Life I Love You, All Is Groovy
“We’ll see you in there,” we said, waving to our friends as we slowly rolled away in the RV. Luckily a group of twenty something’s was nice enough to give us a lift into the campground from the gates, which surely would have been a good 3 mile walk from Hell in the hot, June Tennessee sun. As we drove down the long dirt road, we waved and hollered to all the passersby, equally excited for the next four days, which was to be the best time of our lives.
We had bought our Bonnaroo tickets earlier that February. The most I’d ever spent on a concert event, but my friends promised me one hell of a time. It was a four day event in Manchester, Tennessee in the middle of June, easily compared to Woodstock. The ten plus hour drive, though proved worth it after all, was long, tiring, and restless. It was hot, and I’m talking zero humidity, accurately one hundred and one degree weather, in the middle of a field with three hundred thousand plus equally sweltering hippies. We slept in a large tent, which took us two hours and the help of our temporary neighbors to set up. Dustin and I were smart enough to bring blow up mattresses, complete with a convenient battery operated air pump. (A battery operated air conditioner would have been supremely ideal, but we had to settle for constantly packed misting tents and the giant mushroom fountain in the center of Bonnaroo. Our “next door neighbor,” we learned, was a forty something year old ex-circus juggler from Minnesota, and nowhere close to the last appealing and unique person we would come across.
Because of the mass amount of concert goers, cell phones were useless. You were lucky to get a signal, and when you did, you only stayed connected long enough to get your main point across, then it dropped you like an unreliable phone company. This made it impossible to find your friends.
During the days, there wasn’t much you could do in the scorching heat. Afternoons were spent in as little...