The band had a gig at some ski resort. Family were there too—Lis, her kids. K.C. was there. We were staying in a place that was owned by George Harrison. C.D. asked me if I wanted to go skiing the following morning. It seemed like a cold and unpleasant prospect, but he said George would be there. “Well, I’m not going to pass up the opportunity to meet George Harrison,” I said. I imagined myself shaking his hand and saying it was an honor to meet him, and his response: modest, polite, but maybe a slight bit annoyed that I hadn’t treated him like an ordinary person.