Fear and Loathing at Bonnaroo

By: Nick Bitzis

July 18, 2013

Preface

For this piece I wanted to maintain as much detail and authenticity as possible.  That being said, there is explicit reference to drug use.  I hope that this does not portray me in too negative of a light.  Every detail here is true as I remember it.  It may be shocking or even appalling, but it is true.

Wednesday, June 12

“Once you set foot on the hallowed grounds of Bonnaroo, everything changes.”

It was 12:00AM Tennessee time and my heart was pounding as a large man in a pink shirt said, “Please step out of the car.”

I was experiencing so many conflicting emotions at that moment.  I was absolutely exhausted from days of sleep deprivation that had led up to a hectic day, a long drive and an equally long wait in the security line.  But I was also very relieved that I had luckily avoided that police security line, while in the back of my mind I still worried that I had yet to make it past the standard security, though I knew this was nothing more than a few hippies who had volunteered to work and knew full well they had enough drugs that they didn’t really need to confiscate any.  I was also excited that I would soon get to see a cute old friend of mine who I hadn’t seen in a few months, but every one of these emotions were trumped by the breathtaking realization that we had arrived.

As I stepped out of the car, I flashed my wristband that I had been wearing since the day it arrived in the mail almost 2 months before.  The little orange band read “BONNAROO 2013”.  As I watched the hippies rummage through my car, I saw them open the cooler.

“Thirty…sixty…one…two…okay,” the man in the pink shirt said.  He was counting the two thirty-packs of cheap beer.  The Bonnaroo bylaws stated that you could only bring in 30 beers per person.  The man also saw the two handles of Jack Daniels and – I get nauseous just typing it here – Jägermeister that we had hurriedly poured into plastic water bottles before leaving (the bylaws also stated no glass could be brought in), and he okayed those too.  My friend, Amine, and I were clearly underage, but it didn’t matter.  And we knew it.  Once you set foot on the hallowed grounds of Bonnaroo, everything changes.

Since Bonnaroo Music Festival’s inception in 2002, it has been heralded by Rolling Stone as “the ultimate over-the-top summer festival” and one of “50 moments that changed rock & roll.”[1]  The stages have hosted some of the biggest names in music including Phish, Stevie Wonder, Pearl Jam, Bob Dylan, Jay-Z and the Red Hot Chili Peppers to name a few.[2]  This was the 12th annual Bonnaroo Music Festival and we couldn’t wait to take it all in.

The man put a big white “O” on my windshield and they directed us to our camping spot.  My friend had turned my subs up to full blast in order to make somewhat of a grand entrance and I immediately noticed the difference between Bonnaroo and the real world.  As we drove at a snail’s pace, the people walking next to us were dancing and screaming in approval.  In “the real world”, nine out of ten people would tell me to turn it down or simply scowl in disapproval, but here there was a very “One Love” hippie vibe that was incredibly welcoming. 

We soon reached our campsite and set up what I believe to be one of the most well prepared campsites in all of Bonnaroo.  It was impressive to think that we had gathered it all last minute in frantic frenzy the same day.  Once we were set up we took a look at the campers around us: an older couple who were at their 11th Bonnaroo, a group of “alternative” looking kids from Mississippi who immediately began smoking dabs, or pure hashish oil, and our friends from back home who had driven with us, Emile and Jessica.  Emile was a pessimistic German with a dirty looking beard who thought he was too good for everything and everyone except Jessica, his girlfriend.  She was very pretty and had a sexy Latin flavor.  I think she was Columbian, or maybe Puerto Rican.  I thought about looking around more, but the truth is I was just too tired.  I passed out with sheer contentment in knowing that tomorrow Bonnaroo would truly begin.

[1] Pareles, Jon. "Jon Pareles at the Bonnaroo Music Festival." The New York Times. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 July 2013.

[2] "Bonnaroo Music Festival." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 13 July 2013. Web. 18 July 2013.

Thursday, June 13

“There was more color and eccentricity in every square inch than anywhere I’d ever been.”

I hadn’t slept well that night because I drank a bit of rum before falling asleep.  It was not enough to make me sleep well, but just enough that I could feel it keeping me awake.  I woke up in a daze feeling like my skin was cooking in that miserable little pop-up tent that I was sharing with Amine.  I checked the thermometer and it was just above 100°F.  No wonder I felt so hot, I thought.  It was only 8:00AM (very early for me to wake up in the summer), but the 50,000 people who had already entered Bonnaroo were running around as lively as can be and greeting the other 40,000 as they rolled in through the miserable security checkpoint.  I had already gotten several text messages from friends asking what “pod” I was in.  I noticed a giant floating “3” far up in the air near where we were, so I figured that must mean Pod 3.  I soon found out my friends were in Pod 9, a good mile and a half walk from where we were, but at the time I had no idea which direction. 

As I opened a can of beer, Amine stumbled out of the tent looking disoriented.  He quickly packed a bowl of his weed and started smoking.  Amine was a very skinny French-Moroccan-Tunisian-American with a beard that he admitted made him look like a terrorist.  He had quadruple citizenship in his four origin countries, which added to why my dad believed he was a sleeper cell.  But he was more like a baby chick that had just hatched, honestly, very unaware and seemingly confused all the time, yet still one of the sharpest people I’ve ever met.  He has lived almost all his life in the United States but is more oblivious to American culture than a pygmy from the isolated jungles of Africa.  He once asked me when Christmas was, and he genuinely didn’t know.

I saw a taco stand on the way in so we decided to go look for it and try to find Pod 9.  We took two Jäger bombs each before we left and I was pretty buzzed.  As soon as we stepped away from our camp it felt like that scene in Willy Wonka where they first see the candy room.  There was more color and eccentricity in every square inch than anywhere I’d ever been.  There was an assortment of bros, hoes, hippies and everything in between, many of which appeared to be just as amazed as us at what they were seeing.  I was walking around with a beer noticing the crazy people and realizing how great it was that we could drink in public and no one cared here.  It was all so beautiful, but still we hadn’t heard a bit of music.  We walked until we found the taco stand and a man dressed like a taco hugged us and gave us $1 off coupons for tacos.  The now $5 tacos were tiny and looked unappealing, but they were one of the most delicious things I’d ever eaten.  They were about as memorable as a hug from a taco man.

Olivia, the pretty girl I was trying to meet up with, was texting me where I could find her.  At this point I was fairly drunk and believed I knew where we were going until we realized that we actually had no idea where the hell we were.

Now, Bonnaroo is a compound of almost 100,000 people with cars and tents that fill the lands of a 700-acre farm once a year and essentially set up a city.[3]  Naturally, being drunk, it’s easy to get lost.  Very easy. Very lost.  Amine and I quickly got to know the entire complex as we walked to every possible wrong location before finally giving up and going to my friend Jacob’s tent.  Jacob is someone I know from Chicago through Amine who is quite a character.  He is a small Jewish boy with overwhelming charisma, the type of person who can take over a room.  When we first met, we hated each other, until Amine laughed and explained why: “You are the same person basically!  You guys don’t like each other because your personalities fight to be the leader of the group.”  He was right and we both knew it.  From then on there was a mutual respect implied between us. 

