Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

2002-08-12 @ 11:05 a.m.
Shuswap, Yeah

I came home a day early. I was having a good time, but 5 days was enough.

There were huge issues with my leaving early, however. The guy that wanted company for the 500km drive home had been drinking heavily in the morning - we were planning on leaving at 5pm. I completely trust that he knows when he's OK to drive, but Dave (of course) was having a hairy canary about it. I suspect that was more due to the fact that I WASN'T going with him the next day, though. He came up to me in the afternoon and told me that he'd take me home that night so that I'd at least 'get home alive'. To appease them, I convinced the guy to let me drive the first half - to at least Merritt. His girlfriend was happy with this situation too, as it would mean that I would be driving through the winding videogame-like section that is laced with your-turn-my-turn bridges.

Yeah, Metallica was thumping as I cruised that Precidia at 150 through the mountains and clouds.

The soundtrack for the week was deliciously varied. That's what you get when you camp with two bands. There was a lot of Ben Harper and Bob Marley. This IS summer lakefront camping! Then came the Offspring, Cake, Sublime, Prodigy, Reel Big Fish, Operation Ivy, Great Big Sea, various techno-n-trance-mixes, Red Hot Chile Peppers, Big Wreck, Incubus, Dave Matthews... but the best was when the bands dished out an acoustic jam session around the beach fire. Bongos echo back and forth across the lake.

The lake, although ridden with duck-mites, drew me in. When Dave and I arrived at 2am (his fault we were so late grrr), I grabbed my towel and ran to the dock. Before smoker-lungs could catch up to me, I was under the liquid black, feeling it run around my stomach and over my calfs. He threatened to steal my underwear, dipped a toe in the water, then just waited for me to come out.

The night was silent. No wind blew. I looked up to the sky, to the milky way, and saw shooting stars. Suspended, hanging in this cool arena, unknown depths below and unknown heights above.

The rest of the weekend had this typical pattern:
8am - wake up to someone cranking Britney Spears or lighting firecrackers
9am - swim, scavenge breakfast
9:30am - first game of Kings. Usually results in complete inebriation
10am - lie around on the beach or in Wal-Mart special camp chairs rehashing old jokes and generating new ones, trying to get everyone as drunk as you are
1pm - scavenge lunch. perhaps another game of Kings. spend rest of afternoon swimming, playing frisbee and soccer, tubing or wakeboarding, reading/tanning. perhaps have nap/pass out.
7pm - scavenge dinner. share large cooler full of sangria or watermelon injected with vodka.
10pm - campfire. cards. somebody will roll something to pass around.
1am - snuggle into sleeping bag. try to tune out people in the tents surrounding you.

I am pickled from the inside out.

I impressed the guys by doing a double beer bong just before 10am. I had pulled the 4th king, damnit.

So many people couldn't remember my name, despite the fact we've been introduced at various gigs and parties. "Yeah, that's OK. People tend to forget me."

Too bad Dave won't.

Anyhow, I've got laundry to do. And I think I better do some crossword puzzles to get my neurons to reconnect.


Roots | Shoots