After spending a day off at Crater Lake I pitched my tent in a state-run campground that charged on the honour system. I’ve always thought that if the honour system was called something else like, oh I don’t know, the “sucker system” or maybe the “who-cares system” it wouldn’t be nearly as effective. But it isn’t so it was; I did the honourable thing and dropped $18 in the box (which was ironically locked up tight with a huge padlock – clearly the honour system is a one-way street ‘round these parts).

And so it was that I woke up on July 30th, 2013, opened my tent to a wide blue sky and pointed my car towards Lake Tahoe. Pulled into town and wound around the lake past cottages big and small to the Embassy Hotel, kitty-corner across the street from the venue where Phish was playing a two-night run.

This was my first time staying at an Embassy Hotel, and it certainly wasn’t my last. Not only is full free breakfast and impeccable customer service standard procedure, the chain offers free happy-hour cocktails to guests every afternoon. And we’re not talking a few beers in the cooler here, this is full bar service, all 100% gratis. Skipping dinner, I raced down to the bar to take full advantage.

Lake Tahoe borders California and Nevada, and as we were (barely) on the Nevada side open liquor was permitted in the streets. Also, based on Phish’s last time playing here, everyone was saying you were literally allowed to walk into the venue with open drinks in hand. When I walked up to the barman for my last round of happy hour I told him in no uncertain terms how much I appreciated the free drinks and how if not for this courtesy I might well have stayed elsewhere. He smiled as he handed me four more drinks for the road, “We’re very happy to have you staying here, sir!”

Across the road I go, slurring another drink into my undernourished shell. Steps from the venue word quickly comes down the line that drinks are NOT allowed into the venue this year, so drink up. At this point I was a little too tipsy to argue so I quickly pounded the three remaining double Jack and Cokes and stumbled into the venue.

I remember the space quite well, a luxury I was afforded because the mass influx of Jack Daniels would take a few minutes to kick in. It was a small outdoor venue holding maybe 6,000-7,000 people. Basically a parking lot surrounded by pop-up bleachers that rose up maybe eight rows, it looked like I was seeing Phish behind my high school.

Now as the Tennessee whiskey seeps into my blood let’s take stock here (something I probably should have done at the time). I had risen thousands of feet in elevation over the course of the day, eaten just a pittance if anything at all, started into free, strong drink early on, and was bombarded with a four-drink-double slam-a-thon just before the show.

Things were unsteady. I needed food.

During the first set I went to the concession area and ordered a hamburger. As an afterthought I added fries, and there was my downfall. The lady hands me a normal burger, and then presents me with a paper plate on which balanced a monstrosity of fried potato that was the size and shape of my head. I think it was all one or two potatoes fried together in a long snakey bundle and it was completely unwieldy.

With one hand cradling a cranium of spuds the other hand tried to unsheathe the burger from it’s foil wrapping, and all the while my legs struggled to keep the rest of me upright. I tried biting into a french fry that proved endless and forced me to chomp away like I was a dog eating spaghetti in Lady & The Tramp. I struggled back to my posse and tried to pawn off the potato and was met with looks of shock and horror with no takers.

I ended up dropping the potatohead into a trash bin and devouring the hamburger with both free hands. I’m sure it was a pretty sight indeed.

Then I guess Phish played songs. Oh, there was a shooter bar in there too.

The afterparty was a prodigious undertaking that went down at a sweet house rental about a kilometre from the Embassy. I spent most of my time mutely hungover in the corner and slowly limboed my way home at 6am through an invisible, unoccurring windstorm.

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