We soon determined that it was equally hard to find his tent despite the giant floating “9” in the sky and even the map screenshot he’d sent us, and I could really feel the blistering heat.  We finally found Jacob only to realize that it was time to go see the first act we wanted to see, AraabMuzik.  I looked at my watch: 5:00PM.  “Holy Shit!” I thought, “How long have we been walking? Wait…how drunk am I?”  There was no time to worry about that so we refueled on alcohol and weed at Jacob’s and headed towards Centeroo, the location where all the artists performed.  I noticed the weed was Chicago weed not Atlanta weed, and I was happy about that.  Not that it was better, but it was a more uplifting and “heady” strain because Chicago is simply a different market.

We walked up to the massive gate that read “Centeroo” and inadvertently cut the line in our stoned lack of awareness.  We passed through another security checkpoint where people were openly allowed to spray-paint all over the walls, and like something from a movie, I felt a rushing sense of satisfaction as dramatic as though angels were singing in the background.  This was the Promised Land.

Every crazy thing I had seen near our new home in Pod 3 was consolidated and amplified tenfold.  This was it.  This was the drug addled, music fueled world of Bonnaroo.  And it was more beautiful and disturbing than I could possibly fathom.  I loved it.

The stages at Bonnaroo were set up like a cruel Abbot & Costello joke designed to mess with the less than sober ‘Roo-goers: 

“Where is so and so performing?”

“What Stage”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

That was the same script that every first time attendee went through as they realized the stages at Bonnaroo were actually named: What Stage, Which Stage, This Tent, That Tent and The Other Tent.

I had high hopes for AraabMuzik, the famous producer who was known for incredibly rapid, rhythmic drum patterns produced via MPC drum machine made for the likes of rappers such as Jadakiss, Busta Rhymes and the Diplomats.[4]  We finally saw him at The Other Tent from afar and were all generally disappointed by his set.  It was short, not very loud, and just kind of boring. 

It was ok because now it was time to spend some ridiculous amount of money that we barely had on food we hoped would be good.  Before I said the tacos were one of the best things I had ever eaten because the BBQ that I then had from a little food truck was far and away the best food I had ever eaten.  Perhaps it was because I was so high, but I was in heaven with every bite of those pork sliders from the Gastropod Food Truck.

Amine and I knew that there were no other acts that night that we really wanted to see so we smoked the rest of Jacob’s weed and relaxed while listening to some indie bands whose names I can’t remember.  I wish I did, though; some of them were really good. 

It was about 12:00AM when we went back to our makeshift home and quickly fell asleep, but before we did, we marveled at the day we had just had, knowing that tomorrow would be even better.  Pretty Lights was performing that day.

[3] "Bonnaroo Music Festival." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 13 July 2013. Web. 18 July 2013.

[4] "AraabMuzik." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 15 July 2013. Web. 17 July 2013.

Friday, June 14

“It was powerful.  You could look around Bonnaroo and see everyone, black, white or purple – and yes, some were purple – sharing this incredible connection through music.”

            I woke up just as early that morning.  I can’t say for sure what time it was, but I know it was early because I was still tired and felt like shit.  I put on some shorts, though I found that was entirely optional at Bonnaroo, and walked over to grab a breakfast taco.  The dancing taco gave me some more coupons, and his breakfast tacos did not disappoint.

By the time I got back, Amine was up and waiting in the twenty minute line to use one of the fifty port-a-potties just 30 feet from our campsite.  I remember thinking how surprised I was that we couldn’t smell them where we were.  Then once I finally opened the door to one I almost passed out from the stench of who-knows-what, and lots of it.  While he waited, I poured some Jack Daniels with Honey and sat back and tanned.  Today I had put on much more sunscreen already because yesterday’s sunburn was beginning to tingle. 

Amine DJs as a hobby but in my humble opinion he could do it professionally.  When he got back from the bathroom he told me to pack a bowl while he set up his soundboard.  Part of why I believe our campsite was so nice was the addition of very, very nice speakers.  Once he had the equipment set up and the bowl had been smoked we began DJing together as if we were an off brand Daft Punk.  We were mixing everything from J. Cole to Skrillex, from Notorious B.I.G to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, from the Black Crows to the Black Keys and everything you can probably think of in between.  Needless to say, this got some people’s attentions.

First it was a guy in his early 30s named Bill who heard the music and asked if he could sit with us for a bit.  I thought it was odd but of course we weren’t going to say no.  He had a pretty standard Bonnaroo feel (dirty hair, tired eyes, rank smell) and he ended up being one of the coolest people we met at Bonnaroo.  We started talking about music, and I don’t remember specifics, as I was dunk at this point, but it soon turned philosophical. 

Something to the effect of, “Music brought me here, man, and music brought us together! We probably never would’ve met it weren’t for your mad DJ skills that pulled me in.”  It was funny and quite true. 

That intangible element that I felt right when I entered Bonnaroo was the all encompassing, barrier-surpassing love for music that these diverse groups of people all shared.  It was powerful.  You could look around Bonnaroo and see everyone, black, white or purple – and yes, some were purple – sharing this incredible connection through music.  I found it funny how this random guy passing through our campsite brought me to this happy realization.

Bill left, and Anthony came along “diggin’ our tunes [man]”.  I’m not sure he said “man” but it can almost be inferred.  He was a huge man, tall and wide with long hippie-like hair that hadn’t been washed since long before Bonnaroo. 

He was very upfront: “You guys wanna buy some shrooms?”

I had only tried shrooms one time before and it ended badly.  My friend disappeared in Washington, D.C. and I had to file a police report while tripping after which I caught a plane and fled in fear.  They made me paranoid and depressed but most people chock that up to a bad environment.  Needless to say, I wasn’t especially fond of shrooms, but the LSD we had brought turned out to be bunk so we were in the market to buy something for the Pretty Lights show later that night.  I bought a quarter for $70 and decided to try them out immediately so we could know if we were set for Pretty Lights.  Anthony talked with us a while longer about peace, love and that stuff similarly to Bill, and he finally moved on his way.

An hour and a half in we figured the shrooms were bunk too and stupidly realized “You just can’t trust drug dealers.”  I thought about how messed up it really was that everyone is screwing everyone else over.  And trust is a vicious cycle, after all; the man who is untrusting once trusted too much.  Drug dealing once seemed a semi-honest profession even if it was somewhat unethical (depending on your ideals), but now it’s worse than ever.  Drug dealers aren’t even selling real drugs.  And there at Bonnaroo, and in most places, I realized, greed was crippling that powerful sense of love and community that I had recently thought to be almighty.

The hot day wore on, and more nameless drug dealers came through advertising:

“Coke, molly, weed”

“acid, roxy, opium”

“Kitty, deems, ice”

“Jankum, ocelot, federline”

I felt like they were just making up names at some point.  There were so many drugs there that I had never even heard of or never in a million years considered trying.

The “alternative” Mississippi kids next to us asked how the shrooms were and we told them how they were fake.  One of them, the “earthiest” of the bunch, whose name I just can’t remember…maybe Michael, said how he felt really bad so he would sell me his last gram of “Golden Teachers”.  The name alone had me intrigued so I bought these yellowish mushrooms and figured I was set for Pretty Lights.

