I hit the brakes and came to a stop, faster than comfortable, but slow enough to be in control. The road was still slick from the severe storm we just drove through. The parking was within sight, but we weren't moving. The kids ahead were already out and throwing discs and footballs. It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and the evening had just begun.
While waiting, we named all the characters performing around the car. There was Mother Nature providing the weather, Mr. Tool, the venue employee, smoking by the side of the road between downpoors. (He later became Mr. Information.) There were Misses We-don't-know-how-to-throw-a-frisbee-but-will-flirt-and-still-think-we-are-the-cutest-girls-here, the sisters three who pee, and the disappearing yellow shirt girl. All fit within two categories: the hippie kids and the Gap kids. Most of us were Gap kids, with an Old Navy boy thrown in here and there.
Two hours later, we moved the only distance the impatient cars vacated in front of us. Our subs were gone, the Strawberry Blonde was throroughly rejected, and patience was running thin. Mr. Tool turned Mr. Information was kind enough to share that eight people had been struck by lighting inside the parking area and was closed to allow for a helicopter to land and take off.
Dave and Mother Nature both put on excellent shows. Dave with the music, Mother with the fog. The latter started to rise from the trees in the hills as remnents of Mother's storms flashed in the distance. Dave continued to rock, and the fog rolled in. Soon it filled Alpine Valley save the are filled by the crowd. It hovered peacefully and added a smoke effect to the entire ampitheater.
After, we were the jerks driving around the lines and cutting in front, but who really wants to wait three hours to get out what took two hours to get into? The peaceful fog had turned menacing blanketing our way home, but we were able to fight through it to get home safely. All in all, a great night.