Why wild horses couldn’t drag me back to Coachella

It was the second rickshaw that did it. The winding, dusty trail that leads from the Coachella taxi drop-off to the festival site proper is so long and circuitous that cyclists ply their trade along the marathon route. A couple of years ago this week, after half a mile or so of hiking in the baking sun, I finally caved and agreed to Venmo a jock with thighs the size of Christmas hams half a week’s wages to pedal me towards the distant strains of music. Eventually, we came to a fence, then a gate, and beyond it… another crowd of cycle rickshaws.

I blinked the dust out of my eyes and realised this was no