In the summer of 1997, I found the chance to be a free spirit for a week.  This was an opportunity that I would have found regrettable had I not at least tried to attend this even.  That year, according to the state of Delaware and the IRS, I was unemployed.  I find that fairly accurate with hindsight.  Fifteen years later, I still do not think of that "job" as work.  I worked as a sound technician for a small, yet nationally touring band known as "NailDrivers".  In August of that year, while living with the band, we found ourselves on a three week hiatus between gigs.  The timing worked out perfectly.

                Over the previous few years, I developed a liking for a band called “Phish”.  Having never seen the Grateful Dead on tour, I had started traveling to see Phish at different venues in different states.  Places like Virginia Beach, Philadelphia, and Baltimore.  In 1996, Phish played a weekend long concert known as “The Clifford’s Ball” in upstate New York.  This was a major event that I unfortunately missed.  When they announced that the following year, Phish’s summer tour would conclude in Presque Isle, Maine, I decided to make doing what I needed to so I could attend this event a priority.

                When I heard that our break coincided with the Phish Summer Tour 1997’s final few shows, I jumped at the chance.  But I possessed no car, no ride, no tickets, and an incredibly small amount of money to do this.  Now if you have never attended to a concert similar to Phish, The Grateful Dead, or Widespread Panic, you should be aware that half of the fans that travel to these shows do not even leave the parking lot.  Many fans travel from show to show with or without a ticket, enjoying the tailgating, selling and trading their wares and food, and just having a good time amongst others who intend on doing the same.  So one did not have to go inside the venue, or even have a ticket, to enjoy the show and the summer tour venues consisted of pavilions and open air venues so you all the music could be heard outside anyways.  However the Maine show, held at an old airport, required a ticket so any money I possessed needed to go to that. 

                The last two shows prior to the Maine event – known as “The Great Went” – kicked off in Pittsburgh at the Star Lake Amphitheatre and continued at Darrian Lake, just outside of Buffalo, NY.  The tour then concluded with The Great Went four days after the Pittsburgh show.  I had to travel, somehow, from Dewey Beach, Delaware to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Buffalo, New York, up to Northern Maine, and then back to Delaware.  The route covered all thirteen states that make up the entire northeast of the US and me with no transport.  That is when the first lucky break happened.

                A Baltimore, Maryland radio station was airing on the boardwalk until five in the afternoon in Ocean City, Maryland two days prior the Star Lake concert in Pittsburgh.  That could get me at least to Baltimore, where a friend resided whom I could crash with for two nights until departing for the show.  So I packed up a normal, teal backpack with two boxes of pop-tarts, four bottles of water, and a sleeping bag tied to the bottom.  A friend then drove me the thirty miles south from Dewey Beach to Ocean City and I found the DJ’s booth on the boardwalk.  After speaking to them for a few hours and rehashing my story, they allowed me to hitch a ride with them.  One hundred and fifty miles later, we arrived in Baltimore and I contacted my friend.  Sure enough, the couch belonged to me for the nights I required.  And good friends they were.  Since I had no money, and thus no party favors, they gave me a late birthday present.  “To keep me sane during my travels”, they said.  Two days later, after taking advantage of the hospitality of friends, they dropped me off at Interstate 70 and The Baltimore Beltway, I-695 junction.  This was the main highway for anyone heading west from the Eastern Shore and Washington, D.C. towards Pittsburgh and beyond.    As I hoped, after about an hour and a half of unsuccessful ride acquisition, an old beat up VW Bus began to slow for me.  Bound for Star Lake as well, they told me to jump in and enjoy the ride.  About three hours and numerous water pipe inhalations later we arrived in the lot.  After we arrived, I saw the Bus no more.  Shame of it all, I cannot even remember their names.    

Now that I made it to my first show, I had to see if I could get in.  One bit of information you should know, an important bit that will help towards understanding how I pulled this off, is that one of my roommate and I happened to looked a lot alike.  Both of us had long, dark, straight hair and we looked oddly enough like the same person to anyone who did not know either him or me.  To top it off, his brother just so happened to play bass for Widespread Panic.  So he loaned me his all access pass and said, “You are now Steve Gerard.  When you arrive, talk to someone with the band, and they should have the ability to get you in for free.”  Sounds easy right?  Actually, extraordinary luck played a larger part to success for me than work.

