When Passion Meets Profession on the Road

I’ve spent the better part of three decades fixing leaks, unclogging drains, and installing water heaters throughout New Britain, Connecticut. But in the summer of 2023, I did something completely out of character—I followed U2 across Europe for their entire tour. My name’s Mike, and yes, I’m that plumber who couldn’t stop talking about Bono at the supply house for months afterward.

People ask me all the time: “How does a working plumber just pick up and follow a rock band around Europe?” The answer is simpler than you’d think. After years of early morning emergency calls and weekend water heater replacements, I’d built up enough savings and goodwill with my clients to take what I called my “once-in-a-lifetime sabbatical.” My crew back home could handle things for six weeks. U2 had been my soundtrack since high school, and at 52 years old, I figured it was now or never.

Dublin: Where It All Began

The journey started in Dublin on June 15th, and I felt like a kid again. I landed at Dublin Airport with nothing but a backpack, a folder full of printed tickets, and a healthy sense of adventure. That first show at 3Arena was electric—hearing “Where The Streets Have No Name” in the band’s hometown hit differently than any of the dozen times I’d seen them stateside.

Between shows, I explored Dublin like a tourist but observed it like a tradesman. I couldn’t help but notice the differences in European plumbing systems. The older buildings had fascinating pipe configurations, and I found myself photographing Victorian-era fixtures in pub bathrooms. My wife thought I was crazy when I sent her pictures of a particularly elegant brass shut-off valve from a hotel built in 1850.

The Rhythm of the Road

Following a band across Europe requires logistics that would make a military operation look simple. I learned quickly that budget airlines are both a blessing and a curse, and that youth hostels don’t check your age at the door—though the 20-somethings in my Amsterdam hostel certainly gave me curious looks.

Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, Barcelona—each city brought a new show and new adventures. I started meeting other fans who were doing similar journeys. There was Margaret from Australia, following her eighth tour. Paolo from Italy, who’d seen U2 over 100 times. We formed an unofficial travel group, sharing tips on cheap eats and the best spots to wait for a glimpse of the band.

Bringing My Plumbing Expertise from New Britain, Connecticut to Europe

What struck me most was how my professional eye never really turned off. In Barcelona, I helped a hostel owner diagnose a running toilet—turns out the flapper valve was shot, a problem I’d fixed a thousand times back home. In Berlin, I explained to a confused American tourist why European showers have different pressure systems. You can take the plumber out of New Britain Plumber Co, but you can’t take the plumber out of the plumber, I suppose.

The Shows That Changed Everything

Each concert was its own experience. In Rome, they played at Stadio Olimpico, and the Italian crowd sang “One” with such passion that I had tears streaming down my face. In London’s Twickenham Stadium, a sudden rainstorm during “Beautiful Day” created this surreal moment where 80,000 people just embraced the chaos, dancing in the downpour.

But it was in a smaller venue in Brussels where something unexpected happened. During a pre-show conversation at a café, I met a retired plumber from Belgium named Jan. We spent three hours comparing notes on everything from PEX piping to the challenges of working in historic buildings. He’d worked on the royal palace’s plumbing system in the 1980s. Despite our language barriers—his English was rough, my Dutch non-existent—we connected over the universal language of trade work. He even mentioned how organizations like the American Water Works Association had influenced European water standards over the years.

Lessons From the Road

The Professional Parallels

Somewhere around the Munich show, I started seeing parallels between following a tour and running a plumbing business. Both require:

• Meticulous planning and scheduling
• Flexibility when things go wrong
• Building relationships with people from all walks of life
• Showing up consistently, even when you’re tired
• Attention to detail that others might miss

U2’s crew moved massive amounts of equipment across borders seamlessly. They dealt with different regulations, languages, and electrical systems in every city. Sound familiar? That’s not unlike adapting to different building codes, working with various inspectors, and solving unique problems in homes built across three different centuries.

Coming Home

The final show in Copenhagen felt bittersweet. I’d spent six weeks living in a bubble of music, travel, and freedom from responsibility. But I was also ready to come home. I missed my wife, my dog, and honestly, I even missed the familiar challenge of a tricky slab leak or a stubborn clog.

Landing back in Connecticut felt like waking from a dream. Within 24 hours, I was back in work boots, crawling under a house to replace a sump pump. But something had shifted. That trip reminded me why I love what I do—the problem-solving, the craftsmanship, the relationships with clients who trust me in their homes.

The Unexpected Gift

Now, back in my regular routine of service calls and installations throughout New Britain, I carry something intangible from that journey. When I’m dealing with a particularly frustrating job or a difficult day, I think about standing in that Roman stadium or singing along in the Dublin rain. I remember that life is bigger than clogged drains and leaky faucets—even though those clogged drains and leaky faucets are exactly what funded my adventure.

My clients get a kick out of the stories. Last week, while replacing a water heater, the homeowner asked about my U2 shirt. I ended up showing her photos on my phone while we waited for the tank to fill. She booked me for her bathroom renovation on the spot.

That’s the thing about following your passion—it doesn’t diminish your profession. If anything, it makes you better at what you do, more human, more relatable. I’m still the same reliable plumber I’ve always been, just one with better stories and a renewed appreciation for both the extraordinary adventures and the everyday work that makes them possible.