No. 207 – Long Road

Performer: Pearl Jam

Songwriter: Eddie Vedder

Original Release: Merkin Ball

Year: 1995

Definitive Version: The studio version.

When I mentioned the second time I saw Pearl Jam—at Eagle Creek amphitheater in the north suburbs of Indianapolis in 1998 (good ol’ No. 610)— I said that the most interesting thing about the show happened afterward. I wasn’t kidding.

Not that the show itself wasn’t great, mind you. I particularly loved that Pearl Jam opened with this song, not only because it’s a great song, but also because almost no one in the heavily frat-D-bag-dominated audience recognized it. They can’t all be Ten songs. Know your Merkin Ball; love your Merkin Ball, boys.

As the band rocked on, Scott suggested that we should leave before the end. You’re kidding, right? I’m not leaving before the end of a Pearl Jam concert. His concern was traffic out of Eagle Creek. Yeah, whatever.

As the show went on, Scott’s pleas grew more insistent. Finally, Scott persuaded us at least to move to the side of the lawn near to the exit. As soon as the last song, Yellow Ledbetter, ended, as in the very last note, he directed, we should RUN to our car. Whatareyer nuts? I ain’t running nowhere.

Well, it turned out that Scott knew what he was talking about. Even though we were among the first people to our cars, leaving Eagle Creek turned into The World’s Largest Traffic Jam, Part III. (Part I was The Doobie Brothers concert in 1982. Part II was in 1992, a story still to come.)

Eagle Creek in 1998 was one in a series of experiences that led me to officially retire from seeing anyone at a major outdoor amphitheater last year. I went to maybe a dozen shows at Polaris in Columbus from 1994 to 2004, and due to the design of the parking lots and to post-show traffic management, I never experienced anything like the Mongolian cluster truck that ensued in Indianapolis.

Polaris apparently is the exception, because with most outdoor amphitheaters, it’s way more important to direct the people into the parking lots. After they’re in, the traffic directors are sent home, and the audience—with far more beer in its belly then when they drove in—is on its own at the end of the night.

In the Yew Ess of Ay, when you leave a large enough group of people with no supervision, order breaks down in a hurry as everyone’s sense of entitlement and lack of courtesy kick in. Patience is for losers; I got to get mine NOW.

Not to get off on a political rant here, but when you think about it, that mindset pretty much applies to EVERYTHING that’s wrong with this country. In terms of traffic after a Pearl Jam concert in a poorly designed amphtitheater, that manifests itself as every driver taking it upon himself to force his way into line. We got in line, and the line absolutely stopped. Consequently, what should take a certain amount of time if things were conducted in an orderly fashion ends up taking twice as long.

(Yes, I used the male pronoun above, because I don’t see women doing this … unless, of course, it’s after school, and they’re in their SUV, holding a coffee with one hand while texting and flipping me the bird with the other.)

What happened next was inevitable. All it took was one genius to get the bright idea to zoom haphazardly over the adjacent open field to the street, because, well, traffic just isn’t moving fast enough to suit them. Soon it was another car—always an SUV, no small wonder—then a steady stream.

It didn’t help things in any way, and the whole time I was hoping for some karmic payback. Unfortunately, no one got stuck or wrecked. Scott was about to follow suit, but Shani told him in no uncertain terms that he better not. I agreed with Shani. Let’s not devolve, like everyone else.

However, we also had a practical matter to consider: Scott’s gas tank was on E. Yes, he hadn’t bothered to fill up before the show, and now, after sitting in traffic for an hour, we were almost out of gas. If he got stuck in the field, we were hosed. So Scott just turned off the engine to conserve the last drops of precious fuel.

Eventually, we made it out of the ONE EXIT at Eagle Creek and to a nearby gas station where we filled the gas tank, got some BFWs after shouting ourselves hoarse during the concert and congratulated ourselves for our ability to restrain our baser instincts.

We all walk the long road, indeed. Sometimes we drive it.