Day One:
Leading up to the festival there was much speculation about how
the beautiful yet remote Oak Ridge Farm would be accessed by the thousands of
concertgoers. State police and festival organizers assured fans that measures
would be taken to alleviate traffic and make entry into the festival as smooth
as possible. Our group, a mixture of savvy festival veterans and first timers,
was decidedly skeptical. After fueling up with ice, beer, and Bodos we started
heading down route 29 South around 7:45 am – plenty of time to beat the traffic
and be in prime position for a great campsite when the gates open at 9:00 am. We
experienced minimal traffic and even managed to keep our 6-car caravan together
the entire way – so far so good. Then carmageddon hit.
We were directed into a large field that we assumed was being
used as a holding area until the gates opened and cars could be funneled in.
What we did not anticipate was staying in that field for the next 6 hours.
Spirits were high even though it was slightly after 9 and there was no sign of
movement – it was the first year of the festival, a few hiccups were to be
expected, why not crack a beer and enjoy the beautiful weather while we wait?
By 9:45 rumors had begun to spread that excessive vehicle searches were causing
the delay – slightly annoyed, people hid their drugs more carefully and
continued drinking. With no movement by 10:30, cars had started to send scouts
to the front to see what was going on – the reports were bleak. All of the
parking volunteers had walked off the job. Police were funneling the remaining
cars off 29 to clear the highway. Us “smart” folks who got there early were
stuck in the field of forgotten dreams.
What ensued in the following hours bordered on a
Lord-of-the-flies-esque descent into chaos. People resorted to honking their
horns, standing on cars, and blasting Rage Against the Machine in frustration.
I saw a man (who I’m still not convinced wasn’t Hank Williams Jr) take it upon
himself to direct traffic. Dressed in white overall jorts he was a force
yelling directions at cars. Eventually people took offense to his aggressive
power move and multiple bros tried to fight him (to be fair Hank Jr. called one
of the bro’s wife a whore). Cooler heads prevailed though and the fight
dispersed. Eventually a group of good Samaritans stepped in for the vacated
parking staff and cobbled together a method to the madness and got everybody
inside the venue. Once our campsite was erected, beers cracked, and music
flowing, the gridLockn’ traffic fiasco of 2013 seemed a distant memory.
Hygiene: 9/10
I could still smell my deodorant from the morning and my hair
wasn’t completely fro’d but 7 hours of sitting in the sun had definitely taken
its toll.
Supplies: 10/10
Our beer supplies took a hit during the mayhem as it seemed to
be the only logical thing to do to maintain sanity but we were well prepared. I
was not worried.
Gruntled: 6/10
Let me first explain my category: Gruntled, the opposite of disgruntled,
is a state when one is completely contented, satisfied, and happy. The gruntled
meter should have been at a 10 for day one of a music festival. The traffic had
tempers boiling but solid sets by String Cheese and a guest appearance by Grace
Potter with Gov’t Mule helped set things right.
Day Two:
As if waking up to a gorgeous day in the foothills of the Blue
Ridge Mountains - with the only thing on the agenda listening to live music -
wasn’t enough, we knew we didn’t have to wait in traffic. Life was good. With
music not scheduled to start til 1pm we enjoyed a leisurely morning. Our
campsite provided the perfect atmosphere to enjoy a (camping) gourmet breakfast
under our tapestry-shaded shelter and build anticipation for a cheesy day of
music. Weirdly our conversation kept coming back to condiments. It’s like the 7
degrees of Kevin Bacon. Everything can be related to condiments. This would be
a theme that resonated throughout the weekend.
Musically, I got funked up early with the tag-team of Soul
Rebels and Dirty Dozen Brass Band bringing N’awlins to Virginia. Hard. String
Cheese continued their inspired performances culminating in a collaboration
with the Zac Brown Incident. I still don’t understand why he always wears a
beanie but he brought some solid vocals to an already stellar band. The Dead
heads waltzed out for the late night set and Phil Lesh and Bob Weir did not
disappoint with a great set filled with Dead classics, covers, and original
music. As we settled into our tents for the night I was serenaded to sleep by a
drunk bro searching for his friend. He was belting out a crow-like “caw-caw” as
a sonar to his brethren. He was pleased with his effort (It seemed like he
thought he was the first human to ever make this noise) although I doubt he
ever found his friend.
Hygiene: 8/10
Sleeping in a tent never gives you a “fresh” feeling when waking
up. However, low humidity coupled with only one day of festivaling left me
feeling pretty good.
Supplies: 11/10
I had no idea how stocked our crew was. I though I was smart
bringing a dozen Bodo’s bagels. We had fresh fruit and vegetables, homemade
banana bread, sausage, hotdogs, grilled chicken, snacks galore and enough
alcohol to kill a herd of elephants. We also found the mecca of food vendors –
Super Heady Tacos – that would supplement our food intake for the rest of the
weekend.
