BY TODD J. ROCKSTROH
Todd is a retired mechanical engineer that grew up on Hunter Thompson novels in the 70s. He still enjoys HST writings and frequently quotes HST to remind friends of the still strange(r) times we live in. He spends his time volunteering, being grateful for the divine intervention and dumb luck that allowed him to make it to this point in time.
Fueled by ego, testosterone, and mind-altering substances, many 18 year old males make decisions, some good but most bad. They make it through unscathed, ignoring the tales of those that didn’t, never realizing that only by divine intervention and dumb luck they lived to tell the tale.
At 6am the gates of the racetrack would open to the last concert before the lockdown. The five of us had readied ourselves for days procuring copious amounts of alcohol and weed. The van had just been purchased by one of our father’s company so it was white, unmarked, and empty except for a driver’s seat. He was an enabler as we now say, our misadventure would not have happened had not five Boy Scouts had access to an empty van. We loaded the van the day before with the above accoutrements, coolers, munchies, water, mixers, and lawn chairs for the trip. Our inventory included 2 cases of tequila, 1 case of rum, and 4 cases of beer minus the 20 or so consumed during the wait.
One of the group wouldn’t get off work until late so we had too much time to kill until our 10pm departure. Our demise began when the rest of us broke into the stash of contraband and alcohol waiting on our last amigo to jump in. Being sober, he was the driver over the objections of those convinced they could (ego, testosterone, etc.). As we raced the 70 miles to the venue we made several observations. Lawn chairs make terrible seats in a moving, metal floored vehicle, as do plastic coolers and cases of booze. Also, having impaired navigators, who were too altered to use a GPS, isn’t the best of ideas. When we reached the beltway, our navigator managed to circumnavigate the entire beltway, over 75 miles, nearly one and one-half times. As we slid around in our lawn chairs I noticed a familiar exit which would take us east to west through the city center, another 20 miles to our destination.
Upon arriving later than planned, we learned that a host of others, the endless line of cars already awaiting 6am, had the same idea. Many cops were already walking the line at 3am to keep the peace. We drove carefully past the line seeking options. As we approached the first 10 cars we were stopped by the Gestapo. Holding our freak in check, we could see that there was an arrest being made ahead. Some poor bastards, obviously too bent to realize arguing with the blue wasn’t in their best interest. As that car was taken from the line, the same gendarme directed us to pull in at slot number 4. Dumb luck.
When the gates opened the road went under the track where the single file line of cars, vans, and motorcycles broke into an uncountable number or columns resembling the old west buffalo stampedes. With close calls, most managed to make it to the concert parking at the stage where we were instructed to remain at our vehicles for the entire venue. This was our second mistake as we had over 5 hours before the all day concert began, a van full of contraband, and surrounded by hundreds of like vehicles equally or more so loaded with various substances. I suppose it was all of our mistakes but we were now a fraternity of deviants.
We followed orders until around 10am when folks across the board began wandering about. We were packed so tightly that cops didn’t bother waging war with the hoard. As members of our group began voyaging through the crowd, I stayed to protect. They came back with great visions and recollections. One wandered into a group selling acid tabs from a large desk blotter – we lost him but that comes later. Another walked past an open van where the inhabitants were screwing like small rodents with accompanying low pitched gurgling from one of them. He watched until noticed by the undulating rodentia. He passed when asked to join – they handed him a beer for his trouble, which he drank as he continued the peep show. The third and fourth found a hoard of gypsies dancing around topless. They joined them in their pagan ritual and learned that peyote was better than weed.
As we neared the noon concert start we saw a sea of vehicles lined up in the golf-course sized grass lot from the stage. All had become restless and moved about in great masses seeking better views atop other’s vehicles. Some found high ground seating on the roof of the women’s outhouse. The earth closet was open above the basic walls which provided prime viewing of over 50 women in various states of relief at any given time. The cops were watching the roof voyeurs closely and eventually arrested several of the most egregious.
We learned of this outhouse construction error as we watched the herd of fans walking to and from concession and relief stations. We had been joined by many motorcycle clubs who took offense to freaks (but loved the topless freak dancers) and were looking for distraction before the concert began. Finding none in the herd, a bottle arched about 20 yards into the crowd ahead. This was followed by dozens of bottles flying in both directions which quickly drew the attention of the Gestapo away from the outhouse peeping toms. Clubs and jack boots flailed mostly focused on the freak victims of a thrown bottle avoiding the inconvenience of addressing a like booted offender from a motorcycle club. It was a surreal symphony of bottles, billy clubs, and not-so-innocent bystanders. It was broken up when about a dozen ambulances parted the hoard to seek and resuscitate the freaks that were left broken and abandoned.
As that dust settled, I noticed one of our members was missing – the one who had found the van selling acid. I settled the peyote brothers into our van, guarded by the sex addict who didn’t imbibe when invited, and went to find our fifth brother. I chartered them to sell off some of our stash as the opportunity arose and more importantly not let passers-by help themselves. By all means, our group had had enough stimulants and depressants.
Having a rough idea of where the topless pagan dancers were located I set off after surveying the field from atop the van. It was to be hopeless as it turns out that there were many practicing pagans that day. After our sex fiend friend described the pagan’s van, I found the faded yellow, rusting van. My mission had been hindered by the need to closely study intermediate dancers I encountered. Our friend was asleep in their van, sandwiched by two dancers. He was unwilling to vacate the more than ample boobage he was enjoying. I lured him away in his altered state noting the concert was over, which it wasn’t. He was convinced he had found love and vice versa for both girls.
As we stumbled back through the herd we also stopped at several venues to imbibe on various stimulants, depressants, but mostly sustenances as we hadn’t eaten all day. After an hour of wandering I realized that we had ventured further away from our vehicle. Finding an RV with a ladder to the roof I again conned our location figuring with our altered state it might be dark before we made it back. As the sun set we found what turned out to be the wrong white van, locked, with none of our brothers in sight. We were not the only new white van in the sea of hundreds. I again climbed onto the roof of an RV where I was spotted by the peyote brothers at our van. They thought I was an eagle and began waving wildly.
The remainder of the evening went without incident. Using our Boy Scout skills, we either eliminated near the van or went in pairs, one of which had to be sober enough to recite the Scout Oath. The one who could recite the oath, laws, motto, and founder’s name was deemed sober enough to drive home.
I certify that this is an original work and not plagiarized. TJR
