The Great Woodstock Story - Part 5

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

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4 to catch up.

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Somewhere around the 45 minute mark of fruitless searching I began wandering through the area I had left my stuff.

I looked around at the trees, the hills, the surroundings…but everything had changed. While I was gone to the concert the rest of the 100,000 people had shown up. Tents had exploded in number in all directions. There were group tents, personal tents, flimsy tents and broken down tents whose owners stood around trying to fix them.

At one point I looked up and there was the Indian statue. At just the right angle. I looked to my right and there was the big tree. I began scouting the ground which was covered in darkness—partly from the night sky and partly from the trees and huge tents everywhere.

I know it’s around here somewhere…

I saw someone peeking out of their tent window.

“Hey, did you see a big blue duffel bag around here? A sleeping bag next to it?”

“Uh…I think there was one around here…somebody moved it, though.”

Ah, hell. They could’ve moved it anywhere, of course, which made me twice as panicked. I began walking and ducking and looking, now officially desperate. I had no change of clothes without that bag. I had no tooth brush, I had no way of sleeping on anything but dirt and grass…

Thud. I tripped over something and fell.

Oh great, the last thing I friggin need…

And that’s when I realized I had just fallen over my own bag.

I was, as the say, “beyond happy.” I may have danced a jig or even sung a song. But I know the first thing I did after all that stress was fire one up, sit back, relax…

“Hey man, can I have some of that?” It came from a tent window nearby.

“Oh, sure dude,” I said, moving in the direction of the tent. I went inside. There were four guys there, all in their late teens/early twenties and all, I found out, from Chicago. This is nothing against the town itself, its just the only information other than names that I got out of them and all that I remember.

After smoking, I said my goodbyes and went back outside to get some sleep. I was exhausted and even excited to open my newly-found sleeping bag.

This is gonna feel sooo good…I thought to myself as I jumped in, grabbed my pillow, hugged my duffel bag for protection and dozed off.

I woke with a start. Something cold had hit me in the nose—a raindrop. I heard another. Then another. The pitter-patter of the rain began on the tents around me. I looked forlornly at the huge tree nearby…then thought better of it. Apparently since the port-o-potties were a quarter mile away everyone had taken to pissing on the trees. Even the females. Sleeping on what may be urine-soaked earth was not a comforting thought.

This was when I went over the tent housing the Chicago boys. Surely they wouldn’t mind me crashing in their tent until the rain subsided.

“Hey,” I said, knocking on the tent (which was more like shaking the tent). I shook again. It began raining harder. “Dude?” I said, having completely forgotten his name.

“Uh, what?” The guy said.

“Hey, um, it’s raining out here and I don’t have a tent. Would you mind if I crashed in there until morning?”

“Uh…no problem man, that’s cool,” he said.

“Oh, thanks a bunch man,” I said, putting my duffel bag inside the door. “I’ll be right back.” I went to go grab the sleeping bag and pillow.

When I came back my duffel bag was sitting on the ground outside the tent. What the hell? I shook the tent again and the guy stuck his head out.

“Hey dude,” he said. “Uh…my friends aren’t really cool with you staying here.”

I rolled my eyes in disbelief. What the hell? Weren’t these the same guys who were hanging out and joking while partaking in my stash?

“Uh, why?” I said. “I’m just trying to get out of the rain.”

“I don’t know man, but I gotta say no.” He gave me a final look and went inside, zipping up the door behind him.

Again, betrayed. Again, alone. And getting rained on. I looked above me at the rain. It fell on my face faster and faster, plop plop plop.

I sat down cursing and began to roll up my sleeping bag. I would have to start walking around until I found a tent with an overhang and then beg them to—

“Hey,” a male voice said nearby. I turned.

In a maroon tent about ten feet away was another face looking at me. He had a goatee, glasses, and red hair.

“Yeah?” I said, now officially getting soaked and more depressed by the second.

“You want to come inside? Me and Angela have some space in the front here.” He gestured to the front of his large tent. I smiled.

This is how I met Harold and Angela.

Who were these people, and what happens next? Find out Thursday! (Tomorrow is the Family Update)

Update: Read Part 6.

Still to come, the sound of tires is the sound of God
The electric version