I walked for a bit, hoping for the “miracle” – a free ticket from someone who had an extra and willing to give or trade, but with no success.  Chancing the pass seemed my only remaining option.  I figured the best place to start to be any event staff checking tickets.  I found one and I gave him the “story”.  “Hi.  My name is so and so and my brother is so and so from that band and he said to talk to Mr. Band man and see if I could get a ticket since I don’t have one for this show.”  He grabbed his radio and started talking to the guy on the other side.  Hinting to me that it may be a difficult request, or so I assumed from what I saw.  After a bit he came back and said the guy I needed to talk to was unavailable.  About to give up and not press the issue, I was bluffing after all, I turned to go search for my miracle once again when he asked, “Hey, how many do you need?”  “It’s just me,” I replied.  “I’m on my own.”  Someone was watching over me that day because he pulled a ticket out of his pocket and said, “Enjoy the show.”  He handed me the ticket, eighth row, center floor.  What a show.

                Four hours passed, or there about, and the show ended.  Piles of hippies moved back into the lot for the “post party.”  As much fun as I had, I needed to get to work.  Either find a ride to Buffalo, or start walking.  So I searched the lot intensely, looking for someone who looked like they were going to Buffalo and had room for an extra body.  It took a while, but I eventually I found room in one of the last remaining cars in the lot.  Two guys from Texas stood before me. After having just dropped off a hitcher at this show that made no plans to continue with them, they allotted me the seat.  I told my story once again as we pulled out of the lot and my new companions thought it “great”.  Understanding about my money woes, they refused any cash for gas.  A short while passed and we stopped at a camp ground, suddenly also full of hippies, and crashed for the night before heading up to Buffalo in the morning.  If you have camped before you know that when the sun rises, so do you.  So at sun up we hit the road.

Since the trip north to from Pittsburgh to Buffalo would only take about four hours, we had a lot of time to kill before heading to the venue.  Niagara Falls, only a half hour from the venue, was a place I never visited before.  Same went for my new friends as well.  Once again, I found another opportunity I must take which may never present its self again.  On a side note, do not go out of bounds and go under the falls because security will chase you away.  Mind you the year was 1997 and pre-September 11^th so things probably get a lot worse for those who do it now.   As the day closed in on evening, we headed to the show.  None of us had tickets, so I attempted to get all of us tickets this time.  Had we gotten there earlier, I would have succeeded.  But he did not have three tickets, just one.  Out of respect for my companions, I declined the ticket and we went back to the car to fire up the grill.  Looked like this time, the show would be heard from the lot.  That is when another break headed my way.  Because we did not get into the show, I happened to run into a guy whose friend was unable to make the tour and just so happened to have one extra for The Went.  My good fortune allowed me to have more than enough money to purchase the ticket from him as he did not even want face value for it.  I was meant to attend this show.

                After the show concluded, we decided to make haste and depart for Maine right away.  The trip to Presque Isle takes twelve plus hours, not including stops and traffic, and we had to get going.  As we crossed up-state New York, we passed through Vermont and we had to pause at a Gorge.  The name of it escapes me but I remember the low, thick fog bellow us, and the eerie beauty that lingered under the bridge we stood upon.  We took a moment to soak it in and then continued on.  We found ourselves only about seven hours from our destination at that point and ready to get there.  We continued on through New Hampshire, and about an hour later we entered Maine.  We made our way to Route 1 North in Southern Maine and began the remaining six hour drive north to Presque Isle.  Good thing we got an early start as the traffic for the event began over sevety-five miles from the front gate.  As we sat in traffic and occasional crept forward, residents of the small towns we were passing through began offering water to the fans, displayed plenty of firewood and ice for sale, and made sure every one of the 100,000 people en-route to the show felt welcome.  Given the chance and the memory of where these people lived, I would love to return just to say thank you.  After a few more hours of sitting in traffic we finally arrived at The Went.  We passed through the gate and I got out of the car.  Like the Bus, I never saw the Two Guys from Texas again.

