Back in 1995, Molson Brewing Company held a concert in Tuktoyuktuk, Iceland called the Polar Beach Party.  The show feature a great lineup of bands and it sounded like it would be an amazing trip, but it wasn’t easy to get to the show and it just didn’t happen for me.  However, it registered in my mind so that years later when another beer company, Rolling Rock, decided to sponsor their own concert in Latrobe, PA I knew I wanted to go.  Better still, I knew someone who worked at a Rolling Rock distributor, so I asked her if she could get me tickets to the concert and in a few short days later I had them in my hand. This was yet another favor that I will probably remember for the rest of my life.

I certainly didn’t expect the Latrobe concert to compare with the concert that went off in Iceland, but it didn’t require time off from work and there were several major acts that I really liked, including the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Moby, Filter, and Our Lady Peace.  I had four tickets, so I invited my friends, Pat and Mike, and my sister Ellen.  We shopped around for the best (i.e., cheapest) way there and ended up ruling out plane, train, and bus, which really only left us with driving down ourselves.  We decided to rent a car we could all fit in comfortably and drive down together, but two days before the show, Ellen and Mike dropped out and all was lost.  I was disappointed to miss the show, but I managed to convince myself that it probably wasn’t going to be that good anyway.

I called Pat and broke the news to him: the show was off.  I was disappointed and a little angry, so I wasn’t thinking clearly until Pat asked if he could still have his ticket.  He said that he’d drive down in his car, and if I didn’t want to go, he’d still go it alone.  I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t even considered any other possibility.  I allowed my disappointment over a little setback from what I considered the ideal situation to blind me from realizing there were other possibile scenarios.  I told Pat he could certainly have his ticket, but that I wasn’t going to let him drive 1100 miles round-trip alone.  I was going, too, and I wanted to help with the driving.  He was happy, I was happy, and now our trip was back on.

We packed up and left Friday after work and drove all night, through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania.  Pat drove the whole way down, but I stayed up all night and kept him company.  Even at night, but especially at sunrise, Pennsylvania was gorgeous, covered with lush, green woods, and long winding roads up, down, and even through mountains.  I remember one thing in particular Pat said, because I felt the same way. After remarking how beautiful Pennsylvania was, he said that he wouldn’t mind living there, but that he could never live too far from the ocean.  Neither of us surf, own boats, or fish much, and the last place you would find me would be frying myself on the beach, but there’s just something comforting about the ocean. To me, looking out over the water is like looking out into the stars.  It makes me feel tiny and yet connected to everything all at once.  There’s just something comforting about the ocean.  When I was first driving and wanted to explore the highways and back roads of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, I always knew I could just head east until I hit the ocean and then find my way home from there.

We arrived just outside of Latrobe at about 6am and stopped into an IHOP for what seemed like the best breakfast we had ever had.  The restaurant was pretty busy for that time of morning, but we were probably the only non-locals there. Most people were ordinary folk, probably with ordinary jobs, but to us it was like another world: a place where people raised livestock and grew food on land where we could only marginally grow grass.  It may seem like a silly thing to be in awe of a farmer, but that’s really the only way I can describe it.  I could just as easily dismiss it as the results of a long, sleep-deprived night, but that morning just felt special, so we treated it and everyone around us with a kind of reverence that continued for the rest of the weekend.  And, just by treating it special, we made it special.

We drove on to Latrobe and down to the fairgrounds to get a good look at the venue.  The Rolling Rock Town Fair is held on a massive fairgrounds with what appears to be a fully working farm.  There were throngs of people everywhere and we could see buses shuttling people to and from the satellite lots, so we double-backed and parked at one of the satellite lots, really just an open grassy field.  Pat and I hung out at the car for a few hours, took some pictures, drank some beers, and bought what has turned into a contest for the wildest tie-dye concert t-shirt.

At the show, the bands were fantastic and the crowd was wild.  The temperature began to rise, so the concert organizers set up pump trucks to spray the crowds with water.  Where there’s water and dirt, there’s mud, so before long we started seeing what can only be described as the “mud people:” men and women covered from head to toe in mud.  I’ve seen the mud people reemerge at several concerts since then, and I knew friends who were present both at Green Day’s free concert at the Hatch Shell in Boston and at Woodstock II. During both Green Day concerts, clumps of mud and ripped up turf were hurled at the band, but here in Latrobe the mud people weren’t out of control; they were just happy to be cool and covered in mud.  I guess you can even learn from a pig.

Another surreal moment occurred after the concert let out.  We headed to the nearest motel for some long needed sleep and on the drive out of Latrobe, we passed a farm where we witnessed the largest gathering of fireflies I could ever imagine.  They were glowing and blinking all around the car and out across the grassy hill in every direction as far as our weary eyes could see.  I had seen fireflies many times before and since this night, and I don’t think it was simply the sheer numbers of them glowing and dancing as the evening sun began to set that made it so memorable.  I think it was because I felt that this time they were blinking just for us.  They were blinking, “Thank you for coming.  Have a safe drive home.  Come again!”

We awoke early Sunday morning, checked out of the motel, and set out on the open road for the long drive back home, satisfied that the trip was well worth it.  We had spent our time well.  The drive home was just as long as the drive down, but we got to see more of Pennsylvania in the daylight than we could make out in the dark before the sun had come up.  It was just as beautiful as it was on the drive down.

We’ve gone to the Rolling Rock Town Fair several times since then, always driving down and always staying at the same hotel that gave us comfort on the first trip.  A couple times, I drove, and even one time, Ellen and Mike made the trip with us.  The show has grown in the years since the first Town Fair and Rolling Rock even moved to Heinz Field for a year, greatly underestimating the allure of the fairground venue, but none of the shows could possibly compare with my memories of the the first.  And to think, if Pat had been as defeated as I had been, I wouldn’t have ever even gone.

"Remember that your failures are the seeds of your most glorious successes. Be sad if you must, but don’t despair.”
Source Unknown