Sitting quietly at our Festival camp, in a far corner, near a stream, eating breakfast, enjoying the morning birds, ignoring the traffic on the nearby highway and the Festivarians filling the entrance to the venue, we are interrupted by a splashing sound coming from the water. a wild-eyed, bearded man, dripping as he slips and staggers out of the water, stumbling to his knees and holding what looks like a bottle of clear liquid, almost sparkling in the morning sun, holding it upright and not spilling a drop, even as he slips again, but he gets to his feet, and staggers forward.
It is then that I notice he lacks a boot on one foot, and his shirt is torn and there are scratches on his face. I start to move toward him, but he steps forward toward us and slips again, grabbing the pole holding our shade, and falls forward, taking the shade down with him. He doesn’t hit the ground because he is stopped by the camp table, and he rolls to the side and flips the other table with the coffee pot on him, and he spins away, catching a tent pole and he takes down the tent, all the while, holding the bottle aloft and not spilling a drop, he continues to roll, stepping forward and slipping on the tarp that the tarp-runner has folded just-so. He uses the bottle as a brace and lurches onward, into another tent, popping poles, loosening tent pegs, and diving headlong into our neighbor’s camp, a camp trailer, dislodging the pilings that make it level, and sending it on its way down the gentle incline toward the creek.
I hear a voice from inside the trailer, “Charlie?”
“Whoa!” from our intrusive visitor, but he isn’t talking about the trailer, he has crashed into the next series of tents, popping guy lines and tent pegs, as he bounces back and forth, now dragging a shade tarp and catching another set of lines, he crashes into another and tries to steady himself on a van with an open door. I see a head peek out as the van tips on the slope of the meadow and over it goes, with a crash of pots and pans, plates and silverware making a huge crash, and the whole thing is covered by a shade tarp.
I am stunned, as you can imagine, thinking it is over, but for the recovery, and I hear the trailer splash into the creek. A voice from the trailer is loud enough to be heard. “Charlie?”, Actually much louder, almost a scream, and again, “Charlie!” :huh
:lol :lol :lol :lol :lol :lol :lol :lol Chuck! :lol :lol :lol :lol :lol :medal
Very funny … :evil
You can imagine…, or maybe you can’t imagine. I really thought it was over, but, when I looked to the tipped over van, I see a hand , clutching a bottle, glistening in the sun, extending from a tarp that seems to be shivering and shaking, then it pops up and begins its journey forward, leaving the van opening gaping to the sky and a head sticks out and a loud voice, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
The tarp answers, “I’m cool, dude, really.” and the tarp, still attached to a stake, stays behind as the Mystery Man heads further into the campground.
I must admit I felt stunned, as I glanced down and noticed my Thesaurus and dictionary, both had taken the brunt of the coffee, and pages had been torn from them, perhaps by our unwanted guest as he slipped and slid through our camp. Shocked, I surveyed the damage, turning slowly, taking in a swath of destruction that as I looked, was in no danger of stopping.
Passing through a narrow channel between tents, he is freeing stakes and lines, hanging up momentarily on a guy line for more shade and falling backwards into a tent, folding it in on itself, but he is bounced up immediately as someone inside pushes him out into a narrow road.
He has two tarps, following behind, one line wrapped around his shoulder and another caught on the booted foot. “I’m okay.” I hear him say and I decide its time to follow, avoiding as much as I can the carnage in his wake.
There is a car with a pop-up camper/trailer stopped in the road and three people are standing at the back end of the trailer, surveying the intersection of trailer and tent. I am able to see them from the front end of the car as they are on the passenger side, talking. “Wait!” I yell, but, I am too late.
The bottle is held high and the line attached to the tarp has reached its limit…, and our man tips headlong into the open window of the driver’s side of the car, initiating movement. He must have shifted it into gear, I thought, correctly. Reverse.
The trailer rolls into and over the tent, and continues taking another tent and just manages to build enough momentum to take a shove at a newly set trailer into the stream, a bit upstream from the initial debacle. All the while, the driver is screaming and pounding on the closed passenger window as the car takes its slow jaunt down to the river.
