On the Road to Woodstock -part six

By the time we got there and started listening, Santana was doing some song I'd never heard. But then they did a really long version of Soul Sacrifice, which was really great. They ended with another song I had never heard, but Carlos Santana played the guitar so well that I really liked it. Then, after only four songs that lasted about a half-hour, they stopped playing, and the stage crew started taking down their equipment.

"That was kind of short," John said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "They were really good, though."

"Yeah, they were pretty good." John didn't seem too share my enthusiasm.

The announcer came back on. "Marilyn Cohen, wherever your are Marilyn, Greg wants you to meet him at the information booth. He wants to marry you." There was a bit of a cheer from the crowd, and then the announcer stretched out his arm and pointed with his index finger. "There goes Marilyn," he yelled. He went on with a few other announcements, and then he said that Mountain with Leslie West would be playing next.

"Wow, Leslie West, cool, huh?" I said.

"Yeah," he said rather lackadaisically.

"Remember when you and Chris took me to see him?" John and Chris and I had gone to see him at Georgetown University with some other people the year before, and I had been impressed with Leslie West's guitar playing. Chris was John's off and on girlfriend depending on his mood. Chris loved John, and he treated her like shit. That was one thing I couldn't understand about John. Chris was beautiful. She had long brown hair and beautiful green eyes. She had a great body, too. I had a crush on her.

"Oh yeah." He looked at me with a look of recognition on his face. "That was Leslie West?" he asked. "Wow, that was a great concert." John's interest seemed too have had perked up.

"Yeah, that was him. You don't remember?"

"No man, I was tripping my ass off." John's smiled. "I sure as hell was enjoying the concert, though." Then he shook his head back and forth. "Too bad about all that bad acid here. I'd sure like to drop some."

"Yeah, that would be cool." I thought about how much better the music would sound on acid.

"Yeah, that'd be all right."

"My first trip was the best.” I looked at John. "You remember? You turned me on up at the park."

"Yeah. It took you forever to get off, but then you were tripping like crazy."

"I sure was. We went to hear that band play at Calvary Methodist, and I just sat on the floor with my eyes closed. I remember seeing cartoons playing on the inside of my eyelids. That was so far out." I thought back on the experience, and how cool it had been. "You remember your first trip?" I asked John.

"Yeah, that was a while ago." He seemed to be in thought for a minute. "I was over at Brent's apartment in Mount Rainier. We were both tripping, and we both fucked this girl, and then after a while she said she was starting to get off." He stared off in the distance as if reminiscing. "Pretty wild," he said to himself. Then he looked over at me and nodded his head. "Yeah, I would have to say my first trip was the best."

John's sexual exploits never ceased to amaze me. He was always getting girls seemingly effortlessly. I think it was his nose. He had a really cool looking nose, and I think that was what made him seem attractive to girls. Plus, he just seemed to have a way with them. I was so shy around girls that even when they would come on to me that I was afraid to make the first move. I lost my first girlfriend that way. It was in eighth grade, and I couldn't get past making out when she had wanted more. She dumped me for ninth grader who had a reputation with the girls, and it had devastated me.

The announcer came back on. It was a different guy than usual. "People been sayin' some of the acid is poison. It is not poison. It's just bad acid... poorly manufactured. If you're having a bad trip, remember that its not poison, it's just a bad trip." He paused for a moment. "If you want to experiment, just take half a tab."

John looked at me and smiled. "And we were just talking about acid. Funny, huh?"

"Yeah," I said. Then the regular announcer came on.

"There are 45 doctors or more, I know of at least 45 that have donated their services for free. They're really into what's going on here." He paused for a minute then continued. "If you need medical attention go to the pink and white first aid tent to the left of the stage." I guess the trailer that I had thought was the first aid center wasn't the first aid center after all. That accounted for not very many people being around there.

Guys on the stage were setting up equipment, and it seemed like they were just about done. All day, helicopters had been coming in and out of the backstage area. The announcer had explained earlier, "There are cars blocking the road in, and it's the only way we can get the people in."

The band came out, and I recognized Leslie West by his big afro. It wasn't really an afro. It just looked like one. He was a fat white guy with really curly hair, and he'd let it grow out a really long. The announcer came on. "Please welcome Mountain."

The crowd broke out into a big applause, and they started playing. I looked at my watch, and it was about 3:30. They played for a long time, much longer than Santana. Leslie West put on a good show--I enjoyed it--but they weren't as good as Santana. It was almost 4:30 when they finished.

The stagehands broke down Mountain's equipment and started setting up for the next band.

Canned Heat played next, and they were very good. About 30 minutes into the show, they did Going up the Country, which was there big hit, and the crowd burst out into a big applause. They played two more songs, and then ended their set.

"You hungry? I'm hungry. Let's get something they eat,” John said and then stood up.

I stood up, too, and even though we'd had enough space to stretch our legs out where we had been sitting, it still felt good to stand up. I stretched my arms out and yawned, and after a moment John yawned, too. Then we headed up the hill towards the concession stands.