End of the road

Many tales from Coachella will go untold.

It was an epic experience. Everything from the road trip, to the camp area, to the mass of fantastic music will stick with me for much of my life. We made friends, met people, learned about the world and ourselves. At one point an older part Native American man selling trinckets on the side of the road began prophesizing about my life in the next few years, and it really hit home.

But much of this is personal and should remain that way. I appreciate anyone who stuck with this blog as the trip came and went. Keeping this record has meant a lot to me. I'm dealing with the final days of life before the real world, not an easy thing to do.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this just a fraction as much as I've enjoyed putting it together. The idea was to kill time during the massive wait until Coachella, and to also have some record of this trip years from now. I've accomplished both of those things.

Finally, I'd like to urge everyone I know and even strangers to take a leap. When something like this pops up in your life don't ever rule it out. Sure, it may take months of hard work (I lived on Wal-Mart food, worked out daily, and quit any and all fun for four months to make this possible) but in 10 years it is the risks, big events and foolish choices you make that will stay with you. As someone who has strung together a chain of seemingly random trips, I say the most valuable moments of life almost always happen outside of your routine, your hometown, away from your friends and family.

Buy me a cup of coffee, and I'll tell you all you want to know about Coachella. Thanks again.

Zack Quaintance.

Albuquerque can be a cold place

Wrapped in a comforter, vision obscured by dark sunglasses, Chad Wetzel smoked a cigarrette outside of a 7-11 at 4 a.m. last week in Albuquerque.

I had just driven us from near Amarillo to New Mexico, where we learned the desert can be a cold, unforgiving place at night. With no gas stations open near the exit, we moved further into the city, where a squat woman sold me $40 in gas through a latched window.

Before pumping the gas, I made sure to wake up Chad, who works third shift and had been preordained to handle the roughest splotches of driving. He had been sound asleep on the cooler for a solid four hours before we roused him.

"Wake up douche, it's time to drive," we yelled, hitting him in the head and shaking him. Douche may not have been the exact word, but it either that or one of the other terms male friends use with eachother.

"Alright, I just need a smoke," he said. As Chad sucked down the cigarette we all ran around wildly outside disgusted with the temperature, which we assumed would be brutally hot at all times of day.

This was just one of the stops we made. Every six hours we gassed the car, drained our bladders and waited for Wayne to move his bowels. Clearly, much happened along the way. I drove over a curb, a gas third shift gas station clerk cursed at Wayne for buying three suckers with a debit card, and a weirdo in Flagstaff, Ariz., told me the next time I eat at Denny's I will certainly get food poisoning.

The road was part of the fun of this journey. Going there was more than bearable, what with the sense of anticipation and none of us having previously travelled that route. Going back was fun as well.

On a stretch of Arizona to New Mexico highway we caught one of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen. With Arcade Fire serenading our view, we all sort of dropped silent for a while as the red sun bathed nearby bluffs, mesas and valleys. Someone may have commentted on how at peace we all were after such a brillant weekend, or maybe that's just my mind filling in the blank that doesn't need to be said anyway.

This was a once in a lifetime trip, it hurts to realize that.

The Nightwatchman cometh

Clad in a thick shirt and dark jeans during the hottest part of the desert day, because "you never know when the tear gas will start falling," Tom Morello became the Nightwatchman before our eyes Saturday.

With protest and anthem songs reminiscent of the 60s and 70s, he had a capacity crowd inside the smallish Gobi Tent singing along with every word. Morello, a master of the electric guitar, plays a decent enough acoustic and sings in a fitting gutteral style. The Nightwatchman falls far short of Rage, not that Morello wants to replace his old band. But the over the top persona and point he strives to make hits home hard.

He played many of the songs off the newly released Nightwatchman album, teasing us on one occassion when he ripped into his piercing part of Rage hit "Bulls on Parade." Tim, Chad and I had come an act early to make sure we'd be up front for this while Wayne planted himself at the main stage waiting for Arcade Fire. By the end of the set, I was ecstatic we had stayed.

