29 June, 2005
Bonnaroo...and Busted

before memory inevitably fades, i need to rewind my grey matter back to theUSGP@Indianapolis... especially since the powers-that-be have shone their grace... and i might get a refund/free ticket for 2006.
HOT.
DAMN.
maybe i should have acted all upset, after all.
nah.
patience pays off, occasionally.
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back when i began spinning the tale, it was all about the sodden trip, and the meet-and-greet with our new neighbors. well, one not so new... Chris, the lone returnee from last year's duo of BAR-fans. along for the ride, Roger, an AirForce controller, and Eric, to whom things happen... and whose karma, i believe, set the trend for things to come

allow me to elaborate:

starting from their home in Orlando, they'd set out early for a detour into Tennessee, for the jam-band-packed-BonnarooFestival. (the reason for the location was proximity to Nashville, i assume). regardless, it was supposedly a wall-to-wall-patchouli-orgy, with roads so clogged that they had to walk, piss-drunk, for miles before arriving at the stage area... and only were able to see two out of the million bands before they had to leave.
bad. idea...
...because their circuitous rout took them through Georgia. awaiting in the greenery, MaconCountyLine-style, was the State Police pouncing upon any cars with out of state plates and containing occupants with unkempt hair, applying some old-fashioned-hippie-profiling, and filling the county budgets with bogus probable cause cases. alas, to jail they went, with dozens of others.
and had to call daddy.
if it was me, at that age, i'd still be in there.
anyway...
out they sprung, hell bent for Indiana. and it was Hell they found, in the disguise of a huge rock in the middle of the road, not fifteen minutes from the lockup... which succeeded in ripping out the front suspension and puncturing the gas tank (should i be calculating the $? very expensive weekend, indeed).
no wheels, but a live credit card, was teh saving grace. yet again, they survived, kissing rental agency ass for the keys to a KiaRio, then shoehorning themselves and their belongings inside, northward bound. too early for the opening of the campground, they spent the night atop a parking garage... inside the car. waking up in the sun.
i am so unbelievably happy that this is someone else's story, and not mine.

and then, our paths crossed. except for the result, and the invasion of snide German Tourists, i assume the calamity found an end.
of course, i haven't spoken to them since, for the conclusion to the story.

but... oh, i will. 'cause i know there's more.

this is them.

you might ask, what the hell are they doing? actually, they are applying complex concepts of physics to sling a rope over a tree limb, so we could thusly create a crude shower with a portable hunter's blind. why? 'cause without cleanliness (and a portable alcohol supply), camping can really suck. insect repellent i essential,too. especially German-repellent. i will explain, fully, my xenophobia regarding europeans (ironically, with whom i share a last name, and, probably DNA), as this tale continues.

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