Taking a ride on EDC’s magic bus

It’s just before sunset on Friday on Ninth and Fremont streets in downtown Las Vegas. I’m standing in a parking lot across from Atomic Liquors waiting to catch a shuttle to the first night of Electric Daisy Carnival. Not sure how this is going to go, exactly, to be honest, but if it helps me avoid the insufferable traffic tie-ups I’ve been hearing about all week, count me in. Totally worth the $100 for a three-day pass. I hate traffic like some people hate dance music.

It’s still pretty early, just after 8 p.m., so the line isn’t out of control yet, but it’s still fairly sizable, making it seem like whatever time will be gained from catching the shuttle might be lost waiting just to get on this freaking thing. From the looks of it, everyone’s in a pretty good mood, despite the fact that it feels hotter than standing on the surface of the sun.

The vibe is relaxed and friendly, even if nobody seems to be sure if we’re even standing in the right line. These sorts of things always seem to breed confusion, particularly when nobody’s directing traffic. But yeah, this is an amiable bunch. The friendliest guy I’ve met so far is Dan Mulhern. Clad in a stars and stripes tank and a leather cowboy hat, the 26-year-old marches right up to me and a pair of ladies in hopes that we can shine any light on the proceedings. We can’t, and don’t, but the ladies — clad in bikini tops, tutus (one rainbow tinted) and matching expletive-baring earrings – have party favors, and they’re happy to share.

Clutching half-drained Miller High Life bottles, one of the gals offer Dan a swig of some sort of mysterious orange concoction from an almost empty plastic jug. Without missing a beat, Dan takes a swig. The girls are clearly stoked and in party mode, but not just because it’s the opening night of EDC, but it also happens to be Geily’s birthday. Today she turns 26. Quickly returning the favor, Dan asks the girls if they’d like any water and whips out the tube draped over his shoulder from a camelback.

One of the ladies obliges, but can’t seem to figure out how to drink. Ever helpful, Dan explains how to summon water from camelback in a way that’s completely innocuous, yet somehow still ends up sounding X-rated. We all laugh, and before you know it, after a bit of back and forth, the three of them discover they hail from the same section of Maryland. Yay! Instant friends! What are the chances, right? Hugs abound, and the three exchange numbers with promises to maybe meet up later and hang out.

With that, Geily and her friend Mary head for the other line, and we lose them. There are two lines, the one we’re standing in is for the males, while the other is for females. After maybe 10 minutes and a light pat down, we unceremoniously pass through security and make our way to the shuttle. As we’re waiting to board, the person checking wristbands notices that I don’t have one. Ruh-roh, party foul. She sends me packing directly back of the end of the line to collect one.

“You made me lose count,” she says, laughing, as I hold up the line. “That’s messed up.”

“Wait,” she says, as I’m making my way back toward the tent. “Is this your friend,” she asks, motioning to Dan. “He can wait for you, or he can save you a seat.”

Hardly any reason to make Dan wait. Friends is a stretch. I mean, we’ve known each other, for what, all of 10 minutes at this point. No need to fall on the sword for me.

After grabbing a wristband and going through security again, I walk over to a subsequent group and wait for another shuttle. Dan and my group are already on board the other shuttle. I’m listening to a guy behind me talk to another guy. The dialogue is straight out of “21 Jump Street.”

“You’re not a cop are you? If you are, you have to tell me. Cops have to tell you, just for future reference.”

Thanks, dude. Duly noted. Next thing you know, I hear my name being called. It sort of sounds like it anyway. “Dave? Dave? Dave!” I hear a couple security people murmuring. When I realize it’s me who’s being called, I’m a bit perplexed. Are they calling me? Just then, I look over and see the same staffer who gave me the Heisman waving me over to the bus.

“I told you I’d hold your seat,” she says, admonishing me with a laugh, feigning exasperation. Turns out, she really did hold the bus for me. Wow, no kidding.

“As they should,” says Dan, matter of factly, as I take a seat next to him on the bus. A few minutes later, we’re off, pulling on to Las Vegas Boulevard and heading north to Bonanza, where we take a right and drive for a few miles to Hollywood and take another left. Next stop, EDC! Whoo hoo!