About half way through, Tim turned to me. "Zack's back there," he said, referring to Rage's lead singer who we of course would have liked to have seen a day before the reunion show. Tim spotted an afro and assumed it was de la Rocha. Instead, it was Boots Reiley of the Coup.

Morello brought out Boots and former Jane's Addiction frontman Perry Ferrel to rip through Woody Gunthrie's "This Land is Our Land," adding pro-revolution verses of course. Never in third grade did I think this patriotic song we learned in music class would end up on my lips as I sang in unison with hundreds of other dissillusioned young people. It was powerful to say the least.

My fingers hurt from being crossed too hard in hopes of a new Rage album. Deep down I realize a fifth album from my favorite band holds the likelihood of me walking on the moon. That said, I think I can settle with Morello's little side project, and a full-scale Rage tour, wishful thinking there. It's ridicolous to think music can spur wide-scale change, but thoughtful tunes can open eyes.

Arcade Fire steals Saturday

Despite not being able to move my arms for much of their set, Arcade Fire blew me away Saturday evening.

Playing the main stage just after sunset before the Red Hot Chili Peppers, this indie band from Montreal put on one of the greatest live shows I have ever seen. The passion was incredible and the crowd gave it back. We also met some cool people just before the show started.

Wayne had camped out most of the day and had a great spot by the front on the left. Chad, Tim and I spent our day watching Tom Morello's side project the Nightwatchman, and came late just before the Kings of Leon set. We met this Canadian guys who had a great plan to make it to the front.

"I'll just knock my way through and you guys follow behind me," one tall canadian with no shirt and a straw cowboy hat told us. "I'll just say sorry I stepped on your girlfriends foot bro, but these guys were pushing me."

The plan worked flawlessly. We followed this guy very close to the rail. Also, he had a hash nugget and ate it with a bottle of Gatorade after no one around us could offer a pipe. Interesting dude.

The pushing before Arcade Fire was intense. As 30,000 people behind us fought for our spots the crowd developed a sense of humor about the whole thing. "Don't give an inch. You shall not pass!" Became our rallying cry.

All in all, the fight was worth it. While nowhere near as intense as Rage or satisfying, the Arcade Fire has exploded in popularity and many news outlets reported on the quality of this show. Glad to say I was front and center, even if I was squished.

One guy enjoyed Rage more than me

A horrible smell assaulted the Rage pit at one point during the perfomrance. I bristled immidiately, knowing exactly what it was. Then the people around me noticed it as well.

"Who farted?" someone asked.

"That's no fart," came the reply.

And it wasn't. Without a doubt, someone in the Rage mosh pit near the stage slightly to the left soiled his pants. Then my inner monologue spoke up: "Uh-oh, that wasn't us was it? We need to check."

It wasn't. But the event raised many questions when I looked back at it during the car ride home. When this guy gets home, he has the most interesting description of how the show went.

"Hey man, Coachella huh? That must have been really great, what with all the bands and all. Wait, woah! Didn't Rage reunite, shit bro, how was that?"

"So good I shit my pants."

"Wow, so they were good huh? Phenomanal even?"

"Yeah, man, I mean, I shit my pants."

I was also left with several qustions after this happened. All through the show people were bailing from the pit, having us hardcore dudes lift them over the crowd to safety. But when the smell came, no one stepped forward. The culprit probably hoped to keep attention off him, so he kept moshing with shit in his pants? Gross.

Still it speaks to the power of Rage's reunion that a man lost his bowels during the show. The pit was truely intense. I felt as if I were fighting for my life the entire time. I will be surprised as if anything in my life causes this sort of fear again. Still, best show I've ever seen. Don't know how anything could top this.

Here's a photo of the crew, reunited after the show.

The road to recovery

We're back, we're safe, we're fully armed with memories we shall carry until we are old men.

