After a nine hour drive, straight through, we were a bit restless. Like everyone else in line, we each had a case of "car ass," and wanted desperately to park and crack our first beer, and hit Shakedown. We were also a bit more restless about the cargo I had been talked into "taking along" at the very last minute (another story). Let's just say, a search of my Honda CRV was out of the question...

As we pulled into the massive lots and camping areas, we realized that we were not early enough to be included in the grass camping areas and were being directed out to left field. Let's just say that carrying our 85lb, last minute cargo (nick-named Frakenstein), a mile into the camp ground was out of the question...

Having never smuggled so much as a joint into anywhere, I made an unlikely, last minute decision to ditch security. For the next five minutes, I was chased up and down the tarmac by a yellow and green John Deer tractor/buggy, and the accompanying screams of the yellow-shirted driver bent on pulling me over. At every turn, his compatriots were waving me over, as I dodged and darted along the camping section, trying to find an opening into the camping section. Let's just say, I found one.

Shortly after cranking our first, seemingly well-deserved beer, the sun went down and we hit Shakedown. The vendors were still setting up shop and the "night before the show" vibe was in the air. A slight breeze began to pick up, when "SPJ" was stopped in his tracks by the wafting fragrance of a freshly opened tupperware container.

"What is that???" he asked, though not to me.

"Goo Balls. Seven different kind-bud oils," a pretty lady responded, in a tone that sold itself.

Upon a brief inspection, my friend responded, "We'll take four."

The Goo Balls in my hand (beer in the other) smelled like a cross between chocolate and Humbolt County in Fall. It became apparent that getting through even half of one of these rich, dank treats would be a feat. The breeze picked up as we walked on, checking out the scene, and soon, the goo balls began to melt in our hands. There was no choice but to devour both balls.

Soon the invigorating breeze turned into the beginnings of an impending storm. Rain was in the air as we high-balled it back to our campsite. As we hastily tried to set up the tent, I noticed that the storm seemed to be turning into a hurricane, and my fingers were becoming increasingly numb and useless (much like "SPJ"). As he was already bundled up in his sleeping bag, it was my task to zip the door closed. By this time, the rain was telling jokes about me, and the wind was letting forth a howling laugh. The zipper was stuck. My fingers wouldn't work.

The deluge came pouring in, I was burping up chocolate, oats, beer and seven different types of kind bud oil. The tent felt like a Merry-go-round. Desperate, I braved the elements.  I had an idea. I would switch the fly around to cover the the zipper jammed door.

The last thing I remember before the Goo Ball induced pass out was the steady drip of water on my forehead, straight through the tent fabric, where the fly was no longer covering. Let's just say, I only thought I solved the problem...

When I awoke the next morning, the sun was just coming out. The wind was no longer blowing, and yes, Phish would be taking the stage in a matter of hours. I rolled over to catch my first glimpse of "SPJ" since the GOO Ball incident the night before (which was still very much in effect). As fate would have it, he ended up on the downhill side of the tent. His sleeping bag had absorbed every drop of water that had rolled off of my forehead, and had expanded to five times its normal size. Like a troubled butterfly, not sure he could make it out of his cocoon, his face gained an expression of hope when I finally woke up. His lips were blue and he was shivering.

"I'm so fucking cold that I can't move." Nor could he have raised his voice to wake me up.

I'm not sure how long he laid there in that state, but he was sure happy and wet when I let him out. It made it that much better that we stayed dry for the rest of the weekend, which ended up yielding many more stories and an incredible six sets of music.

It always seems like the best shows come with some sort of trivial sacrifice, that only a Phish Phan could subconsciously devise. A sense of humor helps.

The laughs in hindsight are priceless.

- JPM