RAVES SPARK CULTURE SHOCK DOWN ON COLORADO'S FARMS

March 19 - ARRIBA - Bill Hill's job at the D-J Petro Food Store usually
doesn't begin too quickly. He opens the little store, the only one in this
farming town of 250, at 6 a.m. on Sundays, starts the coffee brewing,
unwraps the bundle of newspapers, turns on the gas pumps.

Usually no one's around, and he likes that. He works weekdays at the Arriba
Grain Elevator, and on Sundays he's pretty tired. He needs time alone to
get the sleep out of his head.

But late last month, Hill got the surprise of his life when he turned into
the station. The place was swarming with nearly 100 kids, some with spiked
orange hair, their faces painted neon yellow. Some were tattooed. Many had
pierced their eyebrows, lips, tongues, and, Hill imagined, some places he
didn't want to know about. One young man had dyed his spiked hair bright
blue, to match his shirt.

Some of them had infant pacifiers, either in their mouths or hanging from
their necks on beaded necklaces.

Their cars, with license plates from many states, were lined up four deep
at each of the eight gas pumps. Once Hill opened the door, the kids bought
every bottle of water, soda, juice and tea - anything they could find to
drink. They bought out all the cigarettes, potato chips, snacks and
sandwiches.

The store had its best day ever, and all before 8 a.m.

The swarm of customers had just left an all-night "rave" party held 5 miles
north up a dirt road at Ron Brent's farm. An estimated 4,000 people showed
up that Saturday night, and danced themselves weary until dawn Sunday. Now
they were headed home, and some were clueless.

"Could you tell me what direction is New Mexico?" one young girl asked
timidly. Two girls said they had driven all the way from South Dakota and
were not looking forward to driving home.

The customers were thirsty from the dancing, but also from taking ecstasy,
an illegal drug that's becoming popular among the younger partying crowd.

It's hard to estimate, but the partyers guess that between 40 and 50
percent of a rave crowd is "rolling" on ecstasy. Also known as X, it's a
form of methamphetamine that reportedly heightens the senses and makes
touching and dancing far more pleasurable. The drug also is reputed to
create an oral fixation, hence the pacifiers, and a terrific thirst, hence
the need for water, juice or other liquids. People say they don't like to
drink alcohol while on ecstasy because it diminishes the effect of the
drug.

The crowds, estimated to be between the ages of 13 and 30, have the stamina
and energy to dance well into the night. But when thousands of them gather,
the parties easily last until dawn.

Finding a place to host parties of that size, with deafening music that
lasts until dawn, is a challenge, at best. Many are held in urban areas in
warehouses, abandoned buildings or empty shopping malls. Police watch for
them, and shut them down when they find them. So promoters become more and
more creative in their search for a rave location, looking even to farms.

When Mike Knutson, who works for a Denver rave promoter, offered his
grandfather, Ron Brent, $2,000 for the use of his farm for a party, the
offer looked good.

Brent's son, Dan, who works the 4,000-acre farm and negotiated with the
promoters, said wheat prices are the lowest in 25 years and estimated that
in one night his family earned the same profit it would from farming 100
acres of wheat. The orange hair and pierced eyebrows didn't look so bad.

But it set the town to talking. Roughly 40 miles east of Limon, Arriba is a
two-hour drive from both Denver or Colorado Springs. Farmers, pretty
conservative by nature, looked askance at their punkish, urban visitors,
and scratched their brows.

"We don't get a lot of them people out here," said Chopper McHugh, owner of
Arriba Grain.

"When I first saw all the cars, I thought it was a funeral. We don't get a
line of cars like that until someone's stiffening up."

One of his lunch partners laughed. "They're not bad people. The worst part
about it is having to look at them," he said, not wanting his name in the
paper.

Hill didn't mind the gaudy newcomers, either. "I got three drive-offs right
away, so I made everyone else prepay," he said. "Most of them wanted $5 to
$12 worth of gas, all the money they had. For the most part, they were
pretty decent and polite."

The party was held in a 70-by100-foot metal equipment shed with a concrete
floor. Organizers brought in a generator, lights and sound system. They
also brought in dozens of portable toilets, and hundreds of cases of
bottled water and fruit juice, which sold for $3 a bottle. Flag men, with
reflective vests and flashlights, were placed on the dirt roads to direct
traffic to the farm.

Although the temperature dropped to 24 degrees, partyers said they stayed
warm from the sheer mass of dancing bodies, packed tightly in the
uninsulated shed.

The Colorado State Patrol estimated there were about 1,200 cars, which
completely overwhelmed the eight troopers available that morning.

"We had no idea it was coming. The first we heard about it was around 9
p.m.," said Trooper Sgt. Robert Brossart of the Limon barracks. "We had one
car in the area, and nothing really happened until about 3:30 a.m.

"We were overwhelmed," Brossart said. "Some cars were clocked at a very
high rate of speed, but there was nothing we could do. We couldn't stop
everybody."

The first of five accidents was reported at 3:30 a.m. when a car missed a
curve on the dirt road and rolled over. Only one person was treated for
injuries, said Lincoln County Sheriff Leroy Yowell.

"They weren't under the influence. Most of them were just too tired to
drive," he said. "Two kids were arrested for possessing drugs, one for
ecstasy and one for marijuana."

Hill said it was a wonder no one died.

"It scares the hell out of me," he said. "There were 3,000 city kids
driving down a gravel road. One farmer told me he was driving at 55, and
some kids passed him on a hill."

Raves, in general, are becoming highly popular with the younger crowd. They
are difficult to track because of their secretive nature, but the Internet
carries announcements and information for about half a dozen Denver-area
parties every weekend. Some of them can be extremely profitable for the
promoters.

Ryan Rushing, who produced the "Pegasus" rave in Arriba, wouldn't talk. But
Knutson, who put Rushing together with his farmer grandfather, and other
people familiar with raves confirmed the opportunities.

Rushing presold a small number of tickets for $15 and $20 each. The vast
majority of tickets found in the building the next day were stamped $25,
and many partyers told townspeople they had paid $30 at the door to get in.

In rough figures, if 4,000 people paid an average of $25, that's $100,000
in ticket receipts. Knutson said expenses for the party were $38,000,
including the disc jockeys, the generator, fencing, security, and so on.
The farmer, Ron Brent, was paid $2,000 for use of his property, according
to his son.

That calculates comfortably to about $50,000 in profits. Knutson, however,
said Rushing "did slightly better than break-even," although he wouldn't
elaborate.

Raves are custom-made for those who want to dance and socialize but may be
too young for nightclubs that serve alcohol. The unstructured, wholesale
nature of hundreds of kids packed into a tractor barn or an abandoned
warehouse also appeals to their rebellious side.

Larger raves typically don't announce their locations until perhaps 24
hours before the event. Announcements, posted in music stores, head shops
and clothing stores, list a telephone number for the party location
complete with directions.

Arriba was just the latest locale.

Despite the unexpectedly profitable morning at the D&J, Hill isn't looking
forward to another invasion.

"If it happens again," Hill said with a laugh, "I told the boss I'm just
going to keep on driving, and keep the store closed."