I lay upon the couch in my boring, generic, middle of the road, cliched college apartment in Carbondale as I finish my final 10 days as a college student. I could be a frat guy, wasted on Busch Lite, calling some upper-class, white girl with long stringy bleached hair that likes guys with a sweet faith in Jesus and a knack for pointing out how funny people different from us really are. I could be content to be normal.

Instead, I lay here, ankles throbbing, ears ringing, mind's eye rapidly shuffling images of a week that could vie for the best of my life. Before I sort out the trip's events and the impact it will have on my life, which has changed after this, I must nurse my body to health.

I slept three hours last night sitting upright in the car as we crossed from Texas to Oklahoma. My ears rang from being up front for Rage Against the Machine's reunion. The show gave me goosebumps with its power and relevance, but it also gave me some wicked injuries.

We camped out from 2 p.m. until Rage took the stage. Though the more than 100 degree weather tested us, we enjoyed our stay in front of the stage. Armed with a back pack full of bottled water, we bantered playfully with those waiting around us, making friends for the afternoon.

Explosions in the Sky, a brillant instrumental band from Texas, played beautiful background music during the hottest part of the day as we watched security heave open bottles of water into the air between spraying down the crowd with cool water. We grooved to the Roots, who as expected blew us away with what is no question hip hop's best live show.

Seated on the left side of the stage, no more than 10 people away from the front, we laughed at our brothers and sisters on the right. We stood comfortably as they pushed for position. We were enlightened, polite and just better. We cheered Willie Nelson as he and his family band performed a day before Willie's 74th birthday, and we felt bad for Austrailian 80s band Crowded House, who suffered through a totally geeked Rage crowd as they played one of their first shows in 11 years.

Then tragedy struck. Our utopian left side degenerated into the same miserable pushing as our friends on the right. As Manu Chao prepared, we found ourselves fighting for every inch of ground. I dug my feet in, using my ankles to stay in place, that's when they first started to hurt. Manu Chao, despite a horde of foaming Rage fans, managed to rock the crowd with his high energy set. That's when the first of our group fell. Chad and a girl he had befriended during the wait bailed. Security pulled them over the rail right before my very eyes.

"Chad, no!" I yelled, trying to convince my friend to stay put, but it was too late. So I threw my sweat soaked Manu Chao shirt to him, and wished him well. The move proved to be a smart one. THe Rage pit nearly ripped me apart.

I stood relatively close to Tim and Wayne before the set, but that quickly changed. The organizers showed Zack de la Rocha's sillouhete on the jumbo tron and the place exploded. Goosebumps covered my arms as I yelled as loud as I could, Zack took the stage with his band mates and set us afire with a few simple words: "Good evening. We're Rage Against the Machine from Los Angeles, Calif." With that, they launched into Testify, and destroyed any intent I had to stay a college student.

Wayne would quickly bale over the front rail as a gaggle of strained helpers lifted him up. Tim would get pushed back to the corner and also bail over the rail. I would remain in the pit the entire show. Someone ripped my wife beater off my body as pants and shoes flew through the air. I battled, I battled hard and I did more damage than I suffered, but all with good nature. When a smaller guy in a red shirt with dreads stumbled, I picked him up under the arms and hauled him to his feet.

After Bulls on Parade, I pulled a hidden bottle of water from my pocket and sprinkled the surrounding crowd, much to their delight. But the moment the music started I was down center pushing with all my strength, spinning, fighting and singing at the top of my lungs. I sprained an ankle somewhere along the way, and it wasn't so bad. I sprained the other ankle later, and it still wasn't so bad.

At one point, an afternoon friend helped me stay on my feet as we rocked out. I entertained the idea of fleeing over the rail, but I wanted nothing to sully this memory. I stayed, worried these sprains could lead to a broken bone. That's when they started Wake Up, that's when Zack gave us what we wanted - commentary on current events.

Zack told us every president from Truman to today was a war criminal and deserved to be "tried, sentenced and shot." That includes Bush. Zack climbed the amp as we hailed him, thanking him for the return. Rage finished us off with Freedom and Killing in the Name Of. Epic describes it perfect.

