U2 who most often comes across as the party guy, the funny one, the rowdy of the group, reveals himself to be a thoughtful character very aware of being caught up in a great lifetime adventure.

Dawn comes early in the hinterlands on the summer solstice, the longest day. By 4:30 the sky is light and we have crossed the Cumbrian lake country, shaken off the cars that followed us, avoided the police roadblocks, and reached the Irish Sea. Bono rouses B. P. Fallen, U2's court philosopher and deejay, crying, "B. P.! Let's have some appropri­ate music on the blaster!"

"Something like 'Get Up, Stand Up'?" asks B. P.

"No," Bono answers. "I was thinking more, 'Theme from Hawaii Five-0.' "

We crawl out of the bus, blinking like newborn moles, and survey the cold, cold ocean, the steep stone steps, and the orange rubber life rafts that wait to ferry us to the Greenpeace ship. We are told to trade in our shoes for high rubber boots and to zip ourselves into orange survival suits before casting off. Five minutes later we're tearing across the waves and that little ship on the horizon is getting bigger and bigger. Bono is looking professionally heroic in the ocean spray, as a second Greenpeace raft—this one bearing a film crew and photographers—chops alongside us, immortalizing his nobility. It's as if Washington had crossed the Delaware with Emanuel Leutze paddling next to him in a canoe, furi­ously painting.

We pull up alongside the Greenpeace ship Solo and the brave hippie crew gaze down from the decks and wave. The size of the Greenpeace vessel is impressive when you're bobbing next to it in a dinghy, as is the knowledge that these people spend their lives throwing themselves into peril in defense of the ecosystem. One Greenpeace ship was blown up by the French government. U2 might be, as Bono says, rock stars on a day trip, but they're day-tripping with heroes.

"Throw out your treasure and your women and you'll be fine!" Bono shouts up from our raft. Then we tie on and start scurrying up the metal stairs along the hull of the ship. The captain explains that it will take us two or three hours to sail south to Sellafield, so we might as well wiggle out of our flotation suits and have some breakfast. (I make the mistake of asking for a Coke; from the reaction of the Greenpeace health food herbivores you'd think I requested a club to beat baby seals.) The Solo is sort of a combination of the Staten Island ferry and a college

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Dorm—a big functional vessel with cute notes and nicknames stuck on the doors of the individual sleeping cabins. A woman from a London newspaper who caught wind that something was going to happen on this trip and horned her way aboard begins interviewing any U2 member she can corner. The Greenpeace film crew shoots Adam looking at nautical charts on the bridge. A Thor-like mate who's perhaps been at sea too long quietly tries to convince Bono to hire him as a roadie.

One woman present suggests to Bono that there's an empty cabin available if he'd like to go lie down for a while. Thanks, Bono says, that would be great. She leads Bono in and stands there staring at him as he lies down on the cot. Bono is exhausted; he tries to ignore her. Then she says, "Aren't you going to take off your pants?"

Er, Bono says, no, that's okay. I'm fine. Thank you. Then she climbs onto the cot next to him. Gently but firmly Bono explains that the young woman upstairs with the brown hair is his wife. Ahhh. And maybe she'd like to take a nap with me, hmmm? That's right, okay, thank you. The woman goes off to fetch Alt and Bono lies back, relieved. A couple of minutes later the door opens again, Ali comes in and lies down next to her husband. It is the first time the two of them have been alone together in ages, what with Bono on the road, and the weary couple try to make the best of this odd circumstance. As they begin to cuddle, though, Ali lets out a yelp. Their hostess is back and has climbed into bed with them. Well, Bono says, jumping up, let's see what's going on on deck.

Adam is wandering the bowels of the ship, looking for a place to sit quietly. An emotional subtext of this operation is that Sellafield is a British facility polluting the Irish Sea, and U2 is an Irish band. Radia­tion recognizes no borders, but the history of British oppression and Irish resentment gives this particular action an extra edge. Adam was born in England to British parents. Does he see this as an issue of nationalism?

There is a nationalism issue, but more it's an arrow-rice issue," Adam answers. "The idea that if you put something this dangerous into a part of the world that is fairly primitive like the Lake District, you can get away with it because the people are relatively unsophisticated by White­hall terms. The arrogance is much more offensive than the nationalism."

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