A few more hours passed and we waited at our campsite for the real performances to begin, as all the while I lost and found my keys about twenty times.  As I prepared to head to Centeroo for the Foals, an indie group that I didn’t know but ended up loving, a guy named Jeff came along.  Jeff did not seem like the smartest guy we had encountered at Bonnaroo, but then again that’s not saying much.  With a poorly self-tie-dyed shirt, he came up to us, though, and said, “Mescaline?”

I must break from the story for a moment.  I get judged a lot for this, but I can firmly and confidently say I love LSD.  I genuinely believe it is one of if not the most spiritual and mind opening substances – no, experiences – known to man.  I found the person that I am today because of my profound experimentation with acid, and I am happy for that.  Maybe its not for everyone, but for me, its as though I can access that other 90% of my brain that’s normally dormant.  I fancy myself a thinker.  I cherish my quirky brain and I believe that acid lets me maximize it in unique ways.  It heightens the senses and allows for objective perception of things you would never even think of.  That being said, I have not experimented with many other psychedelics.  I foolishly believed that mescaline would be pretty much the same thing but a little more intense. 

So I bought from Jeff what he told me would be plenty for my first time and he put his number in my phone as “Mesculine Jeff” in case I wanted more.  By 7:00PM I decided I should take it since it was supposed to last a good 12-16 hours.  I knew it was going to be a long night, but I had no idea what was in store.

After the Foals, we saw half of a band called Grizzly Bear.  They were an interesting psychedelic folk rock band that employed banjos, keyboards, guitars and a slew of other instruments.   Then at either This Tent or maybe That Tent we saw one of my favorite rappers Big K.R.I.T. while I munched down on that delicious BBQ.  And it was even better than before, borderline orgasmic you could say.  K.R.I.T stood for “King Remembered in Time”, a name that I admired, and he was a still-relatively-underground rapper from Mississippi who had been trying to make it big since 2005.  I had been a fan since very early on and I enjoyed his set a lot.  Mostly newer songs, which I didn’t mind, but I wish he had played more from his K.R.I.T. wuz here album.  I was also fond of the new “Black-Toe” Jordan 1’s on his feet.

Then it was time for Wu-Tang Clan, which I knew would be the one and only time I would probably ever see them, so we made our way over to Which Stage, the one with the giant question mark above it.  Wu-Tang Clan is one of the original gangster rap groups and probably the only one still relevant.  At any given time, the group was made up of who knows how many members.  There were enough that you lost count, somewhere between eight and eighty.  It had been about an hour now and I wasn’t feeling the mescaline.  I was beginning to get upset that I was duped again. 

Wu-Tang Clan performed many of their old classics and some of the artists performed a few of their individual songs.  It was incredible to see no less than thirty people on stage at this point, and from as far back as we were, you couldn’t tell who was who to save your life.  They even all performed the verses together for the late Ol’ Dirty Bastard, a crew member who overdosed in 2004 just two days before his 36th birthday.  The DJ working the turntables was an expert at scratching the records and was doing back flips and cartwheels while keeping with the beat.  Other people saw that too, so I wasn’t tripping yet, but I was starting to feel funny.  Yes, there was definitely something in my system.

Amine had wandered off who knows where and our phones were dying so we hurriedly found each other knowing that we needed to get in line for Pretty Lights very soon.  It was about 8:00PM and he didn’t perform until 1:30AM.  Perfect timing. Soon.

I love new and innovative music, and few artists can compare to the original funky glitch-hop sound of Pretty Lights.  With very few lyrics, he manages to tell a story and create unexplainable movement in his music.  PL’s tracks mix "glitchy hip-hop beats, buzzing synth lines, and vintage funk and soul samples"[5] that emanate a contagious draw perfect for any occasion, from easy studying music to a high-energy dance playlist. He has sampled the music of artists such as Ella Fitzgerald, Otis Redding, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and The Eagles, to name a few, and taken a few seconds of an old song and incorporated it into a new work of art.  He has estimated that he includes samples, or even a single note, from around 25 songs for each one song he produces.[6]  An eerie and obscure line from a sixties classic could turn into the hook for a dance anthem when mixed with another sample from a mid-nineties hip-hop icon like Tupac or Biggie.  Few artists have mastered this musical hybridization quite like Pretty Lights - his music is vintage while futuristic and so rhythmic that you’ll find yourself grooving along without even realizing it.

Amine and I are friends largely thanks to Pretty Lights.  We became best friends through our similar tastes and Pretty Lights is hands down our favorite artist.  He was the primary reason we came to Bonnaroo, and many other people felt the same. 

We had quickly learned the system here at Bonnaroo was unlike any concert we had been to.  You couldn’t work your way to the front from the back.  That would only get you so far until a giant metal fence stopped you.  If you really wanted to get to the front you had to wait in a line for hours and miss the other performers so that you could get into “the pit”.  And you couldn’t get to the pit and stay there.  No, security cleared it out after every show so that the people who were waiting in line could be there for the next show that they wanted.  The system wasn’t perfect, but it gave everyone a fair opportunity to make tough decisions and sacrifices so that they could have the once-in-a-lifetime experience of seeing their favorite artist at Bonnaroo from the front.  The line for Pretty Lights, however, was not like these other lines.  The people here had been waiting since noon to be front and center.  We had not.

Through what I believe to be a mix of skill, cunning, and sheer dumb luck, we snuck our way in to about the 8th and 9th spots in line by hopping in while fans of the xx passed by to enter the pit for the next show.  I say that it was slick and cunning, but at this point I was tripping my ass off and I couldn’t say for sure that it was.  But no one seemed to notice so we quietly celebrated our first massive victory. 

Amine had bought acid while he was wandering around but he was waiting to take it.  I had begun to come up on the mescaline and I had not stopped.  The trip just kept becoming more and more intense.  We were standing against a big graffitied wooden wall where the line had formed and behind the wall, off in the distance, I could hear Paul McCartney coming on.  Paul was my first concert when I was in fifth grade, so I wanted to see him again.  I knew that I was where I needed to be, though. 

On the wall I could see thousands of tiny bugs; in the sky there was a carnival; and everyone’s face around me changed from one minute to the next.  It was more visual than anything I had ever experienced. 

Everyone there in the front was as big of fans as we were so naturally we started trading war stories about the Pretty Lights shows we had seen in the past.  This was only my sixth but everyone had plenty of memories to share. 

There was a skinny black man that looked and acted like Dave Chappelle’s crack head character and I had seen him before in the front rows of concerts in Atlanta.  He was clearly on some sort of uppers while screaming repeatedly, “I’m too turnt up! I’m too turnt up!” and jumping in the air hysterically.  There was another tall skinny guy with a nappy beard and a Pretty Lights Jibberish hat with perfectly placed pins.  He had an air to him that was “too cool” and certified he was a veteran at shows.  His number was twelve.  There were several others in the front during that five and a half hour wait, but those two proved to be the best of the bunch and were the two directly next to Amine and me later on. Many years later, I became friends with both of them from crossing paths at other shows. Their names were Anthony and Dan respectively.

