Where do I even begin? To quote the character David Ershon from The Other Guys, "I think the best way to tell the story is by starting at the end, briefly, then going back to the beginning, and then periodically returning to the end, maybe giving different characters' perspectives throughout. Just to give it a bit of dynamism, otherwise it's just sort of a linear story."
Using that formula, which was a pretty funny quote in the movie, actually has some story-telling merit, so here we go.
Woodstock '99 ended with a full blown riot. Thanks a lot Fred Durst. My friends and I escaped with our lives, but it seems like just barely. It was me, 4 other guys, (not the usual cast of characters) and 1 girl. My friend Lola was my number 1 concern as we emerged from the fiery hell that took place that night on the abandoned airfield in upstate New York. I was literally concerned for her safety. By the time The Red Hot Chili Peppers, who headlined the festival, had begun their set, we were dodging collapsing light towers, tipped over equipment trailers, upside-down vehicles, broken ATM machines being dragged through the mud, and naked hippies who were hell bent on burning the entire area to the ground.
It all started with us purchasing the tickets. We were in our late teens at the time and we were jazzed up. One of my friends and I decided we would volunteer to make the 5 hour drive to Rome, NY. I had a 1987 Plymouth Reliant hatchback...not exactly the most reliable vehicle in the world, as the model of the car would lead you to believe. Though it was more of a lack of options than a choice. My buddy had an equally old, equally unreliable vehicle. Would we make it there and back in these shitboxes? It was anyone's guess before we departed, but we didn't care. We had just graduated high school and it seemed like the timing was right for this to be a once in a lifetime opportunity. What teenager wouldn't want to go see 3 days worth of great bands and hang out with thousands of like-minded maniacs, both young and old. Besides, we had nothing better to do.
Off we went, desecrating the highway and back roads en route to the airfield to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the original Woodstock. The spirit of 1969 was with us...at least from what we had read about or heard from our parents. In this spirit, we stole road signs and vandalized bathrooms of gas stations along the way north. By the way, if you're wondering how 6 teenagers who just graduated high school and barely had part-time jobs could afford such a long road trip, remember gas was like 89 cents a gallon back then.
It was going to be a magical three days. All of the top bands from the 90's were there, a few classic rock legends, tens of thousands of people, a beer garden, a rave hangar, an unending city of tents, 100 degree weather, $6 bottles of water, and like a dozen portable toilets. What could possibly go wrong?
REALLY EVENT PLANNERS?? FUCKING REALLY!!
Well as you might imagine, the first 36 hours or so went ok. People listened to music, drank, did drugs, walked around naked, and generally had a good time meeting other happy people.
THEN, people became hot, tired, and hungry. In fact, at one point, my friend Lola and I picked up someone's dropped food that landed near our tent and ate it. My friends became buddies with these dudes dressed in ponchos and gas masks and called themselves the poncho villas, scaring the bejeezus out of anyone who approached. I don't have much else to say about this, but rest assured it was ridiculous.
By day three, people were getting very irritable...nope, that's not the word for it. The masses were ANGRY. Mutiny was in the air, and we could all feel the storm approaching. Temperatures had reached 100 degrees for the third strait day, and there was NO shade within miles. I'm talking not even a small, fluffy, high altitude cloud. There were no showers, barely any running water, and after 72 hours, everyone was too broke to afford even bottled water after getting ass-raped by the concession vendors for an entire weekend. Do you really think anyone was smart enough to pack their own supplies? Nope. People just got in their cars and drove. Most packed tents and MAYBE a day's worth of food/non-alcoholic drinks. Obviously, impending disaster was afoot.
Their were signs of this festering whitehead of a pimple ripening to the point of exploding all over the proverbial mirror which was "the airfield." We witnessed a group of people, who had somehow managed to lose every stitch of clothing, destroying a concession stand and making off with water, which they then dispensed to the masses. I'll never know for sure if this was the spark that ignited the powder keg, or if events like this were happening all around us...but this was the last stitch of reality and normalcy we had witnessed and would witness until we were the hell out of there.
But we had spent a lot of money on these tickets, and had driven all this way. We elected to soldier on into the last night of the festival, even though the lawlessness of the situation, and the reasoning and even dignity of the crowd had all but diminished.
And then Limp Bizkit took the stage. If you know their style of music then you already know that mixed with the above described scene, and lead singer Fred Durst practically begging for everyone to destroy the airfield by the end of their performance, riot was inevitable. As the final band, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, took the stage, it was getting scary. Legit scary. It wasn't so much the individual acts of atrocity that were going on that scared us, it was more the entirety of all the small incidents adding up into what amounted to a sea of crazed, drunk, drugged up lunatics. We as 19 year olds were not equipped to deal with these things. We hadn't yet had the life experience to either deal with it or join in. Had I been with my usual cohorts and it had occurred 5 years later, things might have gone quite differently.
Some of the sights we observed were nearly inhuman: including various young men and women urinating and defecating all over the place, just wherever they wanted; people lighting fires to things I didn't even think were flammable; tearing down fences, walls, staging, lighting towers and whatever the hell else stood more than a foot off the ground; and beating the shit out of the poor vendors who had the audacity to attempt to try to sell water. That was it for us. I had lost my 4 guy friends, but I had a responsibility to get Lola the hell out of this place that had clearly been forsaken by the Gods.
We made our way through the seemingly millions of bodies in our way and through impossible odds we found the Reliant, prayed for it to start, and got the hell out of there. The two of us hoped that the rest of our companions were alive, but we were headed home. I threw my Nikes out the window and began the long road back to reality.
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