Fast forward to tonight, to my couch. Sure I'm hobbled, beaten and disoriented. Sure I need to force my way back into everday life. Sure, things will be tough these next 10 days, fee of binge drinking and losing control. But I wouldn't have this any other way. I have what none can take from me, a story, a memory, a thing that makes me special and helps me see what's really important in the world. Expect far more updates, photos and info when I feel better.

The Battle of Coachella

Things will fall apart.

In this sort of endeavor, there's no way for it to unfold with out adversity. We will be beaten, tired and dirty. We will get sick, have injuries and wonder why we came. No matter what sort of disaster befalls us, we will look back at this endeavor two ways.

First, we will think "man, I'm glad I'm not in the middle of that anymore." Yes, five days in the dessert, a 27-hour drive and meshing with thousands of other sweaty adventurers and music fans will make us miserable at times.

Then, we will undoubtedly think, "man, I'm glad I was in the middle of that for a while."

It may seem boring, safe or simple from a distance. However, traveling across country, camping in the southern California dessert for near a week and trudging through a massive music festival for three straight days challenges one in ways we can't anticipate.

But that's life. We're in our early twenties, we have led relatively comfortable lives and we have no excuse for passing up an adventure. As old men, what will be better? Looking back at an April weekend in college from which we worked on a term paper and sipped cappuccino with a girlfriend? Or the time we defied the limitations of space and school to catch Rage Against the Machine's first reunion show in seven years? The most politically poignant band of a generation has returned amid political turmoil, if there's any chance to see it we must take it.

We embark upon this adventure today, unsure of what's to come, but we will survive, we will have stories and we will never forget. This is the Battle of Coachella, a challenge to the everyday lives, the regular and the boring that most of our generation seems content to accept.

On Sunday when Rage hits the stage, we will know the power of what we've done, and the value of living a life outside of a comfortable apartment. Look for an occasional update during the trip, but don't count on anything.

Carbondale man furious with roommates

A 21-year-old Carbondale man boiled with rage early Tuesday as his roommates erupted with a raucous discussion of a concert they plan to see late this week.

Sam Banda, who moved to Carbondale as a transfer student at Southern Illinois University in January, asked himself a question as his apartment on the east side of town shook with action at 2 a.m.

"Where do you find guys like these?" Banda wondered.

The rare guys he refferred to are Zack Quaintance, the 22-year-old assistant editor of the Carterville Courier and the Herrin Independent, and Tim Dusza, a shift manager at Carbondale's popular Panera Bread restaurant. The behavior that spawned Banda's question befits males of much younger ages.

Quaintance began to shout himself horse just after 1:45 p.m. Tuesday when the Coachella Valley and Music Arts Festival, which he will attend Friday through Sunday along with Dusza, released its list of performance times.

"Rage, dude, Rage, dude, Rage," Quaintance shouted as he jumped up and down, set times flashing on his laptop screen. Dusza, never as quickwitted as Quaintance, paniced and went a few nervous minutes without the set times.

"Where? Where? I can't find them," Dusza said, before Quaintance pointed him in the right direction.

None of this mattered to Banda, who had gone to bed early for the next morning's 8 a.m. computer course. As Quaintance screamed about the chance to see his favorite band Rage Against the Machine, Banda boiled with some Rage of his own.

"I can't wait until these morons are in California," he muttered groggily. The trip begins Wednesday at 8 a.m.

Hip hop's best live show

The principle problem with a a massive concert line up, is one tends to forget some acts are even on the ticket. For Tim and I, the Roots are a prime example of this.

Swept into the excitement over Rage Against the Machine, Manu Chao, Arcade Fire and other headliner acts we often miss the smaller let glorious eight letters of type on the third row of the Sunday section on the poster. Said row reads "The Roots."

Magazines, message boards and insiders regularly peg The Roots as hip hop's best live show and an experience not to be missed. On the Coachella message board, the anxious masses have named the Roots their most anticipated hip hop act over more mainstream fair such as Ghostface Killah.

