The Bonnaroo Chronicles THE QUEEN OF CLEAN BAREFOOT AT BONNAROO
Bonnaroo --- think Woodstock --- a music festival set on a Manchester, Tennessee farm - 4 days, 500 acres, 75,000 people, 80 bands.
I am alive and well, and not only survived Bonnaroo, but had a wonderful time. I'll now bore you with all that went on. Feel free to delete it if you aren't interested in reading about it. If you are, expect to see some stories over the next few days.
THE QUEEN OF CLEAN BAREFOOT AT BONNAROO
I told you guys that one way or another, I would stay clean at Bonnaroo, and for the most part I did. I entered the farm with every kind product known to man.....well, woman anyway. I knew I would get sweaty and muddy, but I would have good hygeine, da*n it!!
The first challenge - using the restroom. I definitely do NOT agree with Dave (Matthews). You do not, as he laughingly put it, 'gotta love a port-a-potty.' But you sure as he[[ have to be prepared for them. I was, of course. Toilet seat covers and anti-bacterial wipes were on my person at all times. I even had a mini roll of tp, though they were awfully good about keeping them stocked. I only needed to use my stash once. The port-a-potty manufacturers were also kind enough to install bars on the doors that you could hold onto so that you didn't have to sit down. Thanks Port-A-Potty!!!! That did not in any way negate the need for any of my products. What if I accidentally touched the seat? And, upon leaving, I needed to sanitize my hands using my anti-bacterial wipes.
The second challenge - bathing. Friday, the first morning there, armed with all of my 'Keep Reba Clean' paraphenalia, I went in search of the 'wash stations' I had read about on the info guide. I found them not too far from our campsite....giant, public (shudder) sinks with 6-8 faucets each. The water was running continuously, the sinks full and overflowing. Campers surrounded the sinks, rinsing their hair, brushing their teeth, washing themselves. I stood in line awaiting my turn, trying to look cool about the fact that I was sharing bathing facilities with thousands of people I did not know. What I was really thinking was, "these freaking musicians had better be worth all this!"
But then, out of the corner of my eye I saw an oasis of sorts............a sign that read HOT SHOWERS. What?!?!? The website had not mentioned this!!
I marched back to my campsite for money and extra bathing necessities. I headed back toward the showers, whereupon I met Bill, who was in charge of the facilities. Bill was an incredibly buff, good looking, body builder type - a construction worker recruited by his boss to run the facilities. Not my type at all, but I'm woman enough to admit that the view was nice. To be honest, though, he could have looked like Gollum and I probably would have bore him children for the chance to take a shower. He was kind enough to warn me on Saturday that one of the shower trailers was occupied by some couples. Yet another good reason to wear shower shoes in public showers!!! Thanks, Bill!!
I would later realize that HOT showers was a bit of a misnomer, depending on what time of day you decided to use the facilities. On Friday, it meant a bit warmer than the cold; on Saturday - scalding; and on Sunday - tepid. The charge was $10.00, no matter the temperature. I did NOT care, I willingly, gleefully, forked over the required fee all three days!!
Friday was my longest day - starting with Old Crow Medicine Show (yes, Rick, I did go see them) at 1:00 p.m. and ending with Dave Matthews Band at 1:00 a.m. I already have bad ankles. Lots of walking, far too much standing, and seeing 3 bands that have violins/fiddles, which equates to dancing for me, left me in great pain. God bless the Brooers Village, where I took refuge several times throughout the weekend. With tables set up close to two of the biggest stages, it was the perfect place to relax and listen to the music. There I could be found, bobbing my head and shoulders to the beat of the Allman Brothers, Joss Stone, and Widespread tunes, sitting, and massaging my poor feet.
My protesting ankles would not keep me from Dave though. I limped over to the main stage to see my future husband and his band perform. I was so bad off that I had to take my shoes off. Yes, folks, you read correctly. I, Reba Kay Pope, of won't-use-a-public-restroom-without-using-a-toilet-seat-cover fame took my shoes off in the middle of Bonnaroo. I'm still having trouble believing this one myself. I was so grossed out, and I pep-talked my way through it, convincing myself that I was Lucille Ball in the 'grape squishing episode.' 'It's just mud, Reba!' I quickly and easily lost myself in the DMB music, and got over myself.
On Saturday, I would meet Kevin and Rachael, a couple from Atlanta, also DMB fans. We got into a discussion regarding what crop we thought was harvested on the farm. They had come to the conclusion that it was hay. This seemed reasonable to me. What that means is that every square inch of land contained this stuff -- every bit of it -- all 500 acres, covered in FERTILIZER, and we all know what THAT's made of! I tried not to dwell on the fact that I had been barefoot.
Amputation is not an option, but I wonder if bleaching would be too extreme?
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