The Alpine-Deer Creek-Polaris jaunt seemed perfect for a Midwest phan such as myself. We woke up early on the 8th of July and hightailed it up to Wisconsin, which is about a seven hour drive from Southern Illinois. Of course this was my first time at Alpine Valley, but I knew about the historic shows that have taken place at the venue, the enormity of the place, etc. What I wasn't aware of was the strong police presence that would soon become too close for comfort. 

We arrived in the lot at about 5:30 p.m. My brother and I quickly wondered off in separate directions to survey and purvey various people and substances. I came back to the car about 15 minutes later to grab a beer when I noticed a guy walking past with a look of sheer terror on his face. I tried to stop him to ask what was wrong, but he just shook his head and kept walking. 

I caught up to him and asked him again what he was so stressed about. Without even looking at me he says in a quiet voice, "There is an undercover cop following me right now. He caught me smoking a bowl and told me that if I told anyone else that I would be arrested." He then glanced behind him and hissed, "There he is. Dude, get away if you don't want trouble." I stopped walking with the kid and looked around. All I saw were fans. This was weird as hell. 

Well, I should've known that if there were NARC's walking around the scene that I should just head inside. Of course I did nothing of the sort and headed back to the car to get a pint of Guinness. I hooked back up with my twin bro, John, and we began walking in the general direction of the front gate. As I walked down the path, I suddenly noticed that there was a large amount of cops on all sides of me. To the left was a trailer which was serving as some kind of processing center/visual checkpoint. 

I thought to myself, I need to get rid of this beer... Suddenly a strong hand grabbed my left shoulder. "HEY. HOW OLD ARE YOU SON?" I looked up and saw a uniformed police officer holding on to my shirt. "COME WITH ME, KID." My mind started racing and I saw three neon letters in my head. They were R-U-N. I pulled away from the cop and began to sprint. Unfortunately, I didn't get ten feet before I was surrounded by boys in blue. 

They were all screeching at me to cooperate. One of them said the magic words, "Just follow our directions and you can still go to the show." I instantly complied, also remembering the quarter of nugs in my pocket and the 'something elses' in my left sock. 

When John saw eight or so cops all hauling me over to the police trailer, he came to my defense by yelling, "What the hell are you doing? He didn't do anything!" Sadly, John too had forgotten about the beer in his hand and they nabbed him as well. They took me to a picnic table and began writing out the citation. There were three other people sitting at the picnic table getting citations as well. One guy was less than a month away from his 21st birthday, and was very upset that he was receiving an underage drinking ticket. 

They led John into the police trailer, where he had an interesting encounter with an undercover officer. I thought for sure that I would be searched and in jail in the cheese state before the sun was down. I could feel the nugs in my pocket and see the outline of the sack. I didn't even want to think about what was in my sock. Luckily, in perhaps the biggest break of my tour life, they didn't search me. They just handed me a ticket for $212 dollars and sent me on my merry way. John was quick to follow with a ticket of his own. 

We walked about fifty feet away and then proceeded to rip the tickets into little tiny pieces, throwing them in the nearest dumpster. I then went on to see six wonderful shows, including the legendary 7/11/00 at the Creek. Several months later I began to receive letters from Walworth County, Wisconsin, telling me that I had been found "guilty in absentina" (is that even possible?) and that I must pay $212 dollars or face a collection agency. 

Naturally I followed suit with the ticket and threw each and every letter away. All thirteen of them. (Oddly, John never received one letter. We think they got the wrong address.) Well, I recently applied for a loan and was denied. Why? A bad debt for $212. So, in the end they did screw me in one capacity. But I never have, and never will, pay that fine.

- David B.