                I walked amongst all the people.  A community of over 100,000 like-minded fans camping and celebrating the music together.  The environment was a pleasant experience to behold.  I walked around this little town of ours and began trying to find someone I either knew or did not mind a stranger near their camp.  Just so happens, that while awaiting my turn to use the phones to contact my friends back home and let them know I made it alive, I ran into one of my roommates who decided to come up after I decided to leave for Pittsburgh.  I now had transport, if I needed one, back home after the weekend show.  Looks like my sorry butt did not have to worry about anymore rides.

I spent the rest of the evening, sitting in the grass with my roommate.   We drank beer from Dogfish Head Brewery out of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.  Knowing just how little money I possessed, he picked it up in the hopes we would run into each other, and planned on sharing it with me.  We sat in a circle and I told him of my trip here and the people I met.  As the night drew on and our sobriety waned even further from normal, it began to rain slightly.  I did not have a tent with me so my friend offered to let me sleep in his car for the night.  I happily accepted, as I would rather sleep in the car than sleep in the rain.  Comfort was lacking, but the dryness of the interior made it worth my while.

The sun rose a few hours later and so did the masses of people.  The quiet of the night began to stir with music and shouts.  Some were advertising breakfast burritos for two dollars or bottles of water.  Others were yelling for their friends, wondering where a certain items ended up after the previous night.  I emerged from the car and stretched out the soreness that set in over the night.  Gathering my thoughts and my backpack, I grabbed a pop-tart as I began to head over to my roommate Joel’s tent.  Already awake, he sat outside eating a burrito and waved me over.  The night’s rain turned into a beautiful day for a concert.

We spent the afternoon roaming around our little town, meeting new people, trying some tailgating food, and occasionally sitting down to smoke with a stranger just because we could.  Going from site to site and circle to circle, the day moved on towards the evening.  It was time to head to the field, over two miles from our tent and car, and prepare for the evenings show.  So far my trip encompassed two concerts in two different states and travel through half of the thirteen states I would pass through before I would arrive at home.  Not bad so far, and weekend just started.

After walking for around twenty-five to thirty minutes, we arrived at the gate.  Flashing our wristbands to the staff and passing through the make-shift gate at the entrance, we walked out onto the field.  Spectacular images filled my eyes and my body felt alive.  The stage, off in the distance, barely looked like more than a small rectangle from our perspective.  The distance from us to the stage was insane but speaker towers lined the field all over so sound was not a problem.  When Phish finally took the stage, the sun still hung in the sky.  Phish played an inspired and energetic first set, opening with a number of my favorite songs that I longed to hear live. 

While sitting in the grass during the intermission, it just so happens that I found another friend.  Her name was Wilma.  I knew her from the time I lived in Ocean City and worked at a hippie bar that her and a few friends frequented.  As I sat, picking at the grass and waiting for the joint that a stranger lit for our small group to come around to me, I looked up to see a very tall, blonde woman.  I could not believe my eyes.  Sitting in the grass, it was obvious she would not see me so I shouted, “WILMA,” a la Fred Flintstone, and she looked around for whom ever called her.  Looking back and forth she still did not find the source of the call.  That is until I yelled, “Down here!”  Her gazed shifted down and surprised covered her face as she noticed it was I who called her.  Two people among the 100,000 and I found them.  Along with them, I ran into two or three others I had met either at other shows or at local bars back home. 

The second set followed as strongly as the first.  One hundred thousand people would agree with me.  Upon the conclusion of the third set that night, we all danced in the field for a bit before heading back to the tents.  Having found Wilma, she joined our little group back at Joel’s tent.  Another night was spent smoking, drinking, and laughing just like the one before.  But it lasted only half as long.  It was, however, later than the night before and another long day lay ahead of us.  Joel’s car was cramped so Wilma offered up hers, a hatchback with much more room.  Being such a small guy, I fit very comfortable in the hatchback and slept soundly till the sun rose the next morning.