As we waited, the xx performed at 11:00PM on the same stage Pretty Lights was about to take over.  Amine and I laughed at how awkward the music was.  It was like the music was trying to be upbeat but couldn’t; then it was trying to be slow but was too much.  I did however enjoy the fog machines they used.  I saw things in the fog I can’t begin to describe.  And it was beautiful.

As the xx was going off my watch said 12:00AM and the day was over, but the night was just beginning.  We all looked around at each other and the anticipation was palpable.

[5] Heinle, Annika . "Pretty Lights are pretty amazing. ” The Stanford Daily.  18 July 2013.

[6] Smith, Derek V. "The Making of A Color Map of the Sun" N.p.: n.p., n.d. Print.

Saturday, June 15 (Pt. I)

“I believe, at that moment, as the sun began to shine, I was the happiest I have ever been.  I was more satisfied than I knew was possible.”

We had been waiting in this line for 5 hours.  Everyone was beginning to get tired and annoyed while I was simply laughing at the dragons in the sky and the couple behind us was laughing at me.  Amine finally took his acid so I hoped someone would soon be as in it as I was.  When security had cleared out all of the xx fans, we prepared for that violent sprint to get our spots in the actual pit.  We got down like marathon runners ready to go.  When that gate flung open there was a frenzied rush that happened like a flash.  I sprinted next to Amine and before I knew it grabbed the metal bar that marked the very front.  There was pushing and shoving trying to take our spots, but no force on this earth could have made us move an inch.  If you had timed that sprint we would have rivaled Usain Bolt, but now we looked up and around and realized the Dave Chappelle look alike, the veteran, Amine and I were occupying the four best spots in the front and center of the pit. 

We were all in disbelief that we had gotten so lucky, and the excitement of it all was overwhelming.  My phone had long been dead, and Amine’s phone died while I was using it to write my ex-girlfriend’s number on the wall followed by “Call for a good time!”  She wrote my number in the women’s stall at Lakewood Amphitheatre in Atlanta, so I decided to do her one better.  I was so angry, though, that I couldn’t save a photo of the glorious position I had taken.  It didn’t matter because a picture could never do justice to being there.

We continued to wait and wait as the crew set up the lighting equipment.  I had found the “Golden Teachers” in my pocket and decided to take them.  The taste was disgusting so I tried to wash them down with water that turned out to be tequila.  The Vet’ (Dan) laughed when he saw and said, “Let’s get weird.” I could tell Amine’s acid had kicked in as well.  He was ranting about how much he hated the awkward worker standing in front of us who was sipping on coffee.  He kept going on about how much he hated his face and how his existence is the worst thing that had ever happened.  He even said he hated him more than Hitler.  Hell, I was beginning to hate him just because of how passionate Amine was about it.  Either way, I could tell he was tripping.

I could feel the visual effects start to stray from what they were and I could tell that the shrooms were beginning to kick in as blinding light split into the three primary colors in my eyes and Derek Vincent Smith (a.k.a Pretty Lights) came onto the stage.  “I Can See It In Your Face” came on.  Great first song choice, I thought, and for a few minutes the four of us in the front were the most hyped people dancing in that whole crowd.

Then as a new song came on I started to remember why I hated mushrooms.  All of a sudden the clarity that the mescaline had brought me was thwarted as I fell deeply into my own thoughts.  I felt the exact same feelings I had felt in D.C.:  Paranoia, self-loathing, and an assortment of other negativity.  It was as though shrooms brought me to the darkest place in my mind and kept me there.  I started feeling uncomfortable and like the people around me were judging me.  What should I do? Am I dancing funny? I felt like the world was out to get me, and I remembered having this same terrible sensation in D.C. but I had forgotten it until just then. I later learned that’s what they call anxiety.

I would get so wrapped up in my thoughts, and I absolutely hated it.  I would start on a train of thought until it just became so weird I didn’t know what I was talking about.  It was as though I wasn’t paying attention to the incredible concert unfolding in front of me.  I just kept feeling like a passenger in my own head and saying “It must be the mushrooms”.  I was in a storm I just had to ride out. 

Every few minutes I would break out and get into the music, but before I knew it I was wondering how I got lost in my own thoughts again.  I was wondering what the security guards were thinking.  I wondered if they liked their job.  I wondered so much as my mind wandered around everywhere but at the Pretty Lights show.  I was so sad that I wasn’t enjoying this as much as I had hoped. 

It went on this way for a few hours (Or at least it felt that way).  I knew that soon my mind would stop feeling the shrooms and the residuals of the mescaline would soon bring me back up and out of the depths of my head.  It was about 4:00AM and I was wondering how much longer he would perform.  There were so many songs he hadn’t played yet but I figured he would wrap it up soon.  Just as I started to feel my mind letting me escape, Pretty Lights played one of my favorite songs: “After Midnight”.  It was a mashup of “After Midnight” by Clapton and “Midnight Rider” by the Allman Brothers and it was a song Derek almost never played at live shows.  The song was incredible and his live mix was breathtaking.  At this moment I realized how happy I had suddenly become and how beautiful the lights of the stage really were.  I thought maybe this was a finale.

Another song.  Another one of my favorites.

Another song.

And another.

It just kept going and we realized he was going to perform until they made him leave, or at least until the sun came up.  Dozens of tired people had been crowd-surfed over the front so that security and medical staff could help them.  All of a sudden I see Olivia run past me in the front.  We exchanged a simple scream of both our disbelief at my spot in the crowd, but the security quickly rushed her away.

Early that night Amine and I had remembered we would want gum later on during the show because at every concert we always wish we had gum.  We didn’t have any individually wrapped pieces so we put a few pieces of Ice Breakers Cubes in a little drug baggy and tucked it away in Amine’s camelback.  At some point we wanted the gum but we had to figure out how to get it out.

Amine hands me his camelback and I fished around for the gum.  I was using one sweaty hand to hold the backpack and the other to try to open the little drug baggy that was now covered in some slimy indiscernible liquid.  There were a dozen security guards, one of whom we noticed looked like Jesse from Breaking Bad, so I didn’t want to take out the baggy with what looked like drugs in front of them.  I struggled with the baggy but couldn’t open it because of the slime engulfing it.  I handed the camelback to Amine and said, “Here…you do it.”

He quickly realized the same problem as me and we laughed about how ironic it was that it was only gum.  Finally he took the drug bag out and we noticed the slime had corrupted the gum as well. 

Security was eyeing us but Amine threw the ruined gum on the ground.  The Jesse look alike noticed and a few guards frantically walked over to snatch it up.  They held it up in front of our faces and we tried to explain that it was gum.  It was far too loud for that, so we both pointed at our tongues like idiots.  It was clear from the security guard’s face that he didn’t understand us at all.  He gave up and walked away after trying to hand what he thought was drugs back to Amine, something that would only happen at Bonnaroo.  We both cackled uncontrollably at what had just happened.  I wondered what the hell that slime was but there was no time to think about that because the euphoric explosions in my mind had begun again and the music, lights and atmosphere were flawless.

