On the Road to Woodstock Almost to Bethel
On the Road to Woodstock
Almost to Bethel
You’d think we’d have been tired after all the driving. Nothing could have been further from the truth. We were energized.
As we closed in on Bethel, Livy and I grooved to the music, crooning along with Jim Morrison to “Light My Fire.” I tapped out the beat on the dashboard.
She used her steering wheel as a conga drum, her cigarette pinched between two fingers.
After listening to the Doors’ self-titled album all the way through, we both agreed Jim Morrison had the sexiest voice on earth.
“He’s the most gorgeous hunk I’ve ever seen,” Livy said. “It’s a crying shame he won’t be at the festival.”
“Wonder why?”
“Probably booked elsewhere. What other reason would they have for not playing?”
The closer we got, the more traffic slowed.
We crept along for several miles, at no more than fifteen miles an hour.
Once we were on the other side of Eldred, New York, past a cemetery, all movement stopped.
Our road, a lazy two-lane stretch with a hill in the distance, kept us from seeing all that far, but what we could see was a long line of cars stuck together like a freight train.
“Crap. There’s a wreck,” Livy said, gripping the sides of her head. She glanced at me with a clenched jaw. “Look and see how far away we are. We can’t miss Nick, SuSu. We can’t.”
I had my doubts. We were supposed to meet him in two hours. Good thing we hadn’t stopped at the chocolate factory.
After another map check, I learned Bethel was still eleven miles away. Not wanting to alarm Livy, all I said was, “Even if we’re a little late, you’ll find him. You’re the most persistent person I know.”
An hour later we had not budged an inch.
Pretty soon people grew impatient. Cars passed us on both sides of the road with folks standing in the back seats of convertibles, others riding on the tops of hoods and trunks, all holding on somehow. Kids waved and flashed peace signs as they passed.
Like an ambulance driver in a mad rush, Livy whipped Pally over to the right shoulder to tail behind a ’67 GTO convertible with a Pennsylvania license plate overflowing with hippies.
Only that didn’t get us very far. Once we crested the hill, all traffic stopped again.
Hundreds more had had the same idea. Clearly, a wreck had not caused the colossal traffic jam. It was the festival. Had to be.
Highway 55 was no longer two lanes; it was four.
All headed in the same direction, to the same place.
Woodstock. As far as the eye could see, it was one gargantuan parking lot.
The only vehicles moving forward were motorcycles, weaving in and out of the lanes and shoulders.
The car next to us had steam pouring out of the hood.
Livy drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she murmured through gritted teeth.
“Try to calm down,” I told her. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“How am I supposed to calm down?” She looked at her watch. “My boyfriend will be frantic if we aren’t there.”
Before long people gave up. They turned off their engines and spilled out of their vehicles.
Some propped up on trunks, others sat down on the road, and more settled in the fields.
A few yards in front of us, we spied a dude playing his guitar on the roof of a VW bus.
Despite the gridlock, no one seemed upset.
No one except Livy.
It was one giant street party, and I, for one, ached to be a part of it. “Look behind you,” I said, turning around in my seat. Hundreds of people laden with suitcases, tents, coolers, and sleeping bags were headed our way.
Livy stuck her head out the window, then waved down a boy as he passed. “Excuse me! Where did you park?”
He stopped, then squatted so his head was level with hers. Laughter filled his voice. “On the road.”
“You left your car in the middle of the road?” she asked, wide eyed.
Another chuckle, then a silly face. “Yeah, man. I figure no one’s going anywhere around here till Sunday.” He handed Livy a wildflower. “For you, Sunshine.”
“Aw. Thanks, man!” She tucked it behind her ear, shooting him one of her flirty smiles.
After a lustful grin of his own, he flashed us the peace sign and continued on his journey.
She turned off the engine, snatched the keys from the ignition. “Get your stuff, SuSu. Hurry.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” Cranking up her window at rocket speed, Livy motioned for me to do the same.
“There’s no telling how much longer we’ll be stuck here.
” She adjusted the rearview mirror, glanced at her flawless face, and then slipped her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Dear God, I hope we don’t have to walk far. ”
I kept my mouth shut. According to the map, we still had ten miles to go.
Livy was out of the car by the time I’d stuffed the last of our snacks inside my purse. I shoved the passenger door open with my foot, as wide as it would go.
“Ow!” a male voice bellowed out of nowhere, followed by a long moan.