Gruntled: 10/10
I started the day with a proper breakfast, listened to great
tunes - all day with a heavy dose of Cheese – and finished the day laughing and
cheersing with a great group of friends.
Day Three:
The day started much like the previous, beautiful scenery,
weather, and breakfast spread. An impromptu Bloody Mary stand popped up right
next to our campsite, which was popular among the ladies of the group. You
can’t argue with a $5 Bloody Mary in the middle of a field. They also offered
“Face Wranglers” which still has me intrigued and perplexed. If anyone knows
what these are please enlighten me. We fueled up and made the long trek to the
stage in preparation for another long day. Getting front row for Love Cannon
and their unique ménage of blue grass and 80’s hits was definitely a highlight
of the festival. After baking in the sun for a few hours we decided we should
head back to the campsite and regroup for a long night of Widespread Panic.
Once we got back to our temporary home
we settled in for an
afternoon of recharging for the nights festivities. Unfortunately our idea of
regrouping was playing drinking games - and our drinking games consisted of
passing a milk jug of Fireball whiskey. That sweet cinnamon burn was the end of
me. The night ended with a sloppy retreat to our campsite. Some took the golf
cart taxis, some were returned by paramedics, and some returned blind, thinking
they were wearing glasses that were not on their face. It was messy. We hit the
hay early in the hope for redemption on our final day of the festival.
Hygiene: 5/10
I was the only one out of our crew to forego a shower. I have no
shame in this decision. I had a nice film of sweat, suntan lotion, and stank on
me but I was in no worse shape than most of my festival-going brethren.
Supplies: 8/10
Again, we were more than well prepared. We were starting to
realize we had more food and booze than we knew what to do with. There is a
sinking feeling that we might be responsible and/or mature.
Gruntled: 7/10
Despite a growing desire for a shower and a real toilet, things
are going well. The weather is great, music is better, and we have established
a tight family.
Day Four:
The day started abruptly when I, as well as many of my fellow
campers, were awakened by a group of gentlemen carrying on a loud conversation
nearby. It was pretty obvious that the men hadn’t been able to sleep and had
been drinking hard and heavy all day and night. Being around 6 in the morning members of the rowdy bunch eventually began to drop off and retire to their
respective tents until there was only one. His name was Vision. What occurred
next went a bit like this:
Drunk Bro 1: Alright man, I’m
waving the white flag, I gotta get some sleep.
Vision: Fine, I’m gonna go
find somebody else to rage with.
Vision walks a short
distance to another cluster of tents where he must have seen some signs of
movement.
Vision: Y’all trying to
rage?
Sleepy camper 1: No.
Sleepy camper 2: Why don’t you rage
your ass on down the road?
Vision: Come on now, this is
a festival, wake your asses up and rage with me!
Slightly annoyed camper 1: Dude, go away.
Vision: Do you know who I
am? My name is Vision and I make half the LSD at this festival. Ask anybody.
Girl camper: It’s 6am, nobody cares who you are or wants any LSD.
Vision: Are you trying to
start shit with me? Bring it on. Do you know who I am?
Now awake and clearly
angry
camper: Get the fuck out of here
now!
Vision: Fuck you man, do you
know who I am? I’m Vision, and I make half the acid at this festival. I make
half the acid in Virginia. Ask anyone here, they’ll tell you.
Angry camper: Leave now before I
beat your ass.
Vision: You’re not going to
do anything. Do you know who I am? Come over here and do something
This is immediately
followed by a scuffle in which the angry – and clearly more sober – camper
seems to engage Vision in a fight. Punches are thrown, and the two men fall to
the ground. After a short tussle, the other man, Jacob, emerges triumphant.
Jacob: Now get the fuck out
of here before I beat your ass again.
Girl camper: Jacob stop!
Vision: Fuck you dude, you
think you’re a big man cause you punched me? Do you know who I am?
Girl camper: Yes, you are Vision. You make half the LSD at this
festival. Now please leave.
This response elicits
laughter from some surrounding tents in which campers are now awake and
listening to the confrontation. Vision continues to bark insults, threats, and
mostly boasts about who he is, who he knows, among other incoherent ramblings.
Before he finally moves on he issues one last declaration…
Vision: You better not try
to buy LSD around here ever again. I’M GONNA PUT A TAX ON THAT SHIT! I’ll
remember your face…
And so Vision stumbled off into the sunrise, determined to find
a rage partner. Only the hippie gods know whether he achieved his mission. I
find it more likely he passed out in a ditch somewhere or got punched again.
It was an entertaining, albeit early, way to wake up. We took it as a sign that the festival had run its course and we should get out while we could. We mustered our energy for one last push.
It was an entertaining, albeit early, way to wake up. We took it as a sign that the festival had run its course and we should get out while we could. We mustered our energy for one last push.
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