The Southland in the Summertime

In the annals of travel history, it is extremely unlikely that anyone ever suddenly thought of a place that they wanted to go to, looked at their friend, and screamed "Plane Trip!" I suppose that makes sense; the number of possible stories involving airplanes are few. You can miss your flight, the plane could crash, or you could arrive there uneventually. Since one of those possibilities is dull and another leaves you unable to tell the story, plane stories are not a popular genre. Every now and then something unexpected happens - such as in my flight back from the Phish Boise 99 show where I discovered that United has a scheduled flight into Seattle at 7 AM using a plane that has no fog lights; I spent 4 very tedious hours in the Yakima airport, with only the Encyclopedia Yearbook of 1967 to keep me company (Did you know that in 1967, the Dow Jones Average went up 30.27 points to close for the year at.... 233.24.) - but the focus is different A successful plane trip is one that avoids disaster, but a road trip that has no adventure at all would be considered a failure. Driving transcends getting from point A to point B, and is all mixed up with theories about freedom and courting chaos. With this in mind, my story about the first four shows of Summer Tour, begins, most appropriately with the attempt at getting a car.

That's not actually true. Summer tour 2000 began for me with events occurring in the computer world. Microsoft, in their attempts to annoy those few contractors who weren't completely pissed off by the one month break in service rule, decided to take a harder line. Back in February I learned that I, like any contractor who had been working there for a year, would be laid off on June 30th. No easy one month break in service would happen now; 100 days is the new norm. Getting Yet Another Layoff was scary; noticing that it coincided with Phish's Summer Tour took some of the pain off. All I would need is to get Microsoft to agree to give me the last 10 days off without pay, and I could see the whole tour. It would be time for the road trip. They would be laying me off on the 30th. How could they refuse to give me a few extra days off so I could have a bit of fun? How could they? The answer to that is, "By email."

I did manage to forge a compromise though. I wouldn't be able to see all 18 shows, but I could fly out for the first 4 shows of tour, see those, fly home, work one last week, and then see the final 10 shows. The period where I see those 10 shows (and a Phil and Friends show and a Widespread Panic show) is liable to be hectic. Nearly 8000 miles will be traversed in those 3 weeks. Remember that while you're reading this, I'm most likely driving somewhere across South Dakota, thinking, "Am I there yet?"

As you might recall, before this digression, the topic of procuring a car was broached. Lately it seems that obtaining rental cars has been problematic for me. Last fall I almost got stranded in Phoenix. This year the problem was more simple. There was a scheduling conflict.

In order to get back to Seattle in time to at least pretend to put in a day's work, I had to leave Raleigh at 6:10. That itself wasn't a problem. Dollar's terminal though closes at midnight on Sunday and doesn't open again until 5:30 AM. That was cutting it way too fine. I chose a different rental agency, since they opened 30 minutes earlier. When I arrived to pick up my car on Thursday morning to head out to Nashville, I got a most unpleasant surprise. For some reason my credit card was declining. My incredibly intelligent, heavily calculated plans had quickly gone awry. Dollar it would be.

I fired up the red Cavalier, and headed out onto the Interstate. Once again, I was mystified by the North Carolina speed limit system (It's 65 mph except for completely random locations where it'll become 70 for a bit until they return to their senses). Some amusement was derived from a sign in a Construction Zone. Driving home the seriousness they took protecting their employees, they carefully explained that, in that area, "Speed Limits Enforced." That means that outside of there, you can speed as much as you want, right?

The Smokies - and the 20 mile long curving downhill section of Interstate 40 - were becoming a fading memory as I headed towards Nashville. I was making great time until, just outside of Lebanon, traffic came to a complete standstill. For 30 minutes I sat, waiting to get by the lane closure. The Big Cypress traffic made me immune to such concerns though. If I successfully survived that traffic, no other jam can ever bother me.

Starwood is an interesting venue... if you define "interesting" as "being a big pain in the butt." Located right near the intersection of Wilson and Rutherford counties, it unfortunately takes after the former. I had seen Phish there once before. This was Summer Tour 1993 and Phish were playing a "Party on the Plaza." The show itself was fine, but afterwards, I needed to sell a few sodas in order to get gas and food money. I had just enough money to make it to Atlanta, but I hadn't eaten in a day and needed some help. No sooner had I set up my cooler, than security shut me down. As I was walking back to my car, I tried selling some Cokes on the way. That apparently was too much for venue security. I was escorted out of the parking lot by a policeman.

After that event, I vowed never to return to Starwood... well to be precise I vowed to never return to Nashville, and possibly Tennessee itself. After seven years though, I figured that the statute of limitations for such a vow had expired. I returned to the scene of the crime, not overjoyed, but willing to deal with it. Surely now that Phish were big, venue management would change their ways.

At the front of the line to get into the venue, security was making an announcement. I expected the usual. "No cans, no open bottles, no cameras..." Instead they gave a warning. "See this box? If you have anything illegal on you, put it in this box and we won't care. Otherwise there will be consequences." So much for Southern hospitality. Anyone want to venture as to what happened to the contents of the box? I bet security had a big ol' party that night.

I suppose you do have to admire the consistency of their policies. In addition to said warning, they also restricted us to one empty water bottle a piece. During the set break, I nearly got kicked out for the crime of talking to Jesse Jarnow. They didn't want me to be standing in a certain place while doing the talking, and the place where they didn't want me to stand kept moving. The coup de grace that may cause me to reinstate my ban happened after the show though. As I was getting gas and soda for the trip southeast, I was talking to the owner of the Speedway.

