We were on our way to the Great Went in that great end of summer show in '97. It was getting late, and because we were coming from Ohio we were looking for a campsite. However, the rain was not a companion for our search. So we took refuge in that pub in Vermont. 

Inside the place were perhaps three local yokels and three pool tables. Maybe two. I think "Come sail Away" was playing when we entered, hungry and disappointed. We stayed for the duration of the rain, about two hours, and that was not the end of the wetness. We stayed perhaps for the skin stinging rain to pass. However, while we were eating fries and other random bar food, we noticed a guy around our age who already was wearing a Great Went shirt. I found this to be strange. 

None-the-less, he had one, and the show was a few days away. So while we drank at the tables away from the bar itself, we commented on this phellow, who was obviously headed towards the same anticipation-state. So I approached this phellow and invited him to return to our table and discuss what was to be at the Went. He told us that he had to work until the Friday before the went, but that he was leaving on that Friday to drive straight there with his phriends. He asked us where the hell we where staying, and we told him that we had not found a campsite thus far. 

Of course, Phish phans know how this goes, and it does go as such. I think it was the Wednesday before the show. So, undoubtfully, we head to his small house about five minutes away, and in a region that housed perhaps twenty houses in between. And his name is travis by and by. So we go to his homage, and the inside is like any picture the mind conjures up when thinking of Vermontian life in the sticks. Wooden walls and impressive afghans and quilts on the wall, with random animal life taking an everlife upon the wooden walls. And of course a nice fireplace. And most splendidly a nice assortment of Phish boots. 

So there we sat, drinking whiskeys and local brewskies, enjoying the hospitality of this vermontian friend Travis. Into the wee hours we listened to his favorite translations of Col. Forbin and Tela and of his tales from Sugarbush and other such old haunts, until he finally told us that he had to leave at 5am to go to his place of employment. This is the part that is most striking. Not really, considering the phans of phish, but considerably nice none-the-less. He told us to sleep in and enjoy the beds and couches. He simply told us to lock-up the house whenever we left and that he hoped to see us at the Went. 

I felt this to be way too hospitable, and I was uncomfortable in the way he trusted us and let him know such. He just smiled and said you're welcome. So we left the day after, around 11 o'clock, locked his doors and were all secretively grateful for this phan who helped us for the night. We never did see him at the Went, but are forever smitten with the kindness he showed those for whom most would not trust. We wish you the best travis if you happen to read this.

Take care phans in this troubled time of hiatus.

- shane d