O’Doherty: The yoga never stops

There are rules for traveling to and from ASE to DEAD, I thought. You don’t just pack a bag — you pack your Ron “Pigpen” McKernan swagger. Whether you’re heading for Vegas next year or prepping for Golden Gate Park, there’s a ritual Aspen/Snowmass protocol for any psychedelic sonic pilgrimage.

First, on the eve of travel, you must endure a Garcia vs. Mayer comparison-kills-all-joy exchange with Dead Forever local cynics. Then, solve the impasse by ordering everyone additive-free Lalo tequila shots at Los Montañas. Next? It’s on to Red at Home Team BBQ. Mission? Secure Steal Your Face-styled Home Team gear for all our desert- and Bay Area–bound Dead & Co. compatriots. Maybe a whiskey toast for auld Pigpen?

Help on the way

By travel day, I’m ready to get my cannabis game in motion. A visit to Sister Allie at Snowmass Dispensary is mandatory. Maybe a LazerCat live rosin cart to lift the spirits of the setlist aficionados? Alpine Jerry — the spirit of the Ajax shrine — would surely approve. After all, in Aspen/Snowmass, the cannabis shops are conveniently housed adjacent to pizza joints and tenanted above grocery stores. Hell, The Pizza Tapes may never have been tipped off to a delivery boy if Jerry could’ve walked for dispensary weed and Taster’s munchies like Snowmass Villagers.

The Snowmass Dispensary is modern and mellow. Cannabis infrastructure and merch abound — from the elite gravity bong hiding on the top shelf to the surprisingly inspiring apron I brought home, promising my wife a renewed interest in culinary arts. The crew is always welcoming, with great advice for over-50 heads still chasing sensation.

One more Saturday night

The Sphere rises like a ringless Saturn above the Strip, orbiting the Wynn’s perfectly manicured Fazio fairways. Inside the Venetian, I found my preferred Vegas: a sterile but spirited realm of Italian veneer, zero tobacco smoke, and enough espresso to power a set break. I stayed at Encore — smokeless rooms, not-so-smokeless lobby. It’s fine. But this time, I preferred the Sphere-connected Venetian. For once, the excess felt earned.

Dead & Co. never sounded better. I’m convinced Jerry would’ve loved this evolution — exactly because Jerry is not the star-studded savior sensation of The Sphere residency or the 60th anniversary to come. The jug-band leader led a community movement from the fringe to the gravitational center of a Vegas Americana supernova. The Dead is a community now welded to the center of the American experience.

Dead & Company’s concert is currently unrivaled. It wasn’t just the visuals — it was the feeling that the American Songbook had been reissued with beautiful Oteil Burbridge vocals, otherworldly Mayer riffs, and Jay Lane’s dedicated drums. At The Sphere, don’t let the gadgety eye gimmicks take away from this once-in-a-generation sonic salvation.

I came home an evangelist. I took an EXPO erasable pen to my own 11-year-old pianist’s whiteboard:

“Dead and Company pianist Jeff Chimenti was the glue and joy of The Sphere shows — PLAY ON, GIRL!”

Roll away the dew

Coming back from Dead & Co. demands a binary protocol. One path leads straight back to Red at Home Team for a round of Don Julio and pulled pork. The other? A Bobby Weir–style yoga and stretch cleanse.

My dopamine receptors were burned beyond Red’s redemption. You see, Mickey Hart’s Sphere-set drums gave way to a new White Lotus theme. I am telling you: my mind was blown. So we chose Door Two for restoration: O2 Yoga Detox. My Uncle Dil always says, “You gotta detox before you can retox.” So I rolled out the mat. Right in the center of Aspen.

I’ve tried yoga for 20 years, but never with a posse of detoxing Deadheads. Inside the hot, humid room, 26 flawless women and four very flawed men — Dead misfits named Hunt, Sandman, The Shaft, and yours truly — sweat out the last notes of “Althea.” Master Yogi Aaron King brought us back from the brink with a sequence that went something like: Downward Dog → Shakedown Street → Humble Warrior.

The energy was electric and eclectic. After 36 straight O2 visits, my Vegas dopamine overload was finally healed by Aaron King’s spiritual selection of “Stella Blue” into shavasana. After class, Weir stretching with ropes on the wall. Get it? More of this flexibility training, and we can turn my flabby Gen X body into a wonderland like the 77-year-old Dead band leader, Bob Weir.

I hope you join the Dead movement at Golden Gate on Aug. 1 … or at O2 this summer. Maybe this time, we should take the yoga classes before the Dead shows?

Damian O’Doherty is an aspiring yoga Dead Head dad. He was inspired by Rob Gile’s stunning 40 appearances logged on the O2 off-season leaderboard. The Aspen Times’ own Lorenzo Semple was just a few Warrior Ones behind Gile. You can email Damian at do@kopublicaffairs.com.