Early in the morning on August 15, 1969, a friend and I hopped in my car, stuck Innagoddadivida in the 8 track and headed off for Bethel, New York. We got to Rt 17B about 11 AM or so and traffic was all but stopped. 17 B was a divided highway with 2 lanes in each direction. There were no cars coming from the west, so I crossed the median and put my foot in it. Soon there were a hundred cars running down the center shoulder at 70 to 80 MPH.. We continued for 10 miles or so until troopers set up a road block and directed us back to the west bound lanes. No arrests were made. I made my way to the right shoulder where I ran the grass for a while until rock walls cut off my path. Eventually I surrendered to the traffic jam. Mark and I had smoked up most of the weed we had when I saw a U-Haul with the back door up and a dozen or so people inside, all with brass pipes. Mark was pretty stoned, but I wanted to socialize. I inched forward until my front bumper touched the rear of the car ahead and motioned the car behind to come up to my rear bumper. I left the car in drive and told Mark to correct with the wheel as needed. I got out and hopped in the U-Haul and smoked some damned fine opium. In what seemed no time at all, we arrived at the Farm. I parked in a field opposite the road into the festival and we walked in, tickets in hand. The fences were already down and they soon proclaimed Woodstock a free concert. More later.