This was Pretty Lights at Bonnaroo, I thought, not that bullshit for the last few hours that was tainted by the effects of mushrooms.  I was in heaven.  This was the pinnacle, I thought.  It went on this way for at least two more hours.

Before I knew it, the sun was rising.  I jumped up and turned around to sit on the metal bar in front of me.  Beneath the sunrise, I saw 40,000 people still rocking to the PL groove at 7:00AM.  What felt like a sea of millions decked out in rave gear was dancing like it was going out of style.  This was more than just a crowd.  This was a gathering of family, a family united by music.  It was the all-powerful and overwhelming force that drove the beautiful moment unfolding before us.  It was moving.

As I looked around, the pit, who had been raging the hardest, was noticeably worn out.  “I’m comin’ down!” The Dave Chappelle look alike yelled to me while vigorously shaking his head.  I was not coming down, but my body was exhausted.

The Bob Marley remix “Exodus” was debuted and I knew the night was coming to a close as the security guards were checking their watches and getting irritated.  Derek was still going strong though.  It was then, with the little bit of sunlight peeking out, that I noticed his face.  As much fun as everyone in that crowd was having, he was having more than all of us combined. 

At that moment, I envied him for his pure passion and talent for music that I wish more than anything I had.  It was so blatantly obvious that he had a talent that comes along once or twice in a century.  Derek Vincent Smith feels music.  He is music.  And I know that sounds strange, and I can’t find the words to really depict it properly, but if you were there and you saw him, you would understand. 

He slowed the music for the first time all night and said this, “Yo I’m just tryin’ to push music forward and that’s what we’re all doin’ with everything that we’re doin’, right?  Life…Art…Same shit…Yo this song is dedicated to my girl Krystle man…It’s about survivin’.  It’s about keepin’ on.  It’s about lovin the people that you love, ya know what I’m sayin!  Hold a hand, put your arm around a shoulder, smoke that chronic for this shit.  We’re gonna end this shit off right.  Bonnaroo you with me now c’mooooooooon!....... I fucking love y’all! C’mon!”  It wasn’t the most eloquent thing ever said but every one of us felt it to the core and I admired it.  Then he dropped the beat for the final song of the night: “We Must Go On”.  I could not think of a better way to end it all.  I believe, at that moment, as the sun began to shine, I was the happiest I have ever been.  I was more satisfied than I knew was possible.

That last song ended and he thanked us – to which we thanked him back.  In those final moments of confusion, the family we had formed in the pit looked around and marveled at the night we had just shared.  We were all connected for life after that. As I reread this 11 years later, I truly am friends with those people and it’s amazing to see how we’ve grown.

To my left I saw a girl I knew from high school named Madison standing in front of the VIP section, in what I call the “you have to know someone” section.  She was that type of beautiful that she could do that.  She could do whatever she wanted.  I even saw her in a Gucci Mane video winking at the camera once – “I’m In Love With a White Girl” is the song.  I thought back on the two days I had in the same sculpture class and I doubted she would remember me, but that high school art class is where I first learned about Pretty Lights back in 2009.

Our teacher would let the seniors play music, and when I heard Pretty Lights for the first time, I asked them what the fuck I was hearing. They told me and invited me to see him in a few weeks at the Masquerade in Atlanta. I recall saying “for sure! …let me ask my mom though…” They laughed at the cocksure 14 year old in front of them, but they welcomed me in and showed me a whole new world at my first Pretty Lights show. The reason any of this is significant is because Derek has a song called High School Art Class, which he once explained was about a dream and a manifestation he had. In high school, he painted himself playing the bass on stage at Red Rocks Amphitheatre near his home town in Colorado. He explained that he viewed that as a life goal and a crowning achievement for himself in the future. A few months after Bonnaroo, in August 2013, he debuted the next iteration of the Pretty Lights’ live experience with the Analog Future band and Derek played the bass to 10,000 fans at Red Rocks – the culmination of years of hard work and dreaming. The personal connection to him as an artist and Pretty Lights as a movement has always been greater than the sum of its parts and the lore amplifies the frequencies to the deeper listeners.

Snap back to reality… All of a sudden Derek came down from the stage right in front of us and snaps a picture with Madison. 

“Figures,” I laughed.

“Yup,” said Amine.

But then he started walking towards us and I was shocked by his size.  Maybe I was still tripping but I would say he was no less than 6’9” and built like a bear.  That’s not what I expected.  Then before I realized it, he was shaking my hand and asking if I wanted to finish his spliff (a spliff is a joint with half weed and half tobacco).  Wide eyed, I reached out and grabbed what seemed like the Holy Grail to me.  I hit it and passed it to Amine.

My phone was dead so I asked “the veteran” to take a picture and text it to me.  I got the picture with Derek but I never got the text message.  That drives me crazy to think about, but the image will forever remain clear in my mind.  I remember thinking how different the veteran looked from how I remembered meeting him.  I then realized I was still feeling the mescaline and it was excellent.

The show was finally all over.  There was nothing left to do, no one left to talk to, so we headed back to our campsite.  Amine and I were at a loss for words, but nothing really needed to be said.

I looked around and everyone was trudging back to their campsites looking half dead.  The grounds were wrecked and it reminded me of a scene from a zombie apocalypse.  I remember that was the quietest I ever saw the grounds at Bonnaroo.  No music was playing, and no one could really talk.  They were too tired.  As tired and sore as we all were, though, we were so content.  Outrageously content.  But Amine and I knew that not one person there had had a better night than us.  I would be willing to bet my life on that.  The contentment, I knew, was a fleeting sensation, but for now I held on tightly.

We made it back to our tent and knew that we were far from sleeping thanks to the drugs in our systems.  Instead we grabbed a beer each and two boxes of Cheez-its, one White Cheddar and one Baby Swiss, and we hopped on top of the roof of my car to watch the rest of the sunrise.  This was the second time in the last two week we had watched the sunrise from the roof of my car while coming off of a trip.  The last was after graduation, but it was so much more beautiful now. 

I said, “Wow, this is so surreal.”

“It’s not,” Amine replied. “Its better; It’s real.”

I felt the ice-cold beer flow down my throat and turn into warmth in my body.  “Beer and Cheez-its,” I said.  “Breakfast of champions.”  And in that moment we were.  In that moment I felt triumphant, like I had truly conquered Bonnaroo and maybe more.  Amine looked out at the sun that was finally over the tree line and said, “Ya know…that was probably the best night we will ever have.”  I thought he might be right and that if he was then I was probably okay with that. 

"Breakfast of Champions"

All of a sudden, “Jello shots!” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“That was the slime!”

“My god, you’re right!” he chuckled.

I had realized the tiny jello shot Amine had been saving is what had created the disgusting slime in his camelback. 

Once the adrenaline wore off, we hopped off our perch and collapsed in the tent.  We were both still tripping so we laid on our backs staring up at the walls of the tent.  I watched as kaleidoscopes unfurled and we were quiet because there was still nothing that needed to be said.  I fell asleep with the sounds of Pretty Lights still twinkling in my ear and for a few hours we slept like kings.

Saturday, June 15 (Pt. II)

“At this point, the strangest things seemed almost ordinary compared to the days and nights that had already transpired.”

