For three days, May 3, 4, and 5th, the polo fields of Indio, Ca. were transformed into a Country Western Mecca for the 2nd. Annual Stagecoach Festival. There were concerts on three stages, food courts, mechanical bull riding tents, and beer gardens. Lots and lots of beer gardens. So many kegs of beer met their ends there, that there should be some kind of momument. A pyramid of empty kegs or something like that. You could see that from outer space, but the polo ponies probably wouldn’t like it.

Indio is located about 135 miles southeast of Los Angeles, in a remote desert area of California. Why they don’t have remote areas closer to population centers is a mystery to me. It would just make things a lot more convenient for everybody.

Three days of Sun, fun, and Music. Appearing during the festivities were John Fogerty, The Eagles, Glen Cambell,The Judds, Rascal Flats, Dwight Yokam, Gretchen Wilson, Carrie Underwood, Tim McGraw, and a myriad of cowboy hat wearing luminaries, all singing their broken little hearts out. There were also a lot of people puking their brains out after too much sun, fun, and music. Something for the whole family.

I asked a man hovering over a trash can how many people he thought were attending. He looked up, some slime on his lips, and then stuck his head back in the can, which I thought a little bit rude. Getting no help there, I estimated the crowds to be somewhere between 0 and 78 billion people. I could be wrong, but it seemed like 78 billion people were ahead of me in the bathroom line. I did some dancing there, let me tell you.

Hearing all the songs about lost loves, lost jobs, lost trucks, and lost keys made me realize that my life is still worse than theirs. I lost my virginity once, and nobody heard me whine about it. If you lived within 30 miles of me at the time, you would have heard me bragging on it though.

There were people line dancing, probably getting ready for all the sobriety check points they would have to go through on the way home. So many people were counting backwards from 100, that I thought I was at NASA.

The organizers came up with a pretty creative parking solution, but I had to park a couple of miles away in a cow pasture. Some people were offended by the pungent aroma of cow manure, but not me. It reminded me of my youth, when we had a manure farm in Colorado.

I wandered aimlessly, which is always the best way to wander, throughout the complex, wading through a crowd in various stages of intoxication. At one point, a woman shot water on my face with a spray bottle. It was hot, and maybe my face needed watering, but when she brought out the pruning shears, I got the hell out of there.

There was also a lady who was giving away hats to anyone that wanted to drive a brand new Toyota truck on an off road course. A note to automotive manufacturers, never ask a guy wearing a Pink Floyd T-shirt, who grew up on a manure farm in Colorado, to drive your brand new truck on an off road course. It rode very smooth, particularly when it was airborne. I got a free hat, and I am pretty sure they can fix the truck. I’m not sure if the guy who rode shotgun will get over it any time soon though. I should send him flowers when he gets out of the coma.

The Stagecoach Festival was a rounding success, and a thrill for country music fans. I am sure a few of them will even be able to remember it, when the alchohol wears off. Since it was the 2nd annual one, I am assuming that they will do it again next year. I can hardly wait. Yee Haw!