Needless to say, we're stoked.

Release the set list!

Dear Coachella organizers,

We need the set list. You booked more than 60 bands for this festival, meaning we have an opportunity to see 60 bands. But without the set list we know not which acts will fit into our schedule. The general feeling around here is that only the Arcade Fire and Rage Against the Machine are untouchable, other than that it comes down to you set list.

We know you have the times. Festival gates open Friday, you have to have the times. Stop toying with us and release them. The run up to the festival has dragged by painfully enough, why not give us something to ease that wait? We need to plan our times.

Also, if I spend any more time yelling "give me the set times" at my laptop, my roommates may have me committed, and that would be bad, because I would totally miss the show.

More than once upon a time in Mexico

Before Coachella, before the Rage reunion, after the massive 25-hour drive, we visit not only a major Mexican city, but a major battleground in the currently raging battle over immigration into the United States. We visit Tijuana.

Tijuana holds an important part of current events. Many immigrants, more often illegal than not, pass through Tijuana or find themselves dumped there as they battle for a better life in America. Many American tourists, more often than not seeking things illegal in the States, visit Tijuana each year. While a few years back that may have sounded enticing, this time around I seek to visit Tijuana to soak it all in.

What's it like, this basin of hopes, this focal point of dreams being realized or shattered? What effect do American's thirsting for women, drugs and wild times have on this city? I can't wait to see what goes on there.

I've visited many Mexican cities, from the capital, la ciudad de Mexico, la D.F. (pronounced deh effe), the hub of the country, to Puebla, a quaint city southeast of Mexico, that bears the influences of French and Italian archetecture. I've been through Oaxaca en route to Latin America's largest water park. I've sat on pyramids built by indigenous peoples in places whose names hold too much of an acient language to remain in my English-speaking brain. I've spent a week during spring break in the cliched, dullness that is an Acapolco vacation.

But Tijuana, that's a new one to me. I look forward to getting a brief glimpse of the situation there, while I fully realize a few hours introduces us to far too few of the attractions offered in the city. Still, I always enjoy learning more about a foreign country, particuliarly one that has played such a major part in my life as well as the times and places I have grown up in. Viva Tijuana, viva la vida que raro.

Here's a sampling of pictures from my past adventures south of the border. Very top, there's me at 18 eating tacos at a street market in Mexico City with friends. Second from top that's me at 20 jumping off a 40 foot platform at a waterpark in Oaxaca. Very bottom, that's me during Mexican Independence Day in Mexico City with women that like me far more when we can't talk to each other. Second from bottom is me at 22 busting a pinata on the street of Mexico City a few days before Christmas. Next closest is me in the Puebla countryside toasting a beer with an 8-year-old friend.

Expect more pictures from Tijuana on here as the trip unfolds.

Zack "Maddog" Quaintance vs. Anthony Kiedis

Time to tackle the important blog topics with five days left until we depart, such as could I hold my own in a fist fight with Antony Kiedis.

I maintain the ass womping wouldn't be as severe as it seems. Fact, Anothny Kiedis is a 45-year-old man. Fact, I'm 22 years old, in the best shape of my life and have been going to the Rec Center daily since January.

Item the second, Anthony Kiedis is a recoving heroin addict. Fact, I have never used heroin, much less been addicted to it. Fact, my record in hand-to-hand combat is a stunning 1-0 after I won the only fist fight I've ever been in with one punch on Sept. 11, 2001. Anthony Kiedis has no doubt been around the block and won his share of scuffles, but he's also a very rich man and no doubt soft with celebrity and luxury.

Here's how it goes down, Anthony Kiedis reads this blog, and starts to wonder who this guy is who thinks he could hold his own in fisticuffs with the lead singer of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. He calls me up on stage, and we throw down. What else could I do? The crew would have to come in tow. Wayne takes a beating from Flea, no doubt the toughest Chili Pepper while Tim and Anthony fend off the others.