We woke up a little after 1:00PM and just glanced at each other.  Amine and I had that kind of friendship where we could have a whole conversation without saying a word.  We just read each other’s minds.  There was nothing else to think about because Pretty Lights was still the only thing reeling in my mind.

Strung out and exhausted, we got up and took a few Jäger bombs before deciding today we would explore the grounds a bit.  There was a long alley right next to our tent where all the shops were.  We had been down the alley, but we were usually stoned so we had never made it past the food trucks.  This time though we walked around looking for the glass shops we had heard so much about.

The first place we entered had a few strange instruments and we began playing a tune like imbeciles.  I was twirling one of those little drums on a stick with the hanging balls while I also pounded away on an odd looking xylophone.  Amine played the pan flute along with me and I’m sure we looked silly, but at Bonnaroo I just didn’t care.  At this point, the strangest things seemed almost ordinary compared to the days and nights that had already transpired. 

We went on to the next shop and the glassware was unimpressive.  There were a few unique pieces, but we left and kept walking.  As I looked around there were all sorts of strange things for sale: holographic artwork, light-up leg warmers, hats, pins, T-Shirts and even broken clocks on necklaces.  There were knickknacks and doodads everywhere but nothing I saw looked like a good souvenir.

Before Bonnaroo I had quit smoking weed for almost three months, so I was more interested in seeing fine glassware with no intention of buying any.  Then we happened upon a small tent with a few interesting pipes and in the corner I saw something in the glass case.  The bubbler within was beautiful and it was as though it called out to me.  I asked for a closer look.

This wickedly shaped piece of glass was glorious.  It had an unobtanium bottom, color changing upper, two opals, a 3D flower and a built in storage jar with a magnifying glass blown right into the end of it.  It was the only piece for me, and I had to buy it.  I talked the hippie seller down to $400 and we rushed back to our tent to christen the bubbler.

When we got back, we smoked two bowls and I was in love.  I couldn’t believe how smooth the hit was.  Sooner or later it was time to head back to the battlegrounds we had survived the night before.  This time we went to see Nas, another old-school Brooklyn rapper like Wu-Tang, whom I was pretty excited about.

This was our first time seeing an artist at What Stage, the biggest stage at Bonnaroo and the largest I had ever seen, and we quickly realized that the crowd was way too big to get anywhere near the rapper.  We stood to the back right as the performance was strongly underwhelming.  The most memorable part was the fact that Nas was wearing a pair of Air Jordan 8 Bugs Bunny’s that I really liked.

After the uneventful show we decide to return to our tent until A-Trak came on at 7:15PM. We were both pretty sore so Amine took residence in the hammock and I laid down on the bed.  Before I knew it, I awoke to the sounds of R. Kelly singing, “So baby gimme that toot toot…And let me give you that beep beep…Runnin' her hands through my 'fro…”  It was 12:00AM and neither of us were moving until morning.  We had already done our time the night before, so finally we took the sleep we needed.

Sunday, June 16

“I realized that I was going to be on my own today.  I didn’t really mind that honestly.”

The fourth day at Bonnaroo started off badly, but turned into one of the most fun times, next to Pretty Lights of course.  It was as all-over-the-place as any moment before it at Bonnaroo.  We woke up later than usual that morning and went about our usual routine.  We smoked our last bit of weed and downed a few cold ones, so we were ready to go. 

We left the campsite and walked further down the shop alley than we had before.  At the end of it there was a redneck sitting on a giant cooler advertising for moonshine.  We bought two pints at $10 a piece, and tasted the delicious homemade liquor.  As we kept walking, I saw a guy who tried to sell me a piece to which I replied, “No thanks. I just bought a $400 bubbler.”

I realized there was no need to brag like that and so did he: “Awww aren’t you cool man! How does it feel being part of the one-percenters?”  All of a sudden, a few people started chanting out “One-Percenter! One-Percenter!”  It caught me off guard because I had never really considered myself in that demographic when the whole 99% craze was sweeping across America.  I knew that he was right, though.  I thought about how the price of tickets for Bonnaroo at $254.50 plus tax was really nothing to me, and how a lot of these people may have saved up for months to afford that.  I was a part of the “1%” be that good or bad.  He handed me a “We are the 99%” sticker and we walked away.

Around lunchtime we headed to Centeroo.  I was starving and only had $3 left.  I went to an ATM and took out another $100 that I hoped would last me through the remaining days.  Throughout the festival, I had bought Amine a few meals using my mom’s credit card in exchange for his weed.  That was no problem for me, of course, but now the only places around took cash only.  He was flat broke and expected me to buy his meal.  The agreement was that I would only buy him food on the card.  We both wanted $9 gyros and I said I would buy it if he paid me back. 

He immediately threw a hissy fit saying, “Fuck you! You’re such a dick! We had an agreement! You can never hold to your agreements! That’s what’s wrong with you! I fucking hate you! I’m leaving.”  And so he left while I enjoyed my gyro.  It was authentic.  Being Greek myself, I could tell by the owner of the little food stand that it would be, and the taste attested to that as I dripped tzatziki sauce all over the place.

I looked around thinking Amine couldn’t have gone far.  I checked the surrounding area and couldn’t find him anywhere so I started texting Jessica to try to find her and Emile.  After a few minutes without a response, I realized that I was going to be on my own today.  I didn’t really mind that honestly.  I knew I would have fun either way.

Macklemore was beginning in about an hour and he was an artist I desperately wanted to see.  As a brilliant, socially conscious white rapper, he was and still is one of my favorite lyricist.  I was a fan of his long before his fame came about from the ironically non-socially-conscious song “Thrift Shop”.  I was actually surprised anyone knew of him the first time I heard a friend say his name.  Thanks in part to his catchy little hit song, he was also a bit of a swag guru, famous for his fur coats.  I almost brought my fur coat from home, but I knew there was no way I could’ve worn it in the heat. 

He was performing on What Stage, the obscenely huge one, so I knew I would have to try very hard to make my way into the crowd if I wanted a reasonable view.  I worked my way in, but it was already too packed to move very far.  I stopped when I saw a heavyset guy sitting on the ground that I had met before.  I don’t know where, but I remembered the faded Hal 9000 tattoo on his left arm.  I said hello and decided to sit with him and his friend for a bit while we smoked three or four bowls out of his chillum.  As we sat, I reached into my bag and took out the pint of apple pie flavored moonshine that had only a few sips taken out of it.  I figured since I was going to be alone today, I might as well have a good time.

The weed had me very high and the moonshine was starting to get me drunk.  Then, before I knew it, I suddenly realized that I was very, very high.  I thanked “Hal” for the smoke and walked a little further forward.  This time I ran out of room when I hit the center of a group of French people.  I figured that they were French because they were dressed funny, but it also helped that they were seemingly speaking French.  A few times, though, I thought I heard English, and they even said a few things to me that I knew were in English to which I just nodded my head in a stoned stupor.  Wait, a lot of what they were saying was English, I thought.  But they all had strange accents: One woman was Canadian, one was British, one Australian and another had an accent from the Deep South. 

