Far out in the back of the crowd on the overhead speakers the first day, I could hear Jimi Hendrix playing “The Star Spangled Banner” on his guitar. I inched my way forward. Only a few months ago I was killing gooks in Vietnam. It was great to still be alive.

          I’d been trained for this type of thing. I had brought enough rations to last over three days: jerky, fruit, peanut butter and a spoon, RTE tins.

          I was always crawling forward, just like I did in the jungle. Left behind fingers and ears. Fighting my way to the stage while Canned Heat took over. I slept during the day and during what felt like night.

          Naked women woke me up and walked through the crowd. People were doing it in the ravines off to the side in partial cover. Children wondered what they were doing there.

          The time came for the portable toilets. One had to stand on the seats to go. Most people went in the ravines. Shit was everywhere.

          On the second morning a small box of cereal and a carton of milk made it to me. Since some people were leaving, I was able to inch closer to the stage. A man near me was fixing a pipe so he could blow out his brains. Tie-dyed shirts, nakedness, and drugs were everywhere.

          Someone announced that the freeway into the area had been closed. “Far out,” “cool,” “groovy.” Janis Joplin belted out her songs holding a fifth of something. Helicopters circled the place like I was still in Nam, man. I threw up the cereal.

I edged closer. Then it began to rain. Music kept coming. I pulled up my poncho. The rain was actually relief as it scattered the crowd to what trees were in the area. A rain soaked Joan Baez sang “God Bless America.”

          I ate jerky and fruit. I took a drag on a man’s pipe and I was back in Nam, fighting my way to home base as fireworks went off over my head.

          The rain kept coming and lightening struck. Firing at me those Vietnamese. People began acting like children, sliding in the mud the storm had left us.

          I had made it to the front. A woman nursed her child. Then I was only a few feet from the stage. Bob Dylan was about to begin. The crowd roared to hear Dylan. He fixed his brace for his harmonica and began strumming on his guitar and sang “Hey Lady Lay.”

          On the final day The Who played, and Pete Townsend tore up his guitar and threw it to the crowd. Acts continued all day. Finally the time had come to find my motorcycle.