ROAD TRIPS WITH THE BOYS, PART ONE

Road trips with kids sounds like a duty, a hassle, a task to do and be done with.

It starts with a plan, then a phone call.

How you answer gives the kids an idea on how to respond when their turn comes around:

“Dad, can we borrow your car and drive to a concert five hours away?”

The concert was at The Gorge featuring The Dead, Allman Brothers, and Doobie Brothers.

College kids asking their dad to borrow a car to go to this lineup?

The oldest had bought a ticket for himself and one for his brother as a birthday present.

That alone was enough to loan the car, but then:

“You can go with us if you want but it’s all sold out.”

I’m invited to a Dead show with no ticket?

“Did you have a ride when you bought the tickets,” I asked?

They did but their roommates left a day early to party harder.

“We didn’t want to skip classes and besides we have tests they’re missing.”

My boys skipped the party bus to tend to college matters they were paying out the nose for?

I was bursting with pride when I said, “I’m going. When do we leave?”

Road trips come in all sizes.

To The Gorge, Stat

I’d never been to The Gorge but I’ve been to a Dead show.

The whirling dervish dancers at the front of the stage went non-stop all night the time I saw them in Eugene at McArthur Court.

I’m no Deadhead but I do appreciate their faithful following.

As for as no ticket? It’s a Dead show, come on. I don’t need no stinking ticket.

Since it was my first time driving to The Gorge it felt like a run to Canada.

Are we there yet?

Me: Boys, what do you know about The Dead?

Boys:

(They listened to rap and metal.)

Me: They started out as the house band for Ken Kesey’s Acid Test Parties.

Boys:

Me: Do you know what acid is?

Boys: It’s what you don’t take to do well on tests or skip classes for.

Me: Is that your roommates’ plans?

Boys:

Me: Whatever. Some people say The Dead play acid rock.

Boys: We heard they suck so bad you have to be stoned on acid to think they’re any good.

Me:

Boys: And they started as a bluegrass band.

Me: Good, you’ve done your homework. I saw them in 1975 and got tunnel vision.

Boys: Were you on acid you big stoner?

Me: Part of the show had to be for acid kings and queens when the stage went dark in the middle of a slow song except for one spotlight on Jerry Garcia’s face while he played a long, bending, lead on his SG.

Boys: Was he on acid too?

Me: I don’t know who was on acid but we’re sure to see some of them up here if we ever get there.

Road Trips Without Acid

We eventually showed up and set up camp. It’s a campout concert venue way the hell out in the middle of nowhere with a one lane road in and out.

You’ve got to really want to see a band, love their music, maybe twirl around.

I wasn’t a big fan of any of the bands playing but I am a fan of spending time with my boys.

We got there, walked around, passed a few girls holding up a finger and saying, “A miracle for Jerry.”

I held up a finger and started saying, “A miracle for Jerry,” while the boys hung back.

My miracle ticket came from an acid queen too wasted to walk with her angry man.

Boys: That could be your ticket right there.

I left the campsite with a chair and two bottle of cold water.

Me: You guys look thirsty.

Couple:

Me: If you need to sit down I brought a chair.

They took the water and the lady sat in my chair.

Couple Man: I’m so god damn sick of her getting so wasted every time we come here she can’t even make it to the show.

Me: This water will perk her up. It’s hot.

Man: If you help me get her back to our campsite you can have her ticket.

2

I came back to my camp with a ticket, but not just any ticket.

It was one for special guests. Now I’m a special guest.

Me: Do you guys have special guest tickets like me?

Boys: No, general admission.

Me: But you’re still special guests, right, if you can sneak into the special area. I’ll scope it out.

Boys: Naw, we’re good.

Me: Okay, then we’ll stick together in the nose bleed seats.

Boys: There aren’t any seats.

Me: You know what I mean.

Road Trips Of History

The Gorge isn’t Woodstock, but it’s my Woodstock.

It’s not California Jam, Newport Jazz, or Monsters Of Rock.

Instead of a particular band, The Gorge is a destination, an event, with live music.

Three bands in one night seemed like a lot.

But three nights? That’s a different story.

That story’s name is Sasquatch.

Music is the reason for Sasquatch. One reason. Anyone who’s been on a three day camp out knows the drill. It’s all about the campers. And music. Sasquatch draws great campers. They know how to set up, clean up, and pack up like they were never there.

Over and over on move day the scene played out. When neighbors yelled “Go to bed” the loud camp turned it down.

Where there had been a raging party the night before turned into a calm patch of grass. Real grass on the camp sites.

Cooperation is the reason for Sasquatch. Some people slept on the ground, some in their car, come in tents. Lots in tents. Add RVs, trailers, and pop-ups and I looked a acres of outdoor gear in full bloom. And not one siren. On the road near me only one person was carted out behind an official ATV.

No matter what you hear about the crowd, it wasn’t all 20-something millennials. Lots and lots of them, yes, but not all. 

It was a good fit all the way around.