The crates are back, the crates are back!! My current excitement can only be compared with that of Navin R. Johnson at the arrival of his precious phonebooks.

For some, the transition from Summer to Fall (or Summer to Autumn, then Fall—for those who acknowledge the delineation) means a little less sun block, a little more darkness, swapping the wakeboard out for the snowboard (almost), and, if in Southern California, our nation’s dramatic foliage capital, the transition of leaves from bright green to a somewhat less intense shade of bright green (I’m from So Cal; I joke with love).

Aforementioned seasonal indicators aside, Fall also marks the end of Trade Show Season. The OR’s, the Interbike’s (actually, there’s only one), the NPE’s…are now but a memory. A big, tingly ball of trade show memories, drizzled lightly in remnant brown rice syrup and praise-filled product commentary.

I don’t get to attend too many shows anymore, so I was more than happy to have the opportunity to hit up two this year—Interbike at the Venetian in Vegas (September) and NPE East at the Boston Convention Center (just over a week ago). The super-duper-added-secret-bonus this year was that we were asked to play music at both shows!

Eric (of SR fame), Tom (of Creative fame), and myself (not really that comfortable with fame)—collectively but unofficially branded ‘Jimmy Dean & the Sausage Party’—are one of two in-house bands comprised entirely of Clif Bar employees (the other being The Dung Beetles).

Whereas JDSP is a blues/jazz/surf funk/rock trio, The Dungs will do battle with any song foolish enough to step in front of seven guitars and a 24” bass drum.

Operating on the premise that it’s not an official tradeshow without making a little noise (product and otherwise)—and operating further on a premise that it’s not an official Clif Bar event until food has been shared, beer and wine have been poured, and the day has been fully celebrated—we were more than happy to provide the soundtracks for these two annual ‘end of show’ parties.

In Vegas, we had the added honor of providing tunes for the Clif Bar Classic: the biggest, baddest foosball tourney this side of the equator (depending on which side of the equator you’re on).

Total riot.

Anyway, now, in a flash, it’s all over and we’re back in the land of Berkeley. More importantly, as of last Friday, so is our gear—crated, wrapped, padded, and mostly-totally scratch free. Just like me.

5-6-7-8!!