A Bigger Bang

11:25 a.m. Wendy's Restaurant. Chicken fingers like a margarita, white-rimmed with salt, promise a thirsty day, too excited to eat anyway. Funky cellphone livens and everyone stares at the 30-somethings with a seventh grader ring tone. The message from the gate -- IT'S FUCKING AWESOME!!

12:45 p.m. traffic flow normal 2 west to Moncton. Exit 459B, follow the signs, follow the Nova Scotia plated car in front of us and the one in front of that. Stop. Cars line up bumper to bumper as far as the eye can see in either direction. RCMP helicopter sweeps the line in continous loop. C-103 plays Ozzie and Zeppelin, tells us gates open an hour early, arrival is happening smoothly, porta-potties are clean, leave our pot at home. Citizens of Irishtown pass on the shoulder, yell Just going home! out the window. Locals on lawn chairs drink beer, discuss the line, play Stones, Who, AC/DC. Truck in front of us switches drivers twice. Permed boys with shorts falling off leave car and enter woods. Helicopter hovers. Watching them?

1:30 p.m. parking lot 3, hillside field. All the way to the bottom, three rows from the woods. Apply sunscreen, attach ballcap, tie sweater around waist, fill soft-sided Alpine cooler with 4L water, blanket and more. 1K hike uphill to road. Andrew keeps up, wait by roadside for Sherry and Gary. No shuttlebus from this lot, must walk to concert site. Sun is hot. 15 minute trek finds local entrepreneurs with drive-way canteen, sign reads 1.5 km to Concert Site, pay $2 for small hike hydration. Uphill, downhill, through Gorge Road intersection, uphill, level, wait for group to re-assemble. People sell cool drinks, hot dogs, subs, chips and souvenirs from their driveways. Whisper of beer. Coolers behind RVs. Sneaky deals happen.

2:35 p.m. concert site at hand, see stage from road, people everywhere, amazing. Cellphone instructions say Tower 2. Descend into the throng. Gates, no problem. Weaving crowds, a specialty. Sherry worries I'll get too far ahead and be lost. I slow, seek path of least resistance. Darcy meets us at tower and leads us in -- on the barrier almost, 20 feet from the stage, right in front of the tongue on the left-hand side (when facing stage, not from onstage view). Favourite volunteer fireman calls to us from blanket perch . . . no wife at this concert either . . . hmmm. No time to investigate, show starts 3. Tom Petty CD on loud speakers while roadies tune guitars and sound check.

Time shifts, becomes music.

Les Trois Accords. Rocking sound breaks the language barrier. Heavy hitters. Recognise tunes from Live 8. Humble band, happy to be on the same bill as Stones. Thanks for coming early to see us, en francais. Crowd cheers. Excitement mounts.

Bathroom break. Early, maybe one person in pottie prior. Excellent. Fries for friends. Nothing for me. Still too excited to eat.

Our Lady Peace. Holy crap! This could be the best day of our lives. Want to take him home. Gorgeous clumsy man in fedora and black jacket lined with red satin. In conversation with George W. Fucking Bush, wipe that smile off your face. Crowd swells with Canadian pride, power fists.

Sneak forward and left, inch by inch, between acts.

Maroon 5. Charging toward ultimate rock orgasm when suddenly foreplay stops. Cute boys run the catwalk for close-up pics but enough already. Wanna dance, wanna sing, wanna rock, goddammit!

Tragically Hip. Goosebumps on goosebumps from Gord's poetry. Adorable NS boy grinds into blonde girlfriend held in front, me behind. Veins bulge on Gord's forehead, bloodshot face. Awesome. Oh my God, this is awesome. He is amazing. Amazing. We'll never forget this. Snap shots over my head, hope for something besides sky and washroom helium balloon. Gordie! Come this way! Run the walk for close-up! Kids drink beer out of water bottles, swallow X, smoke crack. Seniors smoke weed. VIP girls wear designer everything and elbow to the front. Rub against NS man in black tee, who thinks I can and should take down drunken ponytail boy in front of me, take pics with him, cuddle and tease. Having fun, dear? Blonde wife asks. Body surfers skim along upstretched hands, get tossed into waiting security arms and escorted out. Think many annoying partiers will pass out before final act. Many people already head to the fence, ask to be removed. Security pass out water bottles, lift people over fence, scuffle with drunken dudes . . . one person seriously restrained with RCMP handcuffs . . . one security guard sports new shiner.

Edge forward and left, while we still can. I can touch the fence (if two bodies were not obstructing reach), clear view of centre stage . . . you'll never get close, they said . . . HA! Long wait while roadies set up for the final act. Patience rules. Annoying VIPs return to too far away bleachers, drunken kids sober, stone into silence or vacate. Personal space shrinking. Wedged between two couples. Arms touching arms, hands brush my shoulders, hair, back, butt, breasts . . . no apologies necessary for unintentional feels. Difficult to stand on rocky ground carpeted with empty bottles and cans of varying crushed degrees. Onstage seats fill with contest winners, dignitaries, etc. Crowd electrifies and personal space shrinks again. No buffer now. Lady slices into us, sets up residence, severs me from the group. We wait like this for over an hour. Legs hurt. Back cramping. No air. Sherry taps my shoulder, not sure she can stay here, too short, can't breathe.

