There Will Be Mud!

I finally made it down to the Austin City Limits Festival this year.

I've always avoided it in the past because I'm not a big fan of standing in a field with thousands of drunk people in 100 degree weather regardless of who's playing.

This year the folks who run ACL thoughtfully moved the festival a week later in the year.

As the saying goes, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

I acquired a guest pass from a friend of mine and my mind was filled of images of me swilling champagne and hobnobbing with Eddie Vedder and Ben Harper and Laura Dern.

It didn't quite work out that way.

I rode my bike down to the fest. There was rain in the forecast but I lucked out and had a nice ride down to the park.

I started having second thoughts when I turned on Barton Springs road and saw all the people streaming into the park.

"Hmmmm. Maybe I should just turn around, head home, plop into bed and watch "Down By Law" again.

I pushed on. Once I got in the park I was surprised by all the mud and the smell.

It was like a pig farm with music. There was music, somewhere, right?

I could hear the B-52's but they seemed so far away.

The mud was several inches deep. Getting there was going to be a challenge.

I sloshed on over there but I stopped around half a mile from the stage.

Getting any closer would involve pushing past other people and around lawn chairs in the mud.

Why go any closer when I could see the band just fine from here?

On TV.

That's right, I essentially watched every band I saw on TV.

(The Toadies, The Dead Weather, Pearl Jam).

My guest pass, while an attractive red color, wasn't good for getting backstage or on to the side of the stage to watch the bands.

Getting any closer would require a commitment that I just wasn't ready to give.

Especially since there were these wicked Watermelon Vodka drinks in the artist tent where half the Austin music community was hanging out.

Free drinks, clean bathrooms and sanity versus mud, hordes of people and more mud.

It was no contest.

Many of the people in the artist tent clearly hadn't even bothered trying to go out and see any music. There shoes were still immaculately white.

I later found out that the mud everyone was rolling around in was "Dillo Dirt" which is composed of lawn trimmings and treated human sewage.

Eventually, the sun went down.

Now it was dark and muddy and I had to find my way back to my bike through this huge field with thousands of other muddy people. It was like a Civil war reenactment.

At least it wasn't raining.