Someone in the front of the bus, a few seats up from us, is playing dance music from his phone and bobbing his head. “I’m so turned up,” he says. (The same guy will later try to start an EDC chant but gives up a few beats later, when nobody joins in.

“This is the worst bus I’ve been on in three years,” he says, dejected, to no one in particular.) “I can’t believe they’re not playing music on this bus,” says Dan, incredulously, as the indistinct EDM song plays faintly in the background.

“I think it’s the calm before the storm,” I say.

This is Dan’s first EDC; mine, too, actually. He’s absolutely thrilled. This is a last hurrah of sorts. In a few weeks, he’ll be starting a new job in Boulder, Colorado. His stuff’s already waiting for him up there. He’s going to take a road trip after EDC, but all that all can wait. Right now, all that’s on Dan’s mind is EDC. He’s completely stoked to experience it. Somebody at the airport told him it was his first time last year, and it changed his life. He doesn’t know what to expect, but that’s what makes it fun.

“I think the best part is not knowing,” he says. “I’m excited. Like Yahoo, they’re streaming it live. That’s really cool, but I don’t know, if I wanted to come and I wasn’t able to make it, it would almost be a little more depressing. I could see it, and it looks really cool, but I’m not there.

“You know I watched ‘Good Will Hunting’ a while ago,” he goes on, “and that one scene where he’s sitting on the park bench and he’s saying, you know, ‘If I were to ask you about Picasso, I’m sure you could tell me about all these things, like his childhood, all this stuff, but you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel.’ You know, those little things, you have to be here for these moments. You can research it as much as you want, but that’s only so much.”

Dan’s disarmingly earnest, exactly the type of person you’d expect to meet at EDC. We’ve known each for less time than it takes to watch an episode of “Silicon Valley,” and he’s opening up to me like we’re old friends. He tells me about going to his first rave two or three years ago and how much fun that was, how he came home at 10 in the morning and then headed up to the beach, where he slept the whole thing off. Just as Dan’s recalling his early dance days, the bus slows and we hear somebody a few rows up comment rather loudly, “Seriously? You’re just going to walk in the middle of the road? Get out of the road!”

“He has the right of way,” says the guy sitting directly in front of us about the jaywalker, who’s carrying a dog and appears to be in no hurry at all. “He’s in the crosswalk,” he points out. “Where’s your PLUR?” he asks, referring to the fundamental tenant of dance music culture, Peace, Love, Unity, Respect, which makes us all laugh.

The traffic up to this point has been flowing pretty well, but as we start getting closer to the speedway, things start to bottle neck all of the sudden. As if on cue, Dan notices his phone has died. These are exactly the kind of things that send me into a tailspin – remember that bit earlier about me and traffic, not to mention, we’ve got many, many hours in front of us – but my man Dan is undaunted.

“It’s fine,” he tells me. “We get to see what life is like without having all this stuff and actually experience it.”

Indeed. He’ll work it out, he says. Besides, he and his friends already have a plan to meet. He tells me where, but I have no idea where that is – and neither does Dan. The phone thing doesn’t matter anyway, apparently. The cell service is pretty much non-existent, PLUR dude informs us.

Traffic starts loosening up a short time later, as we start getting closer to the speedway. Aside from the failed EDC chant, the ride ended up being rather tame – well, until the lights of the Las Vegas Motor Speedway become visible and everyone lets out a spontaneous cheer. (Not for nothing, dudes, but now would’ve been a good time to give the EDC chant another go. Just saying.) As we pull up to a guard gate about a half a mile from the speedway, a man in military garb, carrying a rifle waves us through. “Are we on a air force base?” somebody wonders. If we’re not, security is no joke at EDC.

Dan, who in the interim has discovered an outlet attached to the seat in front of him and was able to charge his phone, is telling me about how he tried to explain EDC to his mom just as the bus pulls to a stop in front of the speedway.

“We’re from the country, man,” he says. “They don’t know. My mom asked me if it was like Woodstock but with modern stuff. I told her about PLUR, and she said, ‘So it is then?’ ”

I don’t know about all that, but Dan’s right about having to be here to get it. The minute we walk into the speedway, I’m immediately and completely overwhelmed, by the sights, the sounds and all of the beautiful people. It’s, well, electric.

Read more from Dave Herrera at bestoflasvegas.com. Contact Dave at dherrera@reviewjournal.com.