Post Bonnaroo

It is raining.  After 6 days of fairly nice weather it is raining.  It is Monday morning after Bonaroo and the heavens have let loose over Manchester, Tennessee.  

We did a good amount of packing up late last night but everyone is so exhausted after 2 weeks on the road that we quit to get some sleep.  After all-night music coming at us from three stages, a night of silence meant an absolutely wonderful sleep.  Awake now and refreshed but it is raining.

The team, the crew, the guys and gals have been a joy to work with, maintaining wonderful senses of humor despite 18 hour days of dealing with grease and heat and impatient customers of varying degrees of sobriety and sanity.  Those of you who are on the road must have a code that you can live by.

So we wait.  Until the antsy kicks in and we decide to slog it out of here.  To the nearest hotel with hot showers, sharp razors and a laundry machine big enough to fit several tons of socks, a couple of tents and me.  Climb right in and take a spin on the wild side.  Tumble dry and roll on.  

The list of the first thing I’m going to do when I get home has grown from sleep in my own bed to wolf down a big-ass juicy cheeseburger to drink a couple of cold beers and back to sleep in my own bed.  Maybe watch a Red Sox game.  Read a newspaper.  Do a crossword puzzle.  

The road home is long.  The rain makes the driving hard and slow.  Everyone is sick of eating gas station food but no one wants to take the time to sit down for a real meal.  So we subsist on the jerky food group, the honey roasted peanut food group and the diesel fumes food group.  Try forming that into a frickin‘ pyramid that will satisfy the nutritionists.  Those amongst us who are health conscious drink orange juice.

The road home is long.  I like Bruce Springsteen.  I really do.  When Born To Run came out I was hooked.  Screamed and swayed when The Boss and Clarence dueted.  But I draw the line at the Sirius E Street radio station that plays Bruce 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  The alternative is non-stop Jimmy Buffet.  Or non-stop Howard Stern.  Or non-stop reggae.  So we got 20 hours of Bruce.  I’m sure there’s a Geneva convention against this.  We get a break from Bruce by going into a gas station to get some honey roasted peanuts. 

It is raining.  And There’s A Darkness On The Edge of Town.  But we are making progress.  The familiarity of the New York Thruway make it seem almost like home.  We pass Kingston and realize how funny it is that we will be back here in three days to provide food for a folk festival.  Then we realize it is not funny at all.  And the trip odometer passes 4000 miles. 

We pull into the yard to disband for several days of alone.  It is raining.  But it is Vermont rain and feels wonderful.