Which side of me will win?

Metalcamp 2012: Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?

I sweat a lot. There’s no point denying it, making excuses for it or even politely ignoring it. It happens. I sweat like a pig… no, more than that… I sweat like a rapist… no, more than that… I sweat like a pig rapist. That’s a rather distasteful way to put it, but I sweat a rather distasteful amount, so deal with it.

“But… but she said she wanted it… I swear!”

During Metalcamp 2012 I will get soaked in my own sweat on countless occasions. It’ll pour off my forehead, it’ll drip off my nose, ears and chin, it’ll dribble into my eyes (yeah, good job eyebrows), it’ll make the back of my shirt stick to me, it’ll make odd shapes on the front of my shirt that, if you look at them for a long time, start to look like things (like when you look at clouds), it’ll make my thighs all slippery and, ultimately, it’ll make we write sentences that are far too long, far too complicated and have far too many commas in them. Deal with it.

My first epic sweating session begins about 30 seconds into my journey to Metalcamp and ends about five or six hours later after I’ve arrived, put my tent up and had a bit of a rest. I walked all the way to Nina’s dorm – about 3 km (or 2 miles) – carrying four bags. What was I thinking? I guess I must have been thinking, “I can’t wait to get really fucking sweaty already!”

Fortunately, I only had to then sit in a confined space with four other people for two hours or so. Those people were Nina, Matty (who tries to make me feel less self-conscious by sweating too and, furthermore, acting like he might be sick), Nina’s friend – who gives us a lift to Most Na Soči – and Nina’s friend’s girlfriend. I can’t remember the names of the last two, but don’t worry, I haven’t seen either of them since, so who cares?

The last half of the journey to Most Na Soči takes us along a lot of winding mountain roads, and during this stretch we’re frequently overtaken by speeding motorcycles. Our driver points out, quite rightly, that they are crazy, and I recall a story I was told by a cab driver making this same trip last summer. His friend had been killed riding a motorcycle on these roads, and he’d described the extent of his injuries in some detail. You don’t want to know.

It is dangerous driving territory, especially for motorcycles, which is why you see so many of these almost comical looking warning signs…

…but few motorcyclists seem to take heed and, sure enough, when we’re just five minutes from our destination, the traffic slows to a standstill – there’s been an accident ahead. As we crawl past the scene of the incident, a car bearing a large, motorcycle-shaped dent in its front end can clearly be seen, as can a very broken motorcycle. Surprisingly though, no ambulance, which suggests this particular two-wheeled tearaway had a lucky escape.

Our driver drops us off in Most Na Soči, where we’re immediately picked up by Nina’s dad. He’s a big, quiet sort of a guy. Seems nice though. He provides us with cold beer along with warm pizza and burek when we arrive at Nina’s house, and you can’t be much nicer than that. Nina’s house, if you didn’t read last year’s Metalcamp blog, is actually on the Metalcamp site in Tolmin. It’s the bright orange one. We hang around there for a little while because, well, it’s a house, and that makes it a very special thing at Metalcamp. We should probably call it Metalhouse, but no one thought of that at the time.

I can’t say for sure, but it is possible that, at some point during our little break at Nina’s h… Metalhouse, I may have stopped sweating for a minute or two. I doubt it though.


Filed under: Metalcamp, , , ,

One Response

  1. mini says:

    Imagine having a sticky beard too

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