The Road To Nowhere

Detour: The Road To Nowhere

Words Errol L. Colandro Photography Zach Iddings

I sit down for the first time in days and look at the partially disassembled stage as winds blow sand every which way. I look around the property and as I take it all in, I think, "I did this. I created a show ... by myself!"

Mind you, if it wasn't for our MC — the one and only Dumptruck — this year's Nowhere Show would have gone flat. Dumptruck has been a part of the show since day one, is the best in his game, and has become one of my dearest friends.

From the bands to the vendors to the builders to the people who came to the show, each and every person helped make Nowhere was it is. There were no cliques and no arguments ... just good people who wanted to have fun.

Throughout the day, there was laughter and tears of sheer happiness. Strangers became friends, and by the end of the day it was no longer community but family. That's why we go Nowhere: to be found.

About halfway through the day, we had a noise complaint from our ONLY neighbor, so we had to shut down the sound, but all of the bands came together, started a campfire, and jammed. People grabbed their bikes, brought them down in front of the stage, and buried their back tires in the sand.

Throughout the day, there was laughter and tears of sheer happiness. Strangers became friends, and by the end of the day it was no longer community but family. That's why we go Nowhere: to be found.