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ONE CAN NOT LIVE ON PEANUT BUTTER AND WINE ALONE: ADVENTURES AT A CANCELED ROCK FESTIVAL copyright 1996-2006 Robb Strycharz part 24 SUNDAY, JULY 12, 1970 continued
Nelson and Tom walked down to the Bus with us. They had nothing left in the Bus, at least we all hoped not. They just felt that their chances of catching a ride west were better down on the main highway than up at the Hotel grounds. As we were saying goodbye again I took out my Kodak Instamatic. I was certain this would probably be the last ever picture taken of Nelson and Tom. When the bad news came in from Ohio or elsewhere, that they had been murdered, Nelson's parents would be forever grateful I had. I’m not sure what they’re gesturing….
We again went though our final farewells, hugs and handshakes. I again left with that hollow feeling that I might never see him again. As for Nelson and Tom, they knew where they hoped to go but they couldn't be that fussy how they got there. They would have to make up their route as they went along. As for us, all the driving was now up to Greg and Billy. I took the navigator's seat up front. In doing so I became responsible for the dope. I placed what loose dope and joints we had plus the bag of the homegrown Gonkers stuff on the Bus's shelf beneath the dash that served as the glove compartment. There it was in easy reach should we be stopped. I also took responsibility for helping Greg stay awake during the drive. OK, I might have succeeded at keeping awake, but that's where my influence ended. I could not affect what was going on in the back of the Bus. It was a more accurate indicator of our collective state. Needless to say, there'd be no dope smoking on trip back. As for our route, it'd be mostly the same way we'd taken to get to Gonkers. I made but one change. Since we had no need to go back to Mountaindale I had Greg take RT-52 from Podink to Woodbridge, then to US-44. One thing that did stand out in Woodbridge was the large state prison on the side of the highway. I had never seen a real prison before. It was scary as all Hell. People were in there for having done God knows what. Maybe some were harmless political prisoners or dope smokers, but, she-it, why go though all the trouble unless some were actually dangerous! Maybe Greg's and my old idea of busting convicts out of prison to form a band of merry mercenaries was a tad nutty after all. Just outside of town we picked up three hitch hikers heading east. They were on their way back to Boston. They had originally arrived in a rent-a-van but they said it had been stolen. Knowing some of the Freaks that went to Gonkers it just as easy to believe the van had been misplaced. The three new passengers melted in perfectly with those already aboard. I would look back and see not five of America's vibrant youth but instead a nodded-out assemblage... wasted, and charred to the core... their heads hanging and bobbing about in Happy Oblivion. It reminded me of photos I'd seen of Chinese opium dens of the late 1800's. On that ride home Devil Bus was doubly nicknamed the Traveling Opium Den. I've a few faint memories of that drive back... the first is that Billy may have done some of the driving... maybe not. The second is that we did drive through Poughkeepsie. The third is a stop at a roadside rest area on the Taconic Parkway. This one too, had a view. The only real memory I have is on RT-23 in Blandford. We stopped to stretch out by a row of pines. Nearby was a crop of day lilies. Still enthused about a world of Free Food for the finding, I went out to munch on a few... bringing back a few for our passengers. Well, I still thought they tasted good. It must have been between 3 and 4:00 pm when we pulled back into town. Our first stop was, of course, Burger Chef. In doing so we killed two birds with one stone. We could get the 59-cent Super Chefs we craved and our passengers could easily walk the quarter mile to Exit 6 on the Mass Pike. They still had 90 miles left to go. We resisted the temptation to say that if they lived in Chicopee, they'd be home by now. At least they'd caught up on their sleep. As they walked away Davey noticed they'd left behind a bag of cookies. He shouted to them but they just waved him off. They didn't care. No one was caring much about anything about now. On the way to drop us off, Greg made a quick visit to Szot Park to see if anyone was there. One of the Freaks there approached and asked "So, were you just at Mountaindale?" Why, did we look it? Some days later, Davey improved a quick commemorative song. Seems all too many of our songs went to the tune of an old bluegrass song “Cindy, Cindy”. We never seemed to develop any lyrics for the refrain. The first verse went: "Goin' down to Gonkers, gonna get me a bottle of wine Goin' down to Gonkers, gonna have me a real fine time." It may have summed up the trip, but Rogers and Hammerstien we weren't. As for the mystery how the Bus could've returned 10,000 miles younger than when it left... such questions are for those with bigger brains than our own. The trip had the opposite effect on us. It had aged us a year or two. Maybe there is a direct connection. We may have had no TV to turn off, no vertical or volume to adjust, no way to sharpen the focus from a fuzzy blur. But, none the less we'd returned from a very real Twilight Zone. We'd returned from the Catskills. Should I have ever doubted the event actually took place, I came home to find the Sunday papers: Rock Bands Barred, So the Kids Create Their Own Weed Section By JOSEPH MODZELEWSKI Staff Correspondent of THE NEWS South Fallsburg, N.Y., July 11 - Bands of Hip mountaineers roamed the Catskills today in a nomadic search for a rock festival that was canceled at the llth hour by a politician on the other side of the generation gap. About 15,000 youths continued to pour into the remote hamlet of Mountaindale early this morning: despite pleas from the venture's promoters to keep away from the embattled festival site. Heavy rains earlier this week brought the mud, the kids brought the pot, but the one basic ingredient of Woodstock, music, was missing from the scene. The outlandishly dressed youngsters began an exodus from Mountaindale later in the morning when word spread that a free rock show would be staged on a mountain top near the stately but faded Summit Hotel. Take Up 3G Collection A caravan of thousands atop rented panel trucks, crammed into battered cars and on motorcycles made the 10-mile trip along winding mountain roads to this little community which was caught by surprise by the youth invasion. "We're going to liberate this town," grinned one blonde youth who hitchhiked here. The crowd lolled on the grass and took up a $3,000 collection to pay for helicopters that were to fly pop stars Richie Havens and the Grateful Dead to the pot picnic. An elaborate sound system was quickly set up and one youth took the microphone to auction off a plastic bag of marijuana. The bag, about the size of a soccer ball, went for $105. The bidding was heated even though most of the kids had brought their own generous supplies of pot and hash. Earlier, Dr. William Abruzzi, the resident physician at the Woodstock Festival, reported that he had "brought down" more than a 100 youths who had suffered bad acid trips while at Mountaindale. "I Can't Ignore These Kids" "Legally," the doctor commented, "the court injunction states that no activities, not even a medical tent, are supposed to take place here. But I just can't ignore these kids when things get heavy." By late afternoon American flag vendors at the Summit Hotel were doing a brisk business, with many of the kids buying them as a patriotic put-on. Some spread them out on the grass, using them to catch excess pot as they rolled their joints. As at Woodstock, this smaller crowd was peaceful and polite, obeying local and state cops and avoiding any confrontations.
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