Woodstock Pilgrimage

On September 18, 2003 I set out from my home in northeastern Massachusetts headed southwest in the direction of Bethel, NY in Sullivan county. My destination: Woodstock. It's around 9:30 am.

With Michelle as my co-pilot, we hopped into a silver Mustang convertible rented for the trip and headed out. It was a beautiful fall morning, bright sunshine and warm -- but with just enough of a bite in the air to remind you that the north winds would not slumber much longer. It was one of those New England days that keeps you in this area of the country when February 12th comes around and your outside thermometer hasn't seen 30º in six weeks.

We hit the Berkshires by about 11:00 am and made the decision to go straight through to Bethel. Earlier there had been debate about stopping off in Stockbridge for a layover and continuing the trip the following day. But we were making good time and decided to push through.

We hit the NY/MA border right about noon time and continued on 90 until we hit 87 and then headed south. We rode 87 for a long time, enjoying the sun and scenery. The construction and traffic we hit crossing into NY became a distant memory as the miles continued to slip away. We finally hopped off 87 and onto 84 and rode that for a short time until we reached 17. The final leg of the journey was about to begin.

We continued on 17 west and the sky began darkening. The sunshine retired further and further into the clouds the closer we pushed towards Bethel. Changes in the landscape started to reflect changes in the weather. The tidy homes and orderly flower gardens of hamlets we passed through further east began to give way to dusty roadside truck stops and dimly lit gas stations.

I admit to starting to feel a little bit of despair. Had I traveled all day only to experience a big rainout? "Well," I thought, "if the skys do open up and it starts to downpour, I guess that it will be fitting of a genuine Woodstock experience."

We rode 17 for longer that I had thought looking at the map. I kept flipping back to page 67 of my dog-eared 1990 Rand McNally Road Atlas, hoping that I hadn't missed an important turn or that something hadn't drastically changed in the intervening 13 years. To make things a little more confusing, there was something like 13 "route 17s" to contend with, with a 17A, 17B, etc. etc. (I guess they ran out of numbers naming the roads) and we had been aiming for 17B and seemed like that is what we were on, but didn't really have much to go by in the way of confirmation.

Anyway, we were in fact on 17B and headed in the right direction. As soon as we hit the Monticello Raceway I knew we were getting close. The sky continued to threaten, and I hoped to myself that the rain would hold off just a little while longer.

Finally we reached the town of Bethel. As we crossed over the townline there was a sign signifying the town as the site of the original Woodstock Music Festival, August 1969. We were almost there (or so I thought).

I envisioned big neon-signs ("Woodstock This Way!") and schlocky roadside setups illuminating the path to the Mecca of hippiedom.

Nope. Nothing. No signs. No illumination. No mention. Once we passed the original townline pronouncement, there was seemingly no mention whatsoever of said event ever occuring.

"Hey, grab that map we got from the Sullivan County Tourist Bureau," I said to Michelle. "That must have more detail on it." Michelle being the conscientious traveler that she is, had sent for a Catskills brochure before we left for the trip. I didn't really look at it much more than flipping though it briefly when it came, but I remembered there was a map. Michelle unfolded the map and searched about. "OK, right here," she said, using here finger to keep her place on the map as we bumped along down 17B. "It's points of interest #4 'original woodstock site' in E4." OK, E4, yup got it. OK, point #4, yup I see the little red dot. There's 17B, ok, we're on it. Where's the freakin' access road? My little red dot is floating all by itself in the middle of cell E4 on my Sullivan County gridded map. Shouldn't there be a little black line with a name attaching my little red destination dot to 17B? Well, I still think there should be, but there wasn't. The skies continued to dim.

I started to get a little bit of a sinking feeling again. I mean, wasn't this event the biggest thing that ever happened in this area? The "event that named a generation" and all that good marketing stuff. I mean this was big enough that Charles M. Schultz created a new freakin' Peanuts character in homage to it, but nobody saw fit to provide any directions beyond a red dot in the middle of a white square?

Then up ahead, I see a fairly large white sign on the side of the road. Bethel Woods Center for the Arts. Well, it doesn't mention Woodstock at all, but that must be it. The street sign says "HURD RD." Yes, that's it, Hurd road. We blow right past it in our excitement and need to bang a U-turn and double back.

It's starting to spit rain now, but it's ok because we're here. We made it. We cruise down Hurd and again wind up blowing past the actual site again. To make an already long enough story shorter, there are still no visible markers from the road to say "you are here". The memorial has a very low profile and we passed right by it without knowing. We eventually doubled back and stopped the car at the intersection of Hurd and West Shore Rd. We had arrived. It was around 3:00 pm.

We jumped out of the car and took a look around. It was still very cloudy and a bit chilly, but the rain, for the most part, was holding off. Now out of the car I could see the "bowl", the "natural amphitheatre" that cupped the original stage location. From my viewpoint now, it is clear as day this must've been the site and I silently scold myself for missing the obvious my first pass through. Michelle and I are the only people in site. I can hear a large mower/tractor off a ways, maybe just above the rise in the field but it is not visible.

I just walk around a little bit and sort of just let the whole atmosphere sink in. My friend Scott asked me what it was like in an email just after I got back. Here's what I had to say while it was fresh in my mind:

I thought the field was pretty fucking cool. It looks pretty innocent now but I *know*. It had a definite vibe to it (I thought anyway). Yea, a definite aura or vibe. I was there and Michelle was there and that was it. But for me, it definitely did not seem like I was standing there looking at any old field. I thought it was pretty spiritual and I felt kinda humbled to be there weirdly enough. It was Sept. 18, the Hendrix death anniversary and I was playing Voodoo Chile (Slight Return) off the Live at Woodstock CD (segueing right into the Star Spangled Banner) and I was there at the field....I guess I made it to Woodstock, it was just 34 years too late. I'm glad I saw it before they pave it and put up a parking lot.

I guess that pretty much sums it up. Some people asked me why I drove 6 hours to see a field. Some people just said "wow, that's cool that you did that." I guess I could try to explain it to the first group, but probably couldn't do a very good job of it. I know I don't need to explain it to the second group.

The only thing I would like to say about it is this. I know that there is a lot of myth, romance, and legend that surrounds Woodstock. I know that detractors have valid points about the inadequacies in food, traffic management, sanitation systems, "hippie capitalism", etc. I know that the picture is not as perfect as some idealists would paint it now, some 30+ years after the event. Honestly, I do believe in "three sides to every story". But in Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell writes:

Myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human manifestation...

So, for me, I look at Woodstock not only as a true and real historic event, but also at it through the lense of myth, and what it can mean personally and culturally when viewed in that aspect.

We left after a short time. Maybe a little less than an hour or so. We drove around the area a bit more, down West Shore Road a ways just to take more scenery in before turning back out to Hurd Rd. and then onto 17B back the way we came. We made a small detour on the way home stopping off at The Bethel Woodstock Museum. This is actually a portion of Vassmer's General Store dedicated to the memory of the 1969 event. You would probably drive right past it and miss it if you weren't looking for it. The area seems very rundown and depressed unfortunately. I saw some station wagons parked in driveways that very well may have been present for the original festival. One funny thing I remember about the store itself (not the museum section) was a huge blue sign that hung above the merchandise shelves on the far wall. It looked something like

I hope that's right. It's from memory, I should've taken a picture of it. To change things up a bit, we skipped 87 going back and instead stayed on 84 until we reached the Taconic State Parkway and then headed north from there, taking the parkway to 90 just outside the MA border. We crashed in Stockbridge for the night, and the next day I partook in another little bit of 60's myth and legend, my attempted re-enactment of Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement