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POWDER RIDGE DAY 1: part 2 THURSDAY, JULY 30 DRAFT copyright 2002-2006 Rockfest1970@msn.com Timelines are fuzzy but it must have been about 3:00 or 3:30 when we emptied our gear out the trunk. Since there were bound to be summer showers at least a few times in the next few days, we dug out the cover for Bill’s car and stretched it across the passenger compartment and snapped it down. Once we were done, all we had to do was hitch a ride and find those power lines that would get us around the roadblocks and take us right to Powder Ridge. Yes indeed. It was such a great feeling to have outsmarted the cops! This wasn’t going to be another disaster like the trip to Gonkers... a festival that had been canceled four days before and we didn't know. At least this time we knew where we were going! If, perchance, we did not find the power lines we planned... the back-up plans was to just get a ride as far as the roadblocks and find some way to sneak around them. Though we were under the assumption that police were arresting all festival-goes who even dared walk the streets of Middlefield, we were confident we’d find some continuous network of fields and woods to skulk though until we did find the power lines. After only a few minutes trying to hitch a ride near the town commons on RT-66 a ‘64 Rambler screeched to a stop. “Ya all headed to the festival?” A guy, about 20, asked with a ting of a Midwest accent. We all nodded enthusiastically . “Well common in. Ya I can get you to Powder Ridge” he said. “Yesterday I got past the roadblocks by mounting my bullhorn on the dash and telling them I was a town official. Snuck two guys in that time”. Sure enough, the guy had a bullhorn and a hand mic mounted on the dash. We glanced at each other in disbelief. What kind of twisted nut was this? Then it got worse. “Sure I can get ya past the roadblocks. All I have to do is tell the pigs that I live in town and never got my resident’s pass ‘cause I was out of town.” It sounded like bullshit... but what if?“ Sure I can get ya past the roadblocks. I found a way yesterday by cutting though this backyard. I hope I can find it again. We’ll drive right past them pigs. Ha!” In the meantime he stuck his bullhorn out the window and blasted the Iron Butterfly’s “In A Godadvida”, occasionally picking up his mic and calling the people on the street “hics”. Surely this loser was a pathetic as they came. He probably grew up to be a child molester. “Sure I can get ya past the roadblocks. All we have to do is steal a Resident’s pass from a parked car.” As he seemingly drove randomly about we did find one road that seemed to be unguarded. It was RT-157 that led to the center of Middletown. The coast seemed clear until we rounded a bend and found ourselves at what seemed to be the Statie’s emergency command center set up at the school. SHIT!!! Pig Central! And this asshole was taking us right into the belly of the beast!!! Though I was freaking out, I was in awe at the number of police and Staties and cruisers there. If an assault was to be launched against Powder Ridge it would be from here. We HAD to get out of there before anyone realized we were not residents and arrested us. To make it worse... with dope stuffed into our pack frames, we were not clean. The perv did a quick u-turn and a ¼ mile back on RT-157 were the power lines!! Ha!! We were in the clear. We had the guy drop us off and began our trudge up a steep, sumac-lined, dirt service road we knew.. or at least I knew, led to Powder Ridge. By the time we got to the top we were pouring sweat and dying of thirst. The combination of the heavy packs, the heat wave and the steep road got to us. Though we brought extra water in case of a siege, we’d already made a good dent in our reserves. It was not a good time to realize that the road did not continue beneath the power lines but went off to the left. The power lines themselves took right turn... beneath them a sea of corn. Shit. This was not the way the world was supposed to be. A slight sense of dread and panic fell over us. Poor Lee.... he’d linked up with two loons who couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag. “Good going Bob” sneered Bill. “We can’t follow the power lines and the road leads back to the cops.” I did some quick mental calculations. “Maybe not”. I said with deluded self-confidence. I drew a quick map in the dirt. In my version of the world, we were already in forbidden territory behind enemy lines. If the roadblock was here” I pointed “then this dirt road must go west and will get us behind the lines and lead us right to Powder Ridge... just not by the power lines!” Lee and Bill looked a bit skeptical but what else could we do? So we hiked the road... now parallel to RT-157. Woods to our left.... corn on our right. In the distance, a barking dog... no doubt barking at us. Shit! What if the mutt tipped off the cops? We were beginning to feel like the French Underground trying to evade the Gestapo. If they didn’t get us maybe some shotgun tottin’ farmer would. At the first sign of anyone we’d melt into the corn field. About a quarter mile later, we rounded a bend. Just a few hundred feet away were some large barns... and behind them, probably some farmer’s house. This was a good sign. It meant we must be close to the road behind the roadblock. But fearing we’d be busted at any time the last thing we needed was to be caught skulking though someone’s backyard. So we kept out of sight, hiking though a field to the north until we found another field to cut though to get to the road. There was a stone wall covered in thicket we’d have to climb over. But first, mercifully there was some shade. We pulled off our packs and plopped to the ground. Here we were.... wiped out after ½ mile hike. There was no better time to break for a space-age snack. Despite our enthusiasm about such hi-tech food, Lee gave the Space Food Sticks thumbs down. Once on the road we continued what turned out to be north... convinced we were already safely behind enemy lines but just totally lost. Any talent I had for spacial navigation that earned me the title of the Circus’s “map” was obvioulsy developed after the expedition to Powder Ridge. We soon decided that we really needed to get directions. But again we’d have to be careful who we asked. Who knew who would turn us in? We picked a house with a youngish man working in the backyard and even then it took us about 10 minutes of discussion to get the nerve to knock on the front door. To our pleasant surprise the young guy, Jim, was quite sympathetic to our plight. He even offered to give us a ride to Powder Ridge. But first Jim invited us in to have an early supper of steak sandwiches and cookies then let us fill up our canteens with cold water. When I explained to him our plan to follow the power lines he just laughed. “If you followed those power lines you wouldn’t have ended up at the ski area. You’d’ve been heading to Hartford.” I’m not sure the dope slap had been invented yet but I certainly deserved one. From him we also learned that the State Police had still not moved against the festival site. It must have been about 6:00 when we piled our gear into the guy’s car and headed out. Now that we were “legal” in a car with a resident’s pass... we could thumb our collective noses at the pigs manning the roadblock. Ha! Since Jim lived in town he knew all the shortcuts that might bypass congested roads. We were driven beneath RR overpasses and though miles of the Apple Baron’s orchards. Soon he took a right onto Powder Hill Road which was at the top of a ridge paralleling the mountain. Bill and I instantly recognized it from a few days before. The road was filled with Freaks. Hmmm... maybe it was OK to walk the streets of Middlefield. On the front lawns of some of the homes locals sat on lawn chairs gawking at the spectacle... and presumably watching out for their property. At the main gate to the ski area was a jack-booted Statie. When Jim dropped us off he poked his head into Jim’s window and checked us out. “Running a taxi service?” he asked? “Ya, I suppose I am.” replied Jim. “Only I’m not charging”. Surprisingly the Statie chuckled. “Heh! Well you take it easy now.” “Sure thing” replied Jim. After we profusely thanked him he drove off. We’d made it!!!
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