In the parking lot the morning after: Gotye, St. Vincent, the Lumineers, a yoga group moves to a field around 9 am and does not stop by the time we leave for the grounds. We have infiltrated the far southwest corner of the southwest field where we were last year. This wasn't supposed to happen. When we arrived we were corralled into a row of cars in the middle of tent raves and Canadians bonging beers. Then when the attendants weren't looking, we just started the car and drove past the rows of debauchery and into the most placid corner available. There is a row of poplars and a vineyard to our left.
The night the traffic after the Gorge exit seems to take hours. Cars are abandoned on the roadside. Everyone is drinking and inching along. It seems to take hours with a full bladder, but the scenery is gorgeous and it feels good just to be out of the city. Before we arrive, the sounds of Explosions in the Sky drown out into the hills. We get inside for Pretty Lights, whose flatulent bass trajectories sound like what Dave Segal has taught me is called Bro Step (this may be completely wrong). Back at the campsite we raze the tents in an attempt to raise them, then resort to a game of whiffle ball, then sleep.