A perfect day on the island.

The best experiences in life seem to be the one’s that we stumble into.  We can put ourselves in the right position with a little planning but it’s the wildcard that makes an outing click or not.  My friend Mike and I had a rough plan when we decided to bicycle around Lopez Island in the Puget Sound, but the wildcard made it a trip for the ages.

Clocking a few miles on a bike wasn’t new to me but I still had some apprehension as we sat on the ferry watching my car disappear behind us.  It was off season on Lopez Island and we had reservations at the only motel still operating, along with a map of the island and our bikes. That was pretty much the extent of the planning.

The steep grade up Ferry Road into to the town of Lopez nearly kicked our arses so we stopped to rest at the little park at the top of the hill, wondering if we hadn’t bitten off more than we could chew.  Our motel was near Mud Bay, about 10 miles away, but it might as well have been 100 miles.  Fortunately, once we reached town, the island leveled and was fairly hospitable to semi-fit newbie bicyclists like us.

At the General Store we grabbed a snack and checked out the community bulletin board while we sucked down our Dr. Peppers.  There was a flyer for a dance that very evening at the local VFW Hall featuring a band called Phat Sidy Smokehouse.  I had seen their name around Seattle but had never actually heard them.  Tonight seemed like a good time to check them out.

Waiting on the Sidy

We spent the rest of the day circling the island and finally arrived at our room late that afternoon, tired but feeling good.  The VFW Hall, it turned out, was half a mile straight up the road from our motel.  It was a bit of a climb but would be an easy coast home afterward.  This was simply too perfect for us not to go.  Anyway, what else were we going to do on sleepy little Lopez Island on a Friday night?

Twilight turned to dusk as we peddled onto the clay parking lot of the rickety VFW Hall.  The building was an old, seabitten wooden structure and it seemed to pitch to starboard just a bit.  If the big, bad wolf stumbled into this place he could skip the huffing and just knock it over with one good puff. 

The seabreeze was thick with patchouli and pot and there were more VW buses than I'd seen in one place since that Grateful Dead concert back in ’93.

Barefoot hippie chicks and friendly dogs roamed from bus to bus, and the atmosphere was vintage Dead parking lot.  Only one thing was conspicuously missing: the band. 

We wandered through the dreadlocked crowd until word finally came that the band had missed the ferry.  The next one arrived at 10PM and they hoped to be on it.  No tragedy, there were plenty for friendly hippies sharing their stashes, music from a variety of boom boxes and a funky, laid back mood.  It was a very pleasant way to spend a cool summer evening, even if the band never showed up.

Rocking The House

A little after 10 the band appeared and in short order had their amps set up and they began to play.  Judging from the crowd, I might have expected some mellow Grateful Dead cover band but I’d have been badly mistaken.  I’m still not sure how to describe their sound.  They list influences like James Brown, Funkadelic, Jim Hendrix and Frank Zappa.  It seemed to me like some mix of funk, heavy metal and soul.  What I can tell you is that they fucking rocked the house down... literally.

The music was loud and hot and stunningly danceable.  The old wooden structure seemed to vibrate with the beat and a dance party ensued like only true hippies can throw.  Men, women, children and dogs were one happy, wriggling organic mass.  The double doors and all of the windows were open and the fresh breeze on my sweating body felt like a gift from the Gods.

By midnight the party was at full throttle and seriously pushing redline.  You simply could not be in that room and not be fully into the moment.  Whatever cares and troubles you came with were patiently waiting outside those double-doors, but inside the joint was s-s-smoking.  We were now part of the collective soul.

By 12:30 it seemed like the roof might blow right off the joint.  Between sets, the band made a crack about going all night or until the place burned down, whichever came first, and then they were off on another white-hot set.

Gettin' Off

The music was loud and the beat resonated off my chest.  Our euphoric sense of collective consciousness seemed to be building to some sort of orgasmic climax as we danced, sweated, and moved to the driving beat in an ever increasing frenzy. Suddenly there was a loud pop as white light exploded behind the band.

It was like Chinese New Year when blue-white lightning backlit the band and electricty shot into the air, climbed up the wall and a curtain burst into flames.  Simultaneously, lights went out and guitars went silent. 

A quick thinking sound man grabbed a fire extinguisher and as swiftly as the whole thing had erupted, it was over. The room filled with ominous silence, illuminated only by moonbeams cutting a smokey path from the windows. 

Onstage the lead singer raised a fist and shouted, “I told you we'd burn this fucking place down!”  A roar of approval rose up from the crowd, through the smoke filled rafters and into the starry night.

Too soon Mike and I were coasting down the moonlit highway toward our room in our silly bicycle helmets.   We knew we had just experienced something that everyone present understood but no one could describe.  I’ve felt a part of the collective soul many times before and since but this... this was something else.