far this winter has been a bust. The snow decided to skip town and leave the liquefied corpse of snowboarding season in its wake, and the Superbowl was about as exciting as watching Olympic athletes face off against any sports team I’ve ever been a part of. I don’t want to venture too far into the land of hyperbole, but this winter is tied with Parking Services on my list of things that fail to impress me.
I suppose the lack of winter excitement is the reason I was so unbelievably ecstatic to awake to see the new lineup for Sasquatch 2014 early this week.
For those of you who have wisely found better uses of your time than to read these columns, Sasquatch is a three-day indie music festival that I barely survived last year, and I plan to attend again this summer.
Only three people are going in my group this year, which is fantastic because there are fewer chances of losing people in the crowd. But it’s unfortunate because there are only three people to split the cost of food, beer and gas. So once again it looks as if I’ll be travelling with people who’ve shunned the concept of normal names and instead prefer to be called Mastodon Jackson and Fiona the Thunder God. Though, now that I think of it, that would be a great name for a hipster band.
Because I am a motivated and driven student, I immediately decided to skip class upon realizing the lineup had been posted in an attempt to get a head start on booking airfare and rental cars. Though I’m now even further behind in math, I do have a better idea of how we might actually get to the show. Unfortunately, I forgot that renting a car requires three credit cards, handing over the rights to your firstborn child and the entire gross domestic product of Nigeria when you’re under the age of 25.
Suddenly our trip just got a lot more expensive.
Setting aside the transportation aspect for a moment, we decided to focus on which pieces of gear to bring this time. As a bit of a minimalist, I’m not thrilled that our packing list seems to follow an exponential curve.
The first year my friend went to Sasquatch, he arrived with nothing but a backpack’s worth of supplies. Last year we had one bag each, with mine full of camping gear and his full of Hawaiian shirts. For the current year we’ve already decided that we absolutely need items such as a broken bugle, a duck call, a high-powered laser and another assortment of Hawaiian shirts.
It’s not that extra preparation is a bad thing — on the contrary we’ll be able to save hundreds of dollars by packing the rental car (that we don’t have) full of canned food to avoid paying $12 a meal in the venue. Plus, assuming we’re able to rent a drivable hunk of rust with wheels, we’ll have the option of abandoning the festival at full speed once it’s over instead of getting stuck in the slow-moving crowd of exhausted attendees — think “Walking Dead” meets unwashed hipster horde.
So at the moment, we have admission passes to Sasquatch with no airplane tickets and no method of in-state transportation, assuming we make it to Washington. Additionally, we’re not even entirely sure we can get work off for that time period, or that anyone would be crazy enough to rent us a car. Funding for the adventure is speculative at best, and at the moment we recognize about half a percent of the bands attending.
However we’re concerned about approximately none of that. Transportation will work itself out, as will our ever-expanding packing list, which now includes an enclosed tent/gazebo for some reason. Even if we have to hitchhike to the venue carrying what must look like the remnants of a thrift shop robbery on our backs, it wouldn’t diminish my excitement at all.
No matter what happens, in seven months I get to see some of the biggest bands alongside some of the best people I know. We get to watch indie concerts, an epic fireworks show and a crowd of thousands of people making very poor decisions.
So even if we do have to walk — which is entirely likely — or if we get stuck driving a rusted out land-yacht, we’re not overly concerned. One really just can’t plan a Sasquatch trip; he or she just has to let it happen. We can only hope that the next seven months fly by as we prepare for our return.