Day 3, 4, & 5, With Some Light Espionage

After our exciting first few days, I expected more adventure. Instead, we had several sunny, easy, lazy days.


I had been dozing, opened my eyes to see this guy and before I could consider the stupidity of my words, I asked The Hubba: "Does he have a vacuum?"


Does Jack Sparrow look worryingly close to those swimmers?


Surly pigeons or seagulls or whatever these seabirds were. They were fearless, with the attitude of a waddling Tony Soprano and they went wherever the hell they wanted. The woman next to us hurling Cheetos at them didn't help.





Some spectacular sand castles and designs.


Two happy, slightly sunburned people who slept in an actual hotel last night. Hooray!

And then- DMB Concert, Part Two.

The most exciting part of Concert Two (besides the amazing concert itself) is that we have pictures of it! Yes we do, though cameras are strictly prohibited at any Dave concert. The fact it says "No Cameras or Videos" smack dab in the middle of the ticket makes it harder to prove ignorance if caught with said contraband.

Not that this stopped us. No siree, I hid the camera in one of the zippered pockets of my bag and on to the show we went.

I'm pathetic when it comes to rule breaking. A Nervous Nelly it might be said, terrified of the long hand of the law and were there anyway to hide the camera on The Hubba, I would have. Sadly, security does a pretty thorough pat down prior to admittance and there was no way, regardless of Hubba's insistence they might think it was "part of my muscular calves" security could mistake the camera in his pockets for something innocent. So into my bag it went.

At the gates of the concert, I noticed this security was not the lax crew of three nights ago. They were patting and they were searching. In the first line I saw, the woman checking bags was up to her elbow's in some girl's purse. My zippered pocket ruse was not clever enough to pass such rigorous inspection.

Into another line I went, this time picking a young man who, when I got up to him, blanched at the idea of patting me down and instead only asked me to open my bag. Which I did, happily opening the unimportant pockets wide and letting him freely root around.

And then I was in. That was it. One second, outside the concert gates, a regular citizen, the next minute, inside the pavilion with the smoky mystique of an undercover agent. Its Bond. Jane Bond.


On the big TVs, left to right, you see: Toots Hibbert, a special guest from the opening act; Dave Matthews; and our good friend, Boyd Tinsley.


Hello LeRoi Moore!


Thank you to the woman who risked life, limb, and, worst of all, being kicked out of the show to take our picture! Much appreciation.


Without the TVs, it's teeny-tiny Dave.


I luff this band.