Super-tall guy beside me tells girlfriend more people have died at Rolling Stones concerts than any other band . . . and he can see why. People are going over the fence everywhere, unable to stay in the crowd. I people watch, focus, think, keep mind off closeness. I wish I had boy to shield me like these girls on either side. All day their boys have been the barrier between them and the drunks, positioning themselves to the front, rear or side as needed. Never had a boy like that, I think and hear one of my ghost boys whisper in memory that I never needed one. Who said that? Kevin maybe. But it would be nice to be able to reach back and know someone will take my hand and pull me out of this . . . if I need out of this.

And just when you begin to think you can't possibly stand another minute here, it's too hot, too close, too much . . .

The Rolling Stones. The stage explodes in colours, lights, sound. So close we can feel the heat off the pyro. Start me up and my heart is in my throat, screaming at the top of my lungs and then Mick Jagger and I'm gone, off my head. I can't fucking believe it! He's right there. The crowd is as stunned as I am I think because the amount of pushing and general annoying crowd stuff is the least of the entire day. I'm not even a fan and I'm overwhelmed with the emotion of it, singing every song, dancing, screaming beyond hoarse. Old tunes, new tunes, cover tunes, special effects and Jagger running from one end of the stage to the other. Stopping right in front of me, stuffing his mic into his pants so he can clap and dance, and I'm shaking so bad I don't know if I can get the picture. Use all my shots in the first few minutes. Having an out of body experience. This will never happen again. Nothing will ever be this good. Nothing can ever top this experience.

Black tee soaked with sweat, chills on spine, goosebumps on top of goosebumps, cheeks sore from smiling, throat sore from screaming and singing. A few songs in and four huge guys crash into us, literally collide, panicked, dragging a passed out or injured friend to the fence. I'm flung backward, instinctively reach to cushion my fall or steady and supertall boy grabs my hand, pulls me out of the way, keeps me upright. Aww! Thank you, universe. Having a hand to hold onto, as good as I imagined.

More songs and just before the stage separates, taking the band out into the audience, Sherry taps my shoulder. Can't stay, can't breathe, leaving, will meet later. But I'm ready for a new perspective too so I follow. We head back but can't get out. Break to the fence. She's lifted over. Gary's dropped over. And I'm left at the fence, wanting out, but nobody paying attention to me. RCMP sees me finally and helps over the barricade. I've never had to leave the front of a concert before. Out in the air, sitting on our blanket, Sherry feels bad at making everyone leave. But nobody is upset. It's good to sit, good to breathe and the different vantage point is good too. We climb to the centre of the hill and find a spot to sit and watch the rest of the show. It's equally amazing because now we can see the lazers across the sky, the full pyro effects, fireworks. We sing and dance and say, Awesome. Amazing. Oh my God! over and over until it ends.

We walk with thousands of people back to the parking lot. The walk is subdued, quiet even. We are like refugees sneaking through territory. It feels like a scene from a movie. One where some sort of disaster has happened or zombies have taken over the world and we are the survivors on mass exodus from the fallen city. In the dark, enterprising locals openly sell beer and shots by the side of the road. One can also buy snacks and cool drinks. We don't buy anything, anxious to get to the car and drive home. Now, I'm hungry. The walk seems to take less long, more downhill than uphill on the return. Organisers assumed a certain level of physical fitness amongst concert goers.

The lot is a nightmare. Many people don't even try to leave, change into jammies, pitch tents, bbq hamburgers, drink beer, play guitars . . . we're hungry and wanting to go home, unprepared to camp in parking lot. We move 100 feet in an hour and a half and then things begin to happen, a slow steady stream to the transcanada. On the highway, Sherry sleeps and I focus on the white light around the van because Gary is driving way too fast on this dark highway with much traffic, some of it drunken or at least weaving like drunken. Arrive Sackville in record time and in perfect condition. Wendy's is open until 3 a.m. and we enter the huge line-up inside. Out of chili. Out of potatoes. Out of side salads. Frazzled boy working cash wants to go home and sleep. He is freaked out by the line-up to the door that never gets any shorter. I get a burger on this second Wendy's excursion within 24 hours to take home.

My housemates are on the step when we pull in. Three boys hanging out at 3 am on the step. By the time we park and get out, they disappear into the house. Hiding? Shy? Too drunk for pleasantries? Too hungry to wonder. Wound tight too, but the Sturgeons are sleepy. I would stay up and have wine and blog into the dawn . . . but sleeping conditions are such that I need to either stay downstairs or go to bed too. I blog a line and opt for bed.

Mood: perma-grin
Drinking: coffee, lottsa cream
Listening To: Mozart Techno-Remixes
Hair: sun bleached