“Hey, man.” We meet eye to eye, my eyes must have been the size of saucers, as were his, but I doubt we were mirror images of each other. He had more scratches, but the bottle is the prize in his eyes and he glances at it, looks at me and says, “Still okay.”
I don’t think I was alone as the only observer, but, I could be wrong.
He had a half-smile on his face as he turned and with a few steps took out the trash barrels and then the port-o-potties, like dominos they fell, and he disappeared, almost into the sea of tents, heading in the general direction of the front gate.
I should have stayed to rescue the screaming voice from one of the toilets, but I could see others coming to his aid, and I heard a crash coming from further in the campground. Luckily, his path was easy to follow, tents uprooted, shade, and easy-ups, bent and twisted, crashing noises as entire campsites were laid to waste. He took out a series of shade tarps and the attending kitchens and party supplies, a beer can rolled my way from an open cooler laying on its side. I took that as an omen and picked it up. It opened with a gentle pop and I drained it with a few gulps to fortify my foray into the cataclysm.
He held his bottle high, again dragging a tent and tarps. He seemed to be gaining strength, as there were more tarps with the stakes attached and I watched as a small tent get caught as a tarp ran under it, carrying it along.
Crashing into cooler, boxes of food, stoves and shaking trees, he headed toward the gate, cries and shouts and people screaming, followed in his wake. He seemed to be oblivious to what damage had ensued. What was the elixir in the bottle that he held so high? I could only guess, but a sip might get me high, I just sighed.
I think I met this guy at many fests before. From now on I’m callin em Chuck… :flower
Anyone that leaves a path of destruction like this guy needs to be held by the boys in blue. :eek
Duct tape man? :evil Ron? :evil Flat Ron? :evil Hooch? :evil
Sooooooo many to choose from! :bag
Thank you Mayor, and you are absolutely correct, and as a matter of fact, there were the boys in blue and the ones with bright colors, and festival crew and all sorts of people running around and running into one another and backing the curious away and halting the traffic and all the campers still trying to get in, and, I hate to admit it, but, I followed the trail.
Fortunately there were no injuries, butt for a bruised ego of one. The man in the john happened to have a less than festivarian attitude, taking some else’s campsite with his camper, (which apparently rolled into the water while he was otherwise occupied) and I heard it took quite a while for the authorities to extricate him from his narrow abode. i heard he needed to be wrapped in plastic bags and taken to a safe place to be hosed, for the protection of the general population.
As I said, the trail could not have been clearer, but just before reaching the gate, it veered off and made an extraordinarily straight line to the creek. When I got there, only a few water bottles, and three beers, bobbed amidst the tangle of lines, ropes, assorted tarps, and a tent, on the bank, with a sheepish looking lady peeking out at me and she asked"Was that you?"
I hastened to say I had nothing to do with her travels, and I wondered if she was alright, which she was…, so I walked back to camp.
Wow!! what a story. :cheers One more for the road, dude?!
Surrrre, whyyyy not? what coooould go wrongggg?
Dan is playin around. :flower But it was an observation on his part. :medal
I can’t remember the first time I was at TBF, really.
This is something different…, there is a place and time where the music and the energy lives forever.
In about five years from now, I will be getting a phone call, on a land line, from a man that will say,
“you don’t know me , but you met me one day when I carried the elixir of music.”
i don’t know how the conversation goes, but I hope it goes well…
which brings me to this…
The Grascals want to do a radio interview with me next month and I can’t, for the life of me, remember what year they appeared on the main stage at TBF… Does anyone remember?
I have been blessed with so much music and good times in Telluride that it really is hard to pick an individual year out of the pot of memories that flies around in my conscience.
Does anyone remember when the The Grascals were at TBF - Were they ever there?
:peace
Here is the link for the lineups:
http://www.bluegrass.com/telluride/archive/lineups.html
Nothing there.
Jerry I don’t believe they have ever played TBF, but I could be wrong on that, cuz like you, for me they get a bit blurry after 30 years.
:cheers
you’re right Cindy! for some reason I get them mixed up the the Greencards, don’t know why I just do.
:peace