I would circle with Kiedis until he charged me and then do my best to reign blows upon his head while he worked the body. Hopefully this wouldn't affect their set, I think they're a great band and can't wait to see them. But nonetheless, I must wonder if I could take their lead singer. Either way, it'd be One Red Hot Minute.

Concert weather forecast

Coachella stands to scorch as midwesterners.

The hottest day around here has brushed 80. Weather.com puts festival temperatures in the low 90s. That will hurt from about noon until 4 p.m. It will also be unpleasant when the sun hits our tent at 7 a.m., waking us up from much-needed rest after a hard day's rocking.

We will combat the sun. Exposed flesh gets covered with sun block, we buy $20 to $30 worth of bottled water each day. We spend as much time as we can watching acts in one of the festival's tent venues during the day. I plan to wear a wife beater and carry aspirin during the day, which I will likely eat like candy. It will be fun, but only if we handle the elements. Carrying a large umbrella might also come in handy, given the intensity of the dessert sun. On the plus side, expect to see all of us back with a crisp, California tan.

That is of course, if we don't spend too much time lounging in the shade from enourmous phalic pieces of art that appear to be strewn about the camp ground, at least in this photo taken from the Coachella Web site. But as it stands, Weather.com has a high of 92 for Friday and 93 for Saturday. The Web editor there has even seen fit to put a little link of Saturday tittled "Fun things to do on a hot day." I can't help but wonder if wander around a polo field with thousands of sweaty music fans is somewhere tied to that link.

Time starts to crawl

Six days until we shove off and there's still much to do.

Gas prices have soared at just the wrong time and we're looking at $100 each for fuel, plus another $10 to pay for the oil change that results from all this mileage. I've only collected half of those funds from the crew.

Next, we need to buy many trip essentials. Sun block, car trivia, aspirin, shoe insoles, disposable cameras we still need to get all this. On top of that, most all of us have job/school obligations to fulfill.

I have one more week to put in at the community newspapers I work at. The next six days I have to take at least three photos and cover the high school sports happenings in two rural communities. Being six days away from an epic road trip does not make that exciting. Anthony has much school work to fulfill as he takes classes full time, and Wayne still toils in indentured servitude at the Daily Egyptian, meaning he's kept busy as well.

With all this left to do, one would think time would fly by...not so. Six days, just six days, and the set times should be revealed on or before Monday. That will be exciting.

Here's another photo from the Coachella site of what awaits us when this wait wraps up.

Getting in the wild spirit

Anthony grew his hair out for the trip.

Raging for change

Zack de la Rocha and Tom Morello, the vocalist and lead guitar of Rage Against the Machine respectivly, teamed up this weekend at a rally against the mistreatment of farm workers by fast food giants. The protest actually affected a change.

Even before the rally happened on Saturday, McDonalds, then the target of the protesters, announced April 9 it would induce the following three changes:

1). The company will pay workers harvesting tomatoes a penny more per pound.

2). A stronger code of conduct based on the principle of worker participation will be enacted.

3). Both sides will embark upon a collaborative effort to establish a third party mechanism for monitoring conditions in the fields and investigating worker abuse complaints.

While McDonalds agreed to these terms, Burger King refused and drew the ire of the protesters. Being about as shallow as the rest of my generation, I paid these worthy changes little mind and scowered the internet for a review of Zack and Tom's performance. What I found was very telling. Most bloggers and even news sources concentrated on the cause rather than the music, which is encouraging.

Persistent readers of this blog will remember the panic entry spawned last month by an erroneous radio report that Rage would reunite at Austin, Texas, SouthbySouthWest rather than Coachella. Our group felt betrayed. This instance is different.

Zack and Tom played for a cause, sharing a spotlight with many speakers and other acts. The entity Rage Against the Machine has yet to grace a large venue stage since the band split in 2000. So cheers all around, these activists affected change and we still get to see Rage play its first show in years. Yes, our priorities are flawed.

