We have a tradition for ACL. It was once my tradition, but as it is quite genius, Brian has adopted it as well.
On the final night of ACL, we do not walk back to our car… we ride.
I mean… why would you want to, anyways? You’re tired, you’ve been on your feet all weekend– you’re in no shape to make that hike. Luckily, there are about a thousand pedi-cabs waiting outside of the festival, eager to peddle you somewhere.
This year’s pedi-cab driver has been dubbed “Speed Racer.” He was awesome. We zipped between and flew past cab after cab. I think I heard the theme music for the Wicked Witch of the West faintly wafting around us.
We tipped him well. It was much deserved.
As we walked through the parking lot (they don’t take you that far), I was commenting on Speed Racer. I spoke of his commercial-worthy hair while Brian noted his “glorious beard.” It was in the midst of these complimentary statements when I tripped, barely catching myself on the way down. Thankfully, Brian was holding my hand.
I steadied myself and turned to face my husband. I glared.
“Use your eyes,” he chuckled.
“Use your leadership!” I replied.
But all joking and accusations aside, we had such an enjoyable weekend. It’s like being on a date for three days. Brian and I held hands and laughed as we walked from stage to stage. He would put his arms around me and sing lyrics sweetly into my ear. I’m gettin’ all smitten just thinking about it. Exhausting as it was, this was a much needed weekend.