Original Article: http://dartreview.com/archives/2000/04/24/finding_destiny_in_ascutney_vermont.php
Monday, April 24, 2000
A few Fridays ago, some friends and I decided to take a small road-trip—an outing, if you will. I'd been vacationing, travelling, and living in what can generally be considered sanitary conditions. Upon my return to Hanover, I viewed the decidedly unsanitary socializing conditions as interesting, a kind of novelty. After two weeks, though, the novelty abruptly wore off. So I hit the non-Greek alternatives.
I took the Lone Pine Tavern option and discarded it (I wasn't quite sure if it still existed, and, if not, where is the big penguin that was at the door?). I took the Dirt Cowboy option and discarded that, too (not quite my scene, though I know many who would disagree). So after a few hours at Dollar Drafts, I decided that my options in town were pretty much spent, and that I should call it a term.
My roommate, however, wasn't going to let me give up. He'd spent the previous week hatching a scheme to get out of Hanover, no matter what the cost. He had a plan: Destiny Nightclub in Ascutney, Vermont.
I was desperate. I was vulnerable. I was curious. I wasn't using my very best judgement. So I slept with him. Actually, no, I didn't, but I did agree to accompany him and his troop to Destiny to see an Ozzy coverband called Believer.
Destiny Nightclub—the name might sound familiar. Ever listen to XL92? That cheesy, poppy, and, above all, non-Greek alternative to 99 Rock? If you listen to XL92 for more than 45 seconds, you can't avoid hearing about Destiny Nightclub. You may wonder (as have I) what a nightclub in the Upper Valley could possibly be like. You might wonder (as have I) where the clientele would come from. You could wonder (as have I) whether it's safe to have alcohol dispensaries in rural areas with roads that are treacherous to begin with. And you probably should wonder (as have I) how the hell you would get back to Dartmouth safely if you went there. That last question answered by my roommate, the designated driver and platoon commander, I became overwhelmed by curiosity, and embarked on the trip.
After stocking the car with gas and other essentials, we hit the highway, southbound, pedal to the metal. What could have been a beautiful ride in the daytime passed us unnoticed in the darkness, and Exit 8 came before we knew it. Then things started to go wrong.
Our stalwart leader, anxious to reach our destination, had apparently misheard the directions. I guess he wasn't a West Pointer. So after a 45-minute detour that involved the very same highway we had just taken, we were finally there.
The place is hard to miss—at least it is at night. That night, Destiny had one of the most-packed parking lots I've ever seen in Northern New England. Naturally, there was neon, in generous quantities. Navigating the lot, we parked, then entered.
Wow, a lot of people. Wow, a lot of beards. Wow, a lot of leather. Wow, a lot of metal. As our motley crew (pardon the pun, Ozzy) filtered in, we got a lot of stares—for about three seconds—then apathy. With good reason, because let's face it, aside from the college administration, nobody really cares what Dartmouth students do on their own time.
Under my roommate's direction, we found a place at the bar. By this time in the evening, it was pushing midnight, getting very late by my standards, and I'd gotten up very early for class. In any case, the opening band was Whirlwind, a Metallica cover band meant to serve as a counterpoint to Believer. They were fairly impressive, but loud. Very loud.
At this point, I should explain, not only was it getting late, but I'm the sort of person who needs constant conversation, or at least some sort of stimulus, to keep me from getting bored and thereby risking my falling asleep. The loud music, however, prevented my friends from talking to me, so I began to nod off a little.
After a couple of nod-offs, the bartender started to direct a large degree of concern toward me. As hard as he could, he took aim, and brought his fist down on the bar. Since the music was loud (but good), I didn't hear his blow, and I blinked for the moment when it happened. So I can understand from his point of view why he might have thought that I was asleep. It's an honest mistake on his part, it could have happened to anyone, but unfortunately I was the victim of this particular assumption. So my roommate was promptly told to escort me out the (emergency) door.
So we went back to the car, and we reevaluated our game plan. My plan was to get back to Hanover ASAP. The plan of the guys still inside was to watch the rest of the show. So my roommate's game plan, by necessity, was to reconcile the two. He reassured me that he'd go in and then they would all 'be right out.'
'Cool,' I gave my approval. After an unspecified amount of time, and an exchange between our fearless leader and the bouncer/valet that can best be described as unprintable, we rallied the troops back to the car, and headed back for a relatively uneventful ride home.
It was a nice, relaxing ride. Several of us took a little nap, and when we woke up all was the same: the streets of Hanover were still ill-designed, the traffic lights still took too long to turn, and there was still too many people parking in front of the dining hall. We were different, though. We had gone beyond the confines of our shell, blazed new trails, seen uncut footage, conquered unexplored lands. And although I don't hold any hard feelings—I actually had a good time—I've concluded that Destiny just isn't my scene, but it might just be yours, so get out there and check it out.