Photo taken from NorthbyNorthwestern, an online publication from Northwestern University.

10-day forecast

Ten days are left, better check the weather forecast.

We will leave at 8 a.m. 10 days from now. While the weather in Carbondale affects little outside of the pictures we plan to take of us leaving town, why not check up on it anyway?

Ten days from now, when we shove off, those reputable meteoroligists at weather.com report it will be 72 degrees in Carbondale with a 40 percent chance of rain. Geez, glad we're getting out of there. Thats a one in four chance of getting damp on the way to class or forgeting to roll up your car window and having to sit in rain water. It's almost worth the 27-hour trip to avoid all of that nastiness. Let's see what the forecast calls for in Indio, the California town hosting this whole Coachella affair.

Ten days from now, Indio will be 90 degrees and sunny with a mere 10 percent chance of rain. Boo yah. We can only assume that weather forecast will hold true for not only our day of departure but the lenght of the festival as well. That seems hot, but considering the show is in the desert, we're almost getting off easy.

Last minute additions

We assumed from the begining a few last minute additions would sweeten the bill further, not that the assembled line up lacked anything.

Rumors fueled our anxiousness. The Smashing Pumpkins, of course, rode high on our list of ideal bands, though that seems less than likely. Someone on the message board said Kanye West joined the bill so late last year that his name missed the poster. A simple check of the 2006 art proved that true.

So, with that said, and few days left until the show, it seems less than likely any similar artist will jump on. But then again, there stand to be enough time conflicts as is. We don't need anymore.

This image would seem to be the final line up for the event.

Crew holds brainstorming session

Conflict reared Thursday night in an apartment blocks away from the Southern Illinois University Carbondale campus as four friends hammered out details for a trip later this month to the Coachella Valley Music and Arts festival in southern California.

Urinating drove the main wrench into the session, which was held by four friends planning to make the trip. The four, all of which are students at SIUC, met with notepads, they nearly left with bruises.

Zack Quaintance, a soon-to-be graduate of SIUC, stood alone on one side of the disagreement while Tim Dusza and Wayne Utterback took point on the other side.

"Milk jugs, four empty milk jugs for emergencys makes so much sense," Quaintance said amid the heated arguement. "If we stop because one dude has to take a piss that's bogus and he's a pussy."

Quaintance argued the crew should stock the car with empty milk jugs in order to cut down on five minute toliet breaks and expediate a drive from Carbondale, Ill., to Indio, Calif., which Mapquest.com pegs at 27 hours.

The others decried his idea, saying a stop would not be so bad.

"I guess we know who the real man's man is here," Quaintance said. "And even if we stop at a rest area, I'll be in the car with a milk jug listening to gangsta rap while you guys use the little ladies room."

No punches were thrown, but it was close. Other developments from the brainstorming session inlucded a decision to play trivia in the car, a list of non-perishable snack foods that included pretzels, granola bars and Ritz Crackers and the formation of a partial trip playlist. The four man crew plans to resume preparations once tempers settle down.

Good news for you!

Worry not gentle reader, we will be able to update the blog occasionally as our journey unfolds. Goldenvoice, the festival organizer, released more information about the camping area recently.

In addition to a double feature movie Thursday night projeted on a giant inflatable screen, the camping area will also feature a full bar with karaoke, a raffle for early bird arrivals and most importantly a computer tent.

In the computer tent, one can surf the internet, recharge cell phones and store laptops during the day. This last bit benefits us tremendously. Anthony Souffle, our crew's resident photographer, practically lives with his laptop. We inittially worried a laptop would be stolen or melted during the journey. But we worry no more.

Anthony can use the tent during the day to surf the web and store his laptop in there as the show unfolds. So why is that such good news for you? Well, we'll have the laptop on the road, which means we can steal wireless from Super 8 hotels and let the world know of our progress.

We will also be able to put Anthony's photos from inside the show on the web, as well as any writing I feel up to. Exciting stuff for you guys I'm sure.