The Great Woodstock Story - Part 4

In this continuing series I detail my adventures at Woodstock ‘99.

Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 to catch up.

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The Air Force base on which the event was held was massive to say the least. It spanned something like 5 square miles. They maneuvered my mother’s Corolla through various rows of cars and I finally parked on some nondescript hill in the middle of a sea of nondescript cars.

I threw the car in park, my whole body energized. I had the window down and could hear radios around me pumping tunes, people sitting around tailgates with barbecues going. The smell of beer, beef and marijuana was in the air.

I checked my bag once more before beginning my trek toward the front gate. The blue duffel bag I carried was large and had in it towels, shirts, shorts, underwear and socks. The basics. My sleeping bag was wrapped around a pillow. I was ready to go.

The sun was still shining brightly as I made my way toward the entrance. I had brought some contraband with me, the aforementioned Mary Jane, and I was freaking out about it. I had stuffed it deep within my sleeping bag, convinced I would be all but strip searched on my way in. Which, of course, was highly foolish. You could’ve snuck an atomic bomb in the place. They did little but rip my ticket and say “Have fun.”

Along one side of the Air Force base, near the parking area, was a long paved stretch—this area held the pre-registered camping spots. I knew I didn’t belong there and I didn’t want to sleep on something that hard anyway. Three dirt trails stretched out ahead of me—one to the south which was bordered by the pre-registered campsites, one to the southwest and another to the west.

I began to try and find markers. I knew if I left my stuff somewhere I would have very little chance of actually finding it again.

There—on the lightposts that bordered the trails. There were colored ribbons wrapped around each one. I wasn’t sure if this was some sort of marking system devised just for Woodstock or remnants of wayfinder’s past, but nevertheless I saw a silver ribbon, then a red ribbon…and tried to follow the random pattern as I walked down the path.

Above the trees which covered all but the paved area I could see a large Indian statue. I figured I would stay near that marker so I could find it later. I made my way to a huge tree just south of the large Indian statue. I tucked my belongings near the base of the huge tree, changed my socks, gave another look around, tried my best to get my surroundings…then headed back toward the venue area.

A mile-long walk later, I’m standing in line waiting to get through the gates leading to the stage area. On Thursday night small and local bands got the West stage to rock out on. The rules of entry were: No sleeping gear, No food or drink of any kind on the lot (this was the beginning of the feeling that it was ‘Greedstock’, but I’ll get to this shortly).

The stages were seperated by a full mile (yes, really), in the east and west extremedies of the place. There was a large paved area between the stages which held shops, vendors, piercing and tattoo shops, amongst others. Along the South end between the stages was a huge hangar where the nightly raves would be held.

It was right around this time when I was wandering near the West stage that I saw my first naked girl with body paint over her gorgeous breasts. Then I saw another…and another!

What could I say, I was liking the place already.

On the stage was some sort of KISS-wannabe glam band. They didn’t excite me (or the crowd) very much and finally finished their set. The another band came on, one who blew me away with both songwriting and their performance. The band was Vertical Horizon, who went on to have the biggest year of their careers with the single “Everything You Want” and I was there just in time to say Yes, they were amazing and Yes, I knew they would be big stars before the rest of America. So there.

After watching from a few hundred yards away, I decided to get a closer look. Cut to me in the middle of it all, saving girls from getting crushed from the crowd and—well, I admit it—a few boob grabs which were not at all unwelcome and dare I say encouraged.

When the show ended I was literally drenched in sweat. I had never been in such a huge group jumping and screaming and having a great time. Now I was beat. Moreso, I was wet and cold and tired. I just wanted to sleep. But first…food.

The vendors were a little steep. And that, my friends, is the understatement of 1999. I bought a microwave pizza for $10. Yep, ten whole bucks, taken unapologetically and with a smile. I also had to walk about a quarter of a mile to find free water, because a 16oz bottle would be $4 I didn’t want to spend. After eating I remembered I had promised my mother to call her when I got to woodstock. Oops.

One 1:30AM phone call later and I realized as I spoke to her I had no earthly idea how I was going to find my stuff at the campground. The wet shirt clung all too well and caused shivers from the cool night breeze. This jarringly reminded me that I needed to find my stuff and find it fast. Panic was coming on, and I tried my best to stifle it. With a “Love-You-Bye-Mom,” I hauled ass back to the entrance. I began retracing my steps.

At night the colorful ribbons adorning the light posts that showed up so well during daylight turned silver and glossy in the orange halogen glow. I began to try and count how many I had passed, I began to look for the large tree I left my stuff under (they all looked large at that point) and I couldn’t find the large Indian statue.

After 30 minutes of searching, I once again began to panic. But this time it wasn’t subsiding.

What happens next? Do I find my stuff? And what about the folks from Chicago who backstab me in mere minutes? This and more…tomorrow.

Update: Read Part 5.

Does everyone have a different take?
Do you seem real but I seem fake?