What the heck? With a glance outside, I noticed there was a boy right next to my door, stooped over, rubbing his knee. I stumbled out, gripping the sides of my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“It’s okay. I have another knee.” When he straightened up and smiled, I did an unexpected double take.
“Two knees are . . . much better than one,” I managed to say, surprised I could even speak. I was so taken with his beauty. Without thinking, I reached out my hand to caress his kneecap but drew it back in a hurry, embarrassed.
His second smile let me know he didn’t mind. “You guys headed to the festival?”
Duh. Where else would we be headed? A funny look was all I could muster.
“Hey, maybe you dig traffic jams. I don’t know.
” When he cracked up at himself, I was equally taken with the sound of his laughter, a playful yet manly giggle.
Like so many of the boys walking past, he was shirtless, so I zeroed in on his chest, sculpted to perfection.
Strands of dark-blond hair poked through like the sprouts of an early garden.
A beefy silver-and-turquoise cross hung smack-dab between his nipples.
Other than Paul McCartney, he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen.
His dishwater-blond hair was parted in the middle.
It hung to the middle of his neck, but he kept it tucked behind his ears.
He had muttonchop sideburns, and a cute dimple indented his chin.
He wore cutoffs and high-top white Converse tennis shoes.
There was a large pack on his back, a cigarette between his fingers, and another cute boy next to him.
By this time Livy had opened the trunk to retrieve our canvas overnight bag.
We heard her slam it shut before walking up to join us.
A suede floppy hat dipped over one eye, but you could still see her gorgeous face, freckled and tanned.
There was a fresh coat of Pink a Pale on her lips. Even I found her irresistible.
She sidled up next to me and peered at the two boys. “Hey. I’m Livy,” she said in her trademark raspy voice.
“Leon,” Boy Beautiful said, then pointed a thumb toward the other. “My cousin, Handsome Johnny.”
They both smiled, then shifted their gazes to me.
“Oh, hi! I’m Suzannah,” I said with a nervous giggle, still flustered at what I’d done and to whom I’d done it.
“Where are y’all from?” Livy asked, confident and unflustered as usual.
Leon answered for both of them. “Tar City, Pennsylvania.”
“Hm. Never heard of it,” she said, looking at her watch—not them.
“Is there a lot of tar there?” I asked, desperate to add something, anything, to the conversation.
After glancing at each other, the boys busted a gut. Both roared with laughter.
I felt heat burning my cheeks. “What’s so funny? That was a fair question.”
“It’s actually Tower City. We pronounce it weird. It’s a PA thing,” said Handsome Johnny. That may have been his name—and he was indeed handsome—but he didn’t hold a candle to Leon. In my opinion, anyway.
“Y’all aren’t from around here.” Leon took a giant step backward to glance at Pally’s license plate. “Where do you guys live in Tennessee?”
Both Livy and I answered at the same time. “Memphis.”
“Helluva drive,” said Handsome Johnny.
Livy put her free hand on her hip. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Propping an elbow on his cousin’s shoulder, Leon winked. An emerald sparkle glistened in his eye. “How’s Elvis?”
“I wouldn’t know,” answered Livy. “Not a fan.” After another check of her watch, she took two steps forward, then turned back around. “Wanna walk with us? I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend at one.”
Leon flashed her a beaming smile. “Did you bring your helicopter?”
Snapping her fingers, she smiled back. “Darn. Left it at home.”
“Then we better get a move on. We’ve got a long walk ahead.”
Livy never asked How long? And she no longer appeared frantic. The cute boys must have calmed her nerves.
Leon stretched out a hand to guide our path. “After you, ladies.”
Wonder if he’s disappointed Livy has a boyfriend?
As the four of us began our trek toward Bethel, with what had to have been five thousand other young people, maneuvering in and out of erroneously parked cars, I couldn’t get over the New York August temperature.
It wasn’t all that hot. On the contrary, it was delightful.
Good thing because the road was not exactly flat.
We were in the Catskills, after all. With the scent of pine in the air, it reminded me of my days at Young Life camp in North Carolina.
Darling little barns dotted the landscape—one with a weather vane. Dense evergreens filled in the sides of the road. Every now and then, at a clearing, we could see lush green fields spotted with black-and-white dairy cows. Handsome Johnny wanted to stop and milk one, but Livy wouldn’t let him.