I rolled in at 12:10 a.m. Tuesday morning. Never let it be said that I did not maximize my vacation time.
Hiawatha was a lot of fun, except for Monday morning when I had to pack everything up and drive home. They need to fix that; it’s easily the worst part of any music festival, even worse than drunken idiots yelling at 4 a.m.
My car has new tires now. Apparently, the answer to the question “How much life do they have left,” when asked around July 1, was “1,200 miles,” i.e., one trip to Louisville and 2/3rds of a trip to music festivals up north. Only one had gone flat (on the way back to the festival from Wal-Mart—don’t ask), but since they all had 58,000 miles on them by then I’m sure failure was just a handfull of miles away for all of them.
So Monday’s agenda was: 1. Pack campsite; 2. Go buy tires and try not to cry in front of the guy who gives the price quote; 3. Drive 450 miles in the rain. No wonder I am not terribly happy now. Plus, I have to go to work.
Although, really, I’m not terribly unhappy. That’s probably due to all the fiddle tunes bouncing around my head still. The music library part of my brain still thinks I’m up north, I guess. I played a lot of back-up guitar to the fiddlers, but for quite a while I played mandolin, with which I played some of the actual tunes instead of just kaCHUNKa kaCHUNKA rhythm. I’m not completely competent on the mandolin yet but I could see competent from where I was, for a while. That was fun.
The only things I lost were a bottle of shampoo (I hope it can be useful to one or more Ramblers, since that’s where it probably is) and a folding pocketknife (lost at Blissfest, dammit; it was a nice one). I came back with lots of bug bites, and photos, and fiddle tunes in my head (and I don’t even PLAY fiddle!).
More about Bliss and Hiawatha later. Maybe even with photos!