June 11, 2012:
Clean up was a bitch. Our campsite was ransacked. Everything was wet. Everything was dirty. We dropped it all into garbage bags and got the hell out of dodge. We’d deal with it later.
We had three stops before we could split Tennessee. First was depositing Cruster Cody the PA at some location that wasn’t his mom’s house. I know this because his mom called me. Oh well, I’m sure he got home safe. Figured he’d given us so many golf-cart rides we owed him a ride.
Next was dropping the PH and the Geologist off at a hotel near the airport. The PH was barely conscious for this occasion, but the Geologist reports that he awoke about three days later and seems to remember about 30% of the weekend.
The last stop was pickin’ up my rat-dog at the lavish digs he was crashing at. He wasn’t stoked on getting back in the van, but I assured him we were going somewhere just as comfortable.
That somewhere was Asheville, NC, my mama’s house. Pop’s lives there too, but it’s really mama’s house, cause she screams louder. We made horrible time as we always do after the Roo, and pulled in around ten thirty PM. Mom’s greeted us with a bunch of grub and we ate like we hadn’t eaten in a month, her words. Then, even though our bodies wanted to give out on us, even though cushions and dry blankets were calling to us, we had an obligation to uphold.
We were scheduled to be at the Biwater bar filming their weekly bluegrass jam that night, and we sort of made good on the pledge. I say sort of because Beez on the mics was not feeling up to it, and had to take a sick night. So we didn’t get to record the sound like we’d have liked, but we did get some great musicians on camera and we had a good time drinking drinks called Tattooed Seamen and seeing how Asheville gets down on a Monday night.
We left around two AM, and it’s no surprise what we did next. Eyes closed, the bodies needed rest.