I was twenty years old in the summer of 1969 and living in Hyannis, Massachusetts working a summer job as a waitress.
My boyfriend said he heard there was a concert that was supposed to have some good bands in Woodstock, New York. It wasn’t that far away and we decided to make a weekend of it. We drove there, and were having a great time, when all of a sudden the traffic slowed to a halt; we inched along.
After that, we weren’t even inching – we were just sitting still; hours and hours went by with no movement. We decided, “The concert can’t be that great and it can’t be worth all this hassle.”
We pulled over at the next available exit (I think it was called Red Hook, New York). We got a motel room, grabbed a bite to eat, played cards, hung around all weekend, and drove home never having any idea that we missed the cultural event of the era.
I guess you could say I was almost at Woodstock!