"Sick of us yet?"

"No, we're used to it. It happens every year. You guys come and we make a lot of money off of you."

I was about to launch into standard tour speech to locals #8. This is the "You're nice to us, and we'll be nice to you" speech. It's the "This is why tour works speech." I gave it in Albany in 1990 and in Seattle in 1995. It never fails to choke me up. Before I could do so though, she finished her thought.

"Smyrna funds their police force off of the busts that they do. This year they're hoping for a helicopter."

If I hadn't already handed her the money, I would have returned the Dr. Pepper to the shelf and bought supplies down the road. I don't understand why Phish continue to play a place that disrespects us so. Maybe they just don't know about their attitude.

After I wrote a request that people be careful how they drive this summer, you'd think that I wouldn't have done what I did that night. Being on a time limit makes me do stupid things though. I had to be in Atlanta by 7 AM in order to be able to crash at my friend's house. So I drove past Lookout Mountain, barely able to keep my eyes open. Caffeine fixed the problem through Chattanooga (choo choo), and almost all the way to downtown Atlanta. Those last 10 miles were rough though. It was early enough that the Friday morning traffic was minimal; if there were more cars, I would have been in serious danger. I did arrive at Chez Colleen safely (obviously or I wouldn't be writing this column), but it was touch and go for a bit. I arrived before they woke up, so I sat outside for a bit and continued my reading for this tour - the Harry Potter books.

Harry Potter, if you don't know more than he's the star of popular children's books, is a child, the son of powerful wizards, raised in the larger English population. This population is intentionally kept in the dark about the existence of magic. In the first book, Harry discovers that he has a magical legacy. As any tourhead should be, I am a sucker for a story where someone discovers that there is more to the world than they believed is there, that's there's wonder and amazing things out there, disguised in mundane packages, be it between platforms 9 and 10 at the King's Cross Train station or in a seemingly innocuous rock concert. One has to respect a book that says - in the middle of an unrelated section - "Ah music... a magic beyond all we do here." Through the first two, I can happily suggest them as good tour books. The sense of wonder might not be as high as the Narnian Chronicles but J.K. Rowling doesn't have any weird political subtext either

While the south deserves a lot of its reputation, Atlanta is an oasis. They've come a long way from their Omni Dead show days. Once renown for giving out a plethora of tickets for vending without a license, Atlanta has embraced a live and let live philosophy. Shakedown was shaking the way it rarely does outside of one of the 2 day camping events. People set up tents, huge signs - with actual prices - were created. I felt like I had ventured into a Summer 1989 (pre-vending ban) Grateful Dead lot. Even Trey got into the spirit. On Friday's show he was wearing a lot shirt, one that I desperately want. The Comic Book Store guy from The Simpsons was carrying a taper's case and wearing a t-shirt saying, "Worst show ever." The fact that this was worn during the best show of the southeast run, during one of those shows that make the people who don't go on tour seem like the freaks, only adds to the amusement factor.

Another 7 hour drive lead to Raleigh. Due to the credit card problem, I had to drop the car off in the airport before the show and take a taxi to the venue (stopping only for a mad rush through the airport to find where they put the lockers so I could stash my gear). All of this took too long though, and we hit pre show traffic. I ended up getting dropped off 2 miles from the venue and walked it through the 100 degree hit. "This is good for me," I kept muttering under my breath. It wasn't until I got to the venue that I realised the practical joke Phish had played on me. This show was to start 30 minutes earlier than normal. I would have had plenty of time to return the car to the airport after the show.

Phish Tickets By Mail set me up this night. I was about 12 rows back, Page side. Now I really shouldn't do this, but I'm going to give away a secret. If you ever want to sneak down to the pavillion/floor at a Phish show, look for the people with the all access passes. Usually Phish clump all of their guestlist people in the same row. Many of those people will spend most of the show backstage, leaving plenty of room in that row. The Bagel Boys [1] and I took advantage of this to move dead center. We had the row to ourselves until about halfway through the set. The one flaw with this plan is that some (but far from all) of the laminated people are frustrating to deal with. How do you react to someone who comes from backstage (with a couple bottles of beer) towards the end of the second set, talks for a few songs loudly, and then leaves? The same apathy that freed up the seats can become annoying when they return.

As I write this, lying on the floor of the Raleigh airport, I realize that it's time to say goodbye to Dixie. So long to southern belles and drunken Panic fans. Farewell to roadside stands that sell two products - peaches and fireworks. Adieu to billboards for Jesus and strip clubs. No longer will I see Draconian warnings for speeding in construction zones, like South Carolina's threatened 30 days of jail time. Temperatures of 95 degrees will become a novelty. Cheap gas - even by Y2K standards - will become regrettably rare.

I'm about to explore the north. From Big Sky country to the 10,000 lakes of Minnesota to the large cities of the northeast, my path will be about to change. The distances to travel will be great, but I have been promised music and adventure on the other end. That's a siren call that I have never been able to resist.

[1]Ben and Jake, two friends of mine from Seattle who work at the local Noah's Bakery. Phish Tickets by Mail gave them seats next to mine all Summer Tour. Thank you PTBM!