From the author:

1. I consider it necessary to warn all future readers of this story about two things. First: porn is not here. Second: this story is not really about love. He himself is a declaration of love - by that time, to those people, to that music and culture, to those ideas. Therefore, if you do not like him, I ask you to treat him at least with respect - as if you reacted to the declaration of love from the person to whom you are indifferent.

2. I started writing a story in collaboration with a wonderful, very talented girl, whose opinion and work I deeply respect and appreciate - a girl writing under the nickname Non-Commentator. Unfortunately, our co-authorship did not go beyond the mutual discussion of the plot and several brilliant ideas from her side. But in gratitude for it and with gratitude for everything, I dedicate this story to her.

And when we came to Woodstock, there were half a million of us.

And everywhere there were songs, everywhere - a holiday.

And I even thought that the bombers in the sky

Became butterflies over the dirty country ...

Johnny mitchell. Woodstock. 1969

I believed that the whole world would look like this in sixteen years - different skin colors are woven into a single “race of the world” pattern, everyone speaks the same language, there is no hostility between people, and there is a single power over it all: rock and roll. Afro - American, Indian, Scottish, Indian, Irish, Spanish, classical music, fused together and processed using German - Japanese technology to create art that is accessible to all, endless hymns, glorifying differences and similarities in a single family ...

... I do not remember how I sang; I'm sure it was not my best performance. I didn’t sleep all night, my eyes stuck together, but all this was not so important, because the differences between good and bad for these four days disappeared. The audience ... burst into applause after each song, warmly accepting each band. No competition - we were just there, happy that we are part of it: beauty, sadness, exhaustion, drunkenness, dirt on the faces and the greatness of the dawn ...

Has this huge dream come true? Not only embodied, but also became a symbol of the era. From the point of view of technology, all performances were, of course, far from perfect, but great enthusiasm more than covered all the flaws of performance ... Now with the word "Woodstock", images of that time immediately emerge in memory, where social theories were tested in practice, where those four
the day of the holiday, where all of us, so different, were one.

Grace Slick, vocalist of the Jefferson Airplane.

Woodstock generation? - oh yes, class. Fifty mile traffic jam. No food, no water, no roof over your head, no place to sleep. It is raining, everyone is sleeping in the mud. “Man, that was great! What a party! Who do you ask, I saw last night? So I was stupid, I forgot whom. ”

John Fogerty, vocalist and guitarist for Creedence Clearwater Revival

Part one. 1969

Chapter 1. August 15. Friday. Road.

In this part of the state, where hills intertwined with each other, wooded ravines, as if descended from the pages of stories by Washington Irving, light meadow glades, woolen trees, lakes and oil-rich, blackened rectangles of a neatly tilled farm field resembled “Russian hills”. The car often stopped on the ascent, and then the men driving in it had to crawl out and, grunting, push it to the top of the next hill. Sometimes they came to the aid of pedestrians, which with each mile so overcome, it became more and more. Increasingly, there were cars abandoned on the sides of the road, which traveling had to press down with great difficulty, maneuvering between them and the living stream.

- Damn ... do not have time ...

These words were said after once again the engine stalled, sitting behind the wheel of a half-naked thin middle-aged guy with straight brown hair to the shoulders, covering his face so that at first glance it was not clear how and what he could see.

His companion - tall, equally thin, but less hairy - until then, diligently pushing the car up, straightened up, walked over to the open driver's window and, leaning on the roof, leaned over the speaker. Acrid tracks of sweat trickled from under his hair laid paved his face gray from tension and fatigue. From time to time, the guy shook off the drops with annoyance, and then those around could see his slightly elongated face with thin lips and attentive piercing gray eyes.

- Do you think that we will not have time to start? - He asked the driver. - How far?

He shrugged.

“If Charlie said it all right, then about three more miles.”

“Lew, you talked about these three miles two hours ago,” a sad girlish voice came from the backseat.

- Well, Flo, what am I going to do? - responded Lewis. - We have never been here ... - Despite the fact that the girl’s voice was not reproached, angry, or even annoyed, his answer was confused and even some kind of excuse.

- Maybe we got lost at all? - he said thoughtfully standing outside.

- And where then all go? - The answer question was asked in a completely different girlish voice - more vivid. A thin, tanned hand poked out of the window and, as if confirming its interest, waved toward an endless human gurgling river that kept ahead and overtaken a ship stuck on the bank.

- I'll find out right now. - A soft smile slipped over the guy's face, and he quickly went to the nearest group passing by. - Dudes! To farms Yasgur far away, do not know?

“We are not local ourselves,” someone from the middle replied. - But they say that a couple of more miles. The main thing is not to turn anywhere.

- What are the problems? - one more voice entered the dialogue.

- Why, here ... - The guy waved his hand to the side of the car. - They loaned a car to get to the concert, and she pulls out. In the morning on her fled-fled ...

- And where are you going?

- From New York.

- So you are lucky! - laughed in response. “We’re generally from Chicago for the third day.” An hour ago, the car was abandoned - it was also messing up ...

- And not afraid? - One of the girls even leaned out of the window and merrily glittered with dark brown eyes.

- Why be afraid, baby? What will happen to her?

- And if you do not find?

- Find-yo-yom ... We tagged her. - The last phrase was already sounded from a certain distance.

A guy talking to passersby turned to his companions:

- Maybe we will go? ..

- Stu, are you out of your mind? - Lewis looked at him incredulously from behind the wheel - We are not alone ... Do you think the girls will reach? In their condition? You'd feel sorry for them or something ...

- Lewis, you somehow later remembered their condition, do not you think? - sarcastically said Stewart. - Whose idea was to go to the fest?

- No, well, Charlie was supposed to meet us, actually ...

- Do you see him somewhere? - Stewart swept the terrain with his hand - I bet on him, now he simply is not up to us. We'll get to the place ourselves, find it, tell you everything ...

- Stu, and the car? - again gave a voice from the rear seat Florence. - She's a stranger ...

- Well, you heard - out, the dudes threw something ...

“Well, this is actually their problem,” Lewis said. - Maybe they like it so much - throwing their cars in the middle of a foreign state ...

“Lewis,” said Stuart with barely noticeable annoyance, “what can you personally suggest?” Are you reluctant to listen to the “Grateful Dead” because of this damn machine? Where does this mercantile spirit come from in you? ... What will become of her, with this fucking car? Mark it too and let's go. Let us return - we will find ... We really will not have time for anything, if we dress like this.

“Stuart, you are, of course, an idiot finished,” Florence swore angrily, “but I'll go.” Molly, how are you?

- And what about Molly? - the hazel-eyed cheerfully replied - If so ...