I became very confused.  Was I just imagining the French?  Was I so high that I interpreted their accents as French?  Or maybe they were actually speaking French, and I was so high I was interpreting it as English.  That made more sense once I listened to them talking nonsense about “the bench jumping on pregnant balloon and saucy anus pork.”  I finally realized they were definitely speaking another language.

Just then a skinny, tan boy about my age with nappy brown curls and flight goggles on came pushing through the crowd with a clipboard talking about how he was on official business.  I may have been high, but I was smart enough to know that was just a clever lie, and a lie I was going to ride to the front.  I had just finished the pint of moonshine when I jumped in right behind him and followed his struggle forward.  Soon I found myself near the metal bar just behind the pit and I knew I could go no further.  I was happy with the spot though.  It was the best I was going to get.

Soon Macklemore took the stage and got the crowd moving.  It was a fun show but there was nothing too special besides a guy who had actually worn a fur coat that Macklemore crowd surfed to the stage and wore while performing “Thrift Shop”.  He played mostly the upbeat party songs and not the deep stuff I had hoped for, but I knew that was more pleasing to the majority.  The heaviest moment was when I teared up during “Otherside”.  Having had my own experience with death from Oxycontin abuse, I wiped away a tear when he said, “I’ve seen Oxycontin take four live!” That number was one more than it had been in the original song.  It was sad to me that people are still dying from this evil drug.  Then “Starting Over”, another powerful admission about Macklemore’s experience with relapse and renewal, came on and I teared up a bit again.  The set ended abruptly after about an hour and we began waiting for the next act, Kendrick Lamar.

As the VIP section started clearing out directly in front of me, I saw a dark, handsome Greek with aviators on pass right in front of me with his head down.  “THAT’S JOHN STAMOS!” I yelled.  He smiled and waved hello, but he was clearly a little embarrassed that his cover had been blown.

Kendrick came on a few minutes later, and it was underwhelming.  The set was short and was made up mostly of his worst songs in my opinion.  I can’t even remember which ones were performed honestly.  I quickly came to realize everything paled in comparison now to Pretty Lights.  It wasn’t that bad, though. 

After Kendrick, I made my way over to the Gastropod where I ate more of those divine sliders.  Still by myself, I decided to go ahead and wait for A$AP Rocky who was performing at 7:45PM at The Other Tent.  Once I got there I slipped in from the side and caught the end of Tame Impala.  I was not impressed by them but I was surprised by how exceptionally odd the crowd was.  When a crowd is noticeably weirder than the rest at Bonnaroo, you know those people are pretty damn weird.

While I waited, I texted someone knowing they probably wouldn’t answer.  It was A$AP Ferg, one of A$AP Rocky’s group members.  I sold him a few pairs of shoes and he ripped me off, refusing to pay on almost $3000 of merchandise.  We had quite a falling out, but still I texted him to ask if he was there at Bonnaroo.  I knew the answer was yes but he didn’t respond.

Being by myself, I noticed a lot more about the people around me.  I noticed a gorgeous blonde directly next to me with the kind of baby blues that pierce right through me.  I could tell she was my age or younger and that she was way too pretty for her boyfriend.  There was no way I could make a move, though, with him there.  I also noticed the health staff “Croo” member in front of me pop a pill.  A few minutes later he was clearly out of his mind from whatever it was.  I laughed at the idea of a member of the health staff doing drugs.  Far off to my left I saw two ladies in power scooters that had to be in their fifties decked out in Bonnaroo attire.  The smiles on their faces said they were having the times of their lives, so I snapped a picture with my phone for Instagram and captioned it “Bad bitches enjoying the Roo”.

Finally A$AP Rocky came out and was as crazy and hyped up as I remembered him from the last three shows where I had seen him.  He had pioneered a new genre and counterculture in rap music and I had been a fan for a while.  The rhythm to his raps, or his “flow”, was very unique when he debuted and now many imitate it.  His style is also notable for his love of high fashion mixed with streetwear in a hybridization that has also prompted many imitators. 

He quickly jumped off stage and ripped his shirt off while running past us and slapping our hands.  He brought Ferg onstage with a dramatic introduction next.  Some pyrotechnics went off and the screen flashed a bunch of black and white images as he came out.  I was mad to see him, honestly. 

There was nothing I could do now about Ferg, so the show went on.  For the last song A$AP asked the girls in the crowd to flash him.  Then he invited all those topless girls on stage while he performed “Fucking Problem”.  The blonde next to me was one of the first to go.  All of a sudden there were fifty or so topless girls on stage shaking their asses.  It was quite a scene.

Before the last song ended I slipped out because my legs were tired from being drunk and standing all day.  I was still drunk and pretty high at this point so I decided to head to the final show of Bonnaroo, Tom Petty.  It was just getting dark and beginning to drizzle as nearly 80,000 people gathered to catch Bonnaroo’s finale.  With that many people it was impossible to get anywhere close so I decided I would just listen from my tent, which wasn’t much further away than my spot in the crowd.

As I was walking away a very round man stopped me and said he wanted to buy the rave glasses I had around my neck.  I remember thinking “no one your size should wear a Kool-Aid shirt for risk of actually being mistaken for the Kool-Aid Man.”  I didn’t want to sell him my rave glasses, which were glasses with light distorting lenses that made things “trippy”, but he offered two grams of weed, which is between $30 and $40.  I had paid $10 for them so I gladly traded. 

As I left Centeroo for the last time, I turned back and took a picture of the illuminated gate.  The other night those O’s were swirling vortexes drawing me in, but now they looked so simple and so peaceful.

At the tent, Amine had been back for a few minutes and was sorry for flipping out at me.  It didn’t really matter to me so I forgave him and we started talking about our days.  We saw the same shows and said mostly the same things about each.  It was funny again how similar we proved to be.

We could hear the sounds of Tom Petty beginning and the cheers from across Bonnaroo.  It was the last day so I said we had to smoke all the weed I had just gotten before we left.  Amine was tired and didn’t want to because he apparently still hadn’t eaten anything by 9:45PM.  I reluctantly agreed to buy him a taco if he would pay me back.

First we smoked.  Then after scarfing down two tacos each, we smoked again knowing full well we were going to go back for more food.  This time we got pizza, and after eating it, we smoked again.  We waited a while and ended up needing another gyro to be satisfied for the night.  Finally, we finished the last of my weed, and I was so high I was tripping.

I thought back on the strung out Dave Chappelle look alike from Pretty Lights and we started talking about him.  He had explained to us that all he did was go to shows and festivals.  All the money he made from his crumby job went towards tickets and drugs.  Amine and I thought what a burnout he was.  Then I realized how shameful it was for us to think we were better than him.  Yes, we plan out our futures and take college very seriously but where had that really gotten us?  When I really thought about it, I envied that guy.  Most days of the year he lived what he loved and that’s something to be commended.  I hope someday, in whatever form it is, I am as satisfied with what I’m doing with my life as that Dave Chappelle look alike.  That’s honestly my goal.

