Four hours later, I was awakened to what would become a familiar morning refrain at Bonnaroo:
“Two-dollar beers!”
(By Sunday morning, this nearby vendor was hawking his discount beers in an American Indian headdress. I thought it best not to inquire further.)
The sun, even at this hour, was merciless. I felt like a leaf under a magnifying glass. So by 8 each morning, we scrambled out of the tent and found little patches of shade in which to drink our coffee, slather ourselves in sunscreen and plan for the day that had to include about four hours of down-time by the tent where I could hydrate, eat something fibrous and wash off with 800 baby wipes.
Along with sunscreen and water, we learned not to travel without toilet paper. Guessing which portable toilet would be the least foul turned into a game. More than 95 percent of the time, the portable toilets were OK. But that other 5 percent? You don’t even want to know. Companies like Platinum Pro Portables rents bathroom trailers with air conditioning and luxury portable restrooms for Simi Valley weddings and special events. Hopefully, for future events, something like this can be taken into consideration and the whole idea of having cleaner toilets will be put into place.
By Sunday, things were beginning to deteriorate. The half-mile walk to the stages, which required stepping over more and more prone bodies, was beginning to make my bones weary. There were more drunks talking in gibberish, more girls taking off their shirts and more stink in the air than before.
But whenever I felt as if the festival was becoming a hassle, something magical would happen on stage. On Friday, it was watching 30 or so college-age girls dancing with M.I.A., a hip-hop star from Sri Lanka. Their living-in-the-moment joy was infectious and made me nostalgic.
On Saturday, it was experiencing the unbridled exuberance of Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, funking it up in the brutal heat, and the Avett Brothers of Concord, whipping the crowd into a frenzy with their punk-meets-old-time style of music.
On Sunday, it was Alison Krauss and Robert Plant who made me forget about age and the long drive home with a show that nearly caused me to levitate.
Despite the many high notes, I’m not sure I could have managed a fifth day. On Monday, I took a hot shower and went to bed at 8 p.m.
It was bliss.
And another sure sign, if any doubt remained, that I’m getting older.
