snared an exit-row seat with extra legroom, both of which made me feel like I was flying first class (which, believe me, I never do).

So the first flight was great, except that coffee, which I desperately wanted, was not served (a true crime against humanity on a 6:00 a.m. flight), making me painfully regret not ordering it at Dunkin' Donuts when I'd had a chance. I arrived in Detroit on time (and immediately bought coffee), but I couldn't relax until I was on the next (full) flight to Raleigh-Durham. I stayed tense after boarding as our departure was delayed due to maintenance issues, but we arrived around 11 a.m., I bought food and an unsealed water bottle (for the concert), printed my boarding passes for the next day's flights, and called my hotel to request a shuttle pickup. I was nervous about that part, having flubbed my Columbia and Paris pickups (my faulty sense of direction), but I easily found the meeting spot (though I nearly climbed in three other hotel shuttles) and waited 15 minutes for Mary, a sweet older woman who made concert-related small talk and offered me her rain jacket for the outdoor show. (I foolishly declined, hoping against hope that I wouldn't need it.)

The front desk clerk was equally friendly, graciously accommodating my early check-in request and scheduling the following day's shuttle pickup. So I settled in and settled down, fully relaxing for probably the first time in an already long day, drifting in and out of light sleep for an hour before I got up, visited the hotel's fitness center, showered, dressed, pre-ordered my Uber ride, ate dinner, and went down to the lobby to await my pickup.

When Joyce arrived at 6 p.m., I walked out into a downpour. Then, en route to Red Hat Amphitheater, the rain became a monsoon. Poor Joyce, who confided that she hates driving in rain and usually doesn't, could barely see the road, while I went from anxious to panicked in the backseat. I didn't know if the concert would be cancelled, if I'd get mercilessly soaked either way, and if I'd flown down to NC (like TX) for nothing. 

Somehow Joyce got me there (and I apologetically tipped her $10 cash for her trouble), but I wasn't sure I wanted to get out of her car. It was still pouring rain, and I was drenched walking from her car to the amphitheater gate (still closed at 6:30 p.m.) and down the street, where I took shelter under a nearby building's awning. I was soon joined by an increasingly large throng of poncho-clad fellow concertgoers, whom I envied for their dry clothes and hair. Within minutes, an intrepid vendor, seizing the opportunity, sold me a $5 oversized hooded poncho (basically a clear garbage bag with holes and hood), which I bought without hesitating and put on over my wet clothes and formerly great hair. (Next time I'll go prepared.)

At 7:30 (scheduled showtime) the gates finally opened, I found my fabulous eighth-row center seat, the rain stopped on cue, and the Wallflowers (remember them from the '90s?), fronted by the amazing Jakob Dylan, began their set, which included "Sixth Avenue Heartache," "Three Marlenas," a bluesy cover of "The Letter," and, of course, the star of the show (besides Dylan), "One Headlight." 

After a brief intermission, Lindsey and Christine walked onstage, hand-in-hand, looking skinny, gorgeous, and eternally youthful. Lindsey kicked it off with passionate acoustic renditions of "Trouble" and "Never Going Back Again," an amazing start, followed by Christine going solo on a warbly "Wish You Were Here." 

Christine McVie, left, and Lindsey Buckingham perform at Red Hat Amphitheater in Raleigh on June 25, 2017. 

 Richard Moore/Special to The News & Observer

The show's highlights were the fan-favorite FM songs that everyone came for: "Hold Me," "I'm So Afraid," "Little Lies," "Tusk," "Go Your Own Way," "You Make Loving Fun," and "Everywhere." I wasn't as crazy about their duet album material, which was fresh and fun though not the same quality as their "Rumours," "Tusk," and "Tango in the Night" songs, but what had been a potentially-catastrophic evening just a few hours before became a magical reverie. That's the power of good music. 

On those melodic notes, I drifted back to my hotel (courtesy of Uber) at the end of the concert and flew home the next day, back to work and all of its attendant stresses and demands, my adventurous thirst temporarily quenched.