That morning began much like the previous one.  I awoke, went to Joel’s tent, grabbed a beer and a pop-tart, sat back, and passed around a morning bowl for our “Wake-n-Bake”.  The afternoon went on much in the same manner as well, and as the hour approached, we all migrated back to the concert field.  Not learning from the day before, we arrived after many others had already set up and were a fair distance from the stage.  I did not expect that this night, something unique would occur that I would never forget. 

The night was cool and clear and before sun down, the band began the performance.  Just as the night before, the first set carried energy that sustained all of us for the extended set, complete with a fourty-five minute version of a song called “You Enjoy Myself”.  As the first set closed, the fans all began the intermission habit of passing bowls and joints in preparation of the second set.  This intermission lasted longer than most, which we expected after a two hour first set.  Like all things this trip, the long wait was worth it in the end. 

There are moments from the second set that are burned in my memory, but none so much as the massive glow-stick war that ensued about mid-way through the set.  The song before this has slipped my mind but they transitioned into a song called “Harry Hood”.  Some of my older readers may be familiar with an old commercial for a refrigerator that featured a little man inside and the spokesperson asked “Where do you go when the lights go out?”  Well this songs bridge consists of that same phrase.  As the song progressed to the bridge, the moon hung high in the sky, fat and full.  It was clear and not a cloud obscured to light reflected off it, bathing the entire crowd in a soft, white light. Trey, the lead singer, asked the lighting technician to “let the moon take over.”  With that request, every light in the field went dark, and the bright moon took over.

“Harry….Harry….Where do you go when the lights go out” rang from the speakers.  That is when the first glow stick took to the sky, followed by another and another and another.  Within moments, the black sky was dotted with blue and yellow and red and green streaks of light.  It reached the point that the glow sticks began to look like a galaxy of stars. “Keep throwing those things up in the air, because it looks amazing. You have no idea. Go get some more of those things man,” rang from the speakers as Trey expressed his awe.   I cannot think of a sight more satisfying to my “soul” than the image of all those colors streaking through the sky.  It felt like it went on for hours but it actually lasted about five minutes before the band picked back up and jammed on.  The after images of all the colored streaks reminded me of the spots you see after a flash goes off.  Moving all around and never staying put long enough to focus on it.

The second set concluded, and the energized crowd demanded an encore.  We had all come from all over the United States to see them, so our thoughts were, “They owed us”.  And we got our dues back in full.  Unfortunately, I have no coherent memories of the remainder of the show but I know it was good.  Like the night before, we all meandered back to our sites and discussed the show we just witnessed.  However, this round was absent of alcohol and weed as my new ride, Wilma, was going to head out in a few hours as we anticipated hours of waiting to reach the exit.  She volunteered to drive the first leg, basically from the parking spot to the gate and then about two hours further before she was spent.  But that did give me about five hours of rest before I took over.  By the time of the switch, we were only about three hours from leaving Maine.  After six days of traveling and sleeping on couches and in cars I was ready to get home.  I usually drive the band everywhere, so I was used to long stretches behind the wheel.  I made it all the way to New Jersey before I needed relief.  About four hours later, we arrived at the house.  After six long, bone-wearying days and nights with strangers who became friends, moments that became memories,  four mind-blowing shows in three different cities, and over two thousand miles covered without having a ride or a car, my journey had come to an end.  Fittingly, I slept for the next two days.  When I awoke, the weight of what I accomplished and the images of what I saw truly set in and I immediately began planning for the next summer tour festival. 

I ended up going to next two festivals in 1998 and 1999, introducing my sister, who saw The Dead but never Phish, to this experience and meeting many more people on the way.  For those I had transportation and money but only attended the one show consecutively.  Never again did I “go on tour” or hitch-hike to a show.  I am grateful that I actually did it and would never change the way it worked out.  The hours left wondering where my ride would come from were insignificant to the lifetime of memories I have after my trek.