On the Road to Woodstock -part four

John and I were hungry and went looking for wherever they sold food. A woman (or I should say girl as she was probably only three or four years older than myself, but at my age that was a big difference) with long blond hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt set us in the right direction. "It's right up that hill," she pointed, "but watch out for the mud." She smiled, and waved to us goodbye as we left.

We headed up the hill, and then coming to a clearing we found out what the girl had meant by the mud. It was a good thing we had boots on for the mud seemed a foot deep, and the smell of wet soil was rich in the air. It was probably more like 6 inches, but it was deep enough to where as I walked my boots went down past the ankles, and it would have sucked them right off had I not gripped them tightly by scrunching my feet up. John was having the same trouble.

"Are you having trouble with this mud?" he asked. "This is some deep shit."

"It sure is some deep shit," I agreed.

"Hey, this deep shit is some deep shit." John said and he and I started laughing. I think it was the first lighthearted moment we had had since we had left the bus the day before.

We finally made it through the sea of mud and came upon a large array of concession stands. They were rather makeshift and stood under large tents. The area there was muddy, too, but not as bad.

John and I took our place in a line at a concession stand that was selling hamburgers and Cokes among other things. I could smell the burgers frying. A scruffy looking guy in front of us who had seen his share of the mud--he had his shirt off and it looked as if he had wiped his muddy hands on his chest--looked back to us. "Do you have tickets?" he asked.

"Tickets?" John asked.

"Yeah, you have to buy tickets." He showed us his. They looked like the type of tickets one would get at a carnival or an amusement park.

John looked at me, and I just shrugged my shoulders. "Where do you get them?" John asked the guy.

He stuck out his arm and pointed, and there was a little ticket stand that was basically just a table or two under a tall tent. John and I walked over and stood in the line for tickets. After about 10 minutes we made it up to the ticket seller. "How much do you think I should get?" John asked me.

"I don't know. Ask the guy"

John asked the guy, "How much do I need for a hamburger and a Coke?"

"That'd be around three bucks."

"Three bucks," John exclaimed. He echoed my sentiments exactly.

"Do you want the tickets or not?" the guy asked.

John looked exasperated. "Yeah, give me three dollars worth," he told the guy. John got his tickets, and I was up next.

I got a five dollar bill out of my wallet. "Five dollars worth." I was going to need extra tickets later on anyway, so I figured I might as well get them now. The guy gave me my tickets, and I moved out of the way of the line. I examined the little coupons, and each one had printed on it Food for Love in big letters and 25¢ in small.

John and I both got a hamburger and a Coke, and neither one of us thought much of the hamburgers, but the Cokes were good. Considering we hadn't had anything to drink since sometime the day before, just about anything short of piss would've tasted good.

Suddenly the shriek of a microphone in feedback shattered the relative silence up to that point. Then it was the sound of sound checks. "Check one, check one, check one..." Then, "Check two, check two, check two..."
"I guess they're getting ready to start," I said. "What do you want to do?" I asked John.

"I guess find a place to watch the music," he said, "but first I gotta take a piss."

"Me too, but first let's check our sleeping bags." I wiped my lips with my hand and wiped my hand on my jeans.

"They’re not going to be dry, yet," John said. "Let's just find a place to take a leak."

"Okay," I said.

It took us a few minutes to find our way out of the jumble of concession stands, and once we did, we were at a different place than where we had come in. There was a line of trees maybe 75 yards off in the distance across a field of grass, and John and I headed for that. We relieved ourselves, and then we got our directions straight, which wasn't hard as the echo of voices over microphones was coming from one general direction.

It wasn't long before we came upon the ledge of a great hill that sloped down in a wide arc and seems to serve as a great amphitheater. On the hill was a great mass of people that defied description. John was right. One had to spread one's arms wide to describe that crowd. The fellow on the microphone the night before had said, "We're a million strong," and now it was beginning to sink in.

I looked at my watch and though it was only a little after ten, it was warming up quite a bit. The sun was out strong, and I could feel it on my face.

We found a path along the edge of the big hill, and we made our way down towards the stage. About two thirds of the way down, we started looking for a place to sit down. After a couple of minutes of searching, the girl's voice called out to us. "You can sit down here for a while if you like." A guy and a girl were sitting on a blanket, and she made a motion with her arm for us to come over, and that we did.

"Thanks," John said, as he sat down on the edge of the blanket.

"Yes, thanks." I sat down next to John. We had to sit crosslegged for lack of room.

"Where're you two from?" the girl asked. She had accent I couldn't place.
John turned around to look at her, and I turned around, too. I wanted to get a better look at her. "Washington," John said.

"The state?" she asked. She was pretty with shoulder length brown hair. She had on a thin cotton top and a pair of cutoffs, and it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples poked out, and it was hard for me not to stare. I shifted my focus to the guy. He had black curly hair and a thick mustache. He had his shirt and shoes off and wore only a pair of slacks.

"Washington, DC," John said to the girl. He didn't seem shy at all with the girl, but I sure as hell was. "How about you? Where are you from?" John asked her.

"Pittsburgh," she said. "Pennsylvania," she added after a moment. She smiled at John, and he smiled back. The black haired guy didn't seem to be paying any attention.

Just then, a voice came on the microphone from the stage, and John and I turned around.

"How are all you doing out there?" the guy on the mike yelled at the crowd. There was a huge roar from the crowd. "How did you like to show last night?" There was another big roar from the crowd. "The great Ravi Shankar..." the announcer began to say, but a joint being handed to me interrupted my attention. I took a hit and passed it back. "...Played through the rain..." the announcer continued.

Someone came out and passed the stage announcer a note. "I have an announcement here. Helen Savich, please call your father at the Motel Glory in WoodRidge" He looked at another note. "A lot of people have been having bad trips on brown acid. Do not take any brown acid. I repeat. We have reports of a lot of people having bad trips on brown acid. Do not take any brown acid."

The joint came back around, and I took another hit. The first hit was starting to kick in, and I was beginning feel a bit mellow. I turned around and handed the joint to the girl. As she was taking a hit I checked out her body real quickly and then looked up to her eyes. She caught my glance, but she just grinned. I turned back around embarrassed, and began to look at the stage again and tried to listen to the announcer, but all I could do was close my eyes and imagine the girl as she might have looked naked. It was good pot.