By this time, Tom Petty was done, and we both crawled into the tent, dead tired.  I kept making jokes about the dancing animals I saw in the shadows of the tent caused by the wind.  Then out of nowhere a saxophone comes blaring out of the silence.  It sounded as though the player of this saxophone was right outside our tent playing some cruel joke.  We both busted out laughing at the thought of someone standing there just to mess with us.  It went on for a few minutes then stopped.  Thank God, we thought, but a few minutes later it picked right back up and sounded even closer.  I had to see what was going on so I opened the tent to find that the saxophone was actually pretty far away.  But in the tent it still seemed as though it was a foot from our heads.  We continued to laugh at the situation as the saxophone would stop and start again playing what sounded like the same two songs over and over: La Cucaracha and The Chicken Dance.  We were getting angry, but that was overpowered by how funny the whole thing was every time it would start back up.  It went on this way for an hour or two before the sadistic saxophone finally stopped and we fell asleep. 

In those last moments before sleep I could hear the world around us that had been our home slowly coming down and moving on.  It had been incredible how it had all come together the way it did, but I knew that by the time I woke up, half of it would be gone and the rest would be on the way out the door.

Monday, June 17

“I realized the journey was at its end, and that I had just had the best time of my life.”

            The final day of our journey was relatively uneventful.  It poured rain as if to wash the land clean of Bonnaroo.  It would always be there, though.  In that field, the few permanent signs and landmarks remained all year reminding passerby of what had been here.  Outsiders couldn’t understand, though.  Now that Bonnaroo was coming to a close and the tents were coming down and the cars were driving off, I knew now we were insiders.  We were part of a small slice of the planet that had survived the terror and wonder of Bonnaroo. 

            It had drizzled a few times during the week, but that was hot and muggy rain.  Now, it was as cold and refreshing as you could imagine.  In the pouring rain we cherished the closest thing to a real shower we had had all week, but all of our belongings were drenched by the downpour.  It had rained through the musty old tent all night so it felt like it was made of lead when we tried to pack it up.  We had set aside the instructions on how to collapse the pop-up mess, but, well, at Bonnaroo you lose things.  It took us half an hour of contorting the flexible rods like frustrated maniacs before we finally could stuff the damn thing in the storage bag.

            As we checked around our campsite, we realized there were certain things not worth bringing back.  Certain things were just so dirty they were beyond ever cleaning again.  Frankly, I felt like my body was just the same.  In the whole six days, I had only “showered” once with a tube and an overhead bag full of water.  I was ready to get home and remedy that.

            Once we tried to start our car, the battery was completely dead.  There wasn’t even a “click-click-click” when I turned the key.  It was as if the car was as tired as we were.  I looked around and there was only one car left around us: the older couple who had just finished their 11th Bonnaroo.  Thank God they had jumper cables otherwise we would have had to pay the official towing service there $40 for a jump.  That was criminal, in my opinion, and plenty of people had no other option but to pay it.  It took a few minutes to get the car going again, and then we headed out from our campsite.

            We drove out through the long alley of shops.  The giant tents were still up, but now it looked like a ghost town compared to what it was.  The tents of the ‘Roo-goers were almost all gone too.  Now the defining feature of the landscape was a seemingly infinite line of cars trying to leave.  The line was moving painfully slowly so I decided to pass the time somehow and possibly cut further up.  The rain had turned the grassy field to mush so I switched my 4-wheel drive on and went for a spin.  We tore through the few remaining tents flinging up mud, all the while getting further up in the line.  In my rearview mirror I could see the swirling tire tracks deep in the earth.  Bonnaroo had made its mark on me, and now I had returned the favor.

            After joining back in the line, we waited another hour and a half before we actually got onto a main road.  After stopping to grab a few snacks before getting on the highway, I almost got in a fight with the Indian cashier who wouldn’t accept my card because it had my mom’s name on it.  He was a real asshole about it too.  He could’ve just said, “Sorry I can’t take that” but instead he started saying, “This is not yours! You stole this! Do you want me to call the police! Get out of here!”

            I asked if he was joking or not because I genuinely couldn’t tell but that upset him even more.  We walked away from the counter empty handed because I was too tired to argue but I snagged two sticks of jerky before leaving.  I didn’t feel bad about it because he was such an asshole and that jerky was delicious.

            As we started driving, we passed half a dozen cops in the first few miles and I knew I had to drive on my best behavior despite being dog-ass tired.  I felt like my eyes were about to shut any minute, but I kept on like a trooper.  After a while the traffic dissipated and in the boring road I could feel my eyes getting even heavier despite the blaring Pretty Lights in my speakers.  I had to stay awake somehow, so I decided that method would be to drive like a racecar driver, something my racecar driving Step-Dad would be proud I learned.  I was swerving in and out of traffic at about 100 miles per hour and we made that three-hour drive in less than two.  It was as if God had cleared the police from the highway just to let me do my thing.

            As we entered the city limits, I realized the journey was at its end, and that I had just had the best time of my life.  I was so grateful for having a good friend to share it with too.  We eventually arrived at Amine’s house and I tossed his things out of the car because I just needed to pass out in my bed soon.  We didn’t exchange many words as he left.

“That was fucking dope,” I said.

“Yup,” he replied with a nod of approval. “So dope.”

A few minutes later I arrived at my house and looked in the back of my car at all my luggage.  We had picked up an ant infestation and the wet clumps of clothes were beginning to stink.  That would have to be dealt with tomorrow because now I was more tired than I had ever been.

I stumbled into my house and onto my bed.  I remember thinking, “I can’t fall asleep.  I have to shower.”  It was too late, though.  I laid there unable to move a muscle and before I could conjure up the brainpower to think about how beautiful my journey had been and what I had taken away, the one thing I thought of was “sleep”.

The comedy blog Cracked wrote that Bonnaroo is a festival that “generally ranges from around 60-80,000 drug hungry frat boys and high school students searching for some American Dream...”[7]  They are so very wrong.  Of course, drugs are a major element of the culture at Bonnaroo, but it is so crude to believe that all these people are there for some tainted variant of the American Dream.  Bonnaroo is a place where thousands of entirely unique dreams happen upon a chance encounter and unite.  For 96 hours, we enter an uncharted alternate dimension where the problems of the world don’t matter and music prevails.

Back in the real world, I still wear my wristband.  It’s like a badge of honor for me.  Every so often, someone will see it and we’ll just exchange a look that says, “We know.  And the rest of them don’t.”  Wristband or not, experiencing Bonnaroo certifies your induction into an exclusive club, a secret society, if you will, that has transcended beyond the mundane, but our doors are open to those willing to take the plunge. 

We will be accepting new members next year.  I hope to see you there.

[7] "Bonnaroo." Cracked.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 18 July 2013.

Closing Disclaimer

I mentioned in my preface that there would be extensive drug use throughout my tale.  It was difficult to divulge all of that personal information, but I wanted this Bonnaroo exposé to be as true as possible.  The fact of the matter is I could not have told the majority of this story without explaining the drug use.  Judge me if you will.  I promise that every single detail you have just read is true as I remember it.  Keep in mind, though, that I was under the influence so take that promise with a grain of salt.  I truly enjoyed writing this piece and I hope you enjoyed reading it.  I think maybe that I just needed to get it all down on paper so that I’ll never forget those wacky moments and ridiculous escapades.  Thank you for reading.  I’m glad I got the opportunity to share.