Classic Rock Caravan

It was set to be the perfect night. In the eyes of Axl Rose and Jim Morrison, of course. The classic rock caravan was about to depart from the city and its’ only destination was in the middle of nowhere.

Our caravan begins its Saturday night route by weaving through the priceless, gate-and-call-box neighborhoods to pick up the friends we called “our rock buddies”. Only a small percentage of teenagers claim classic rock to be their passion, but tonight we were scrounging up every one of them that we knew. We were down right irresponsible rebels- hippies, I guess you could call us- who all came from the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city. We were brought up to be well-mannered and polite. But we, being hippies, wanted to break away from this modern-day tradition and escape to a certain time and space where we could rebel against all authority. The sixties, seventies, and eighties were the only place we could go, so we had no choice. Phone calls were made and we agreed that we would go back in time. How did we do this, you may ask? That’s why the classic rock caravan was born. My boyfriend bought an old Volkswagen hippie van (as we liked to call it) and completely renovated it until it looked like it had literally traveled through time to get here to 2011. It was dented like it had seen a rock concert riot. It was dirty like it had been parked in the mud fields of the Woodstock festival. Almost every classic rock band you could imagine had its’ logo stuck to the sides and back doors of this van. The inside looked like it had been toured in- with giant speakers mounted to the wall, a couch embedded into the left wall, and a few chairs that had been bolted to the floor. This car was every rock lover’s dream. And it would also become our classic rock caravan.

After making the route, the classic rock caravan was loaded with teenagers who were all familiar with Jimi Hendrix’s death. We knew just as much about rock music as our parents did, who actually lived to see them in their prime. There was no point in talking. The sound of Robert Plant’s voice drones out everyone. But of course everyone tries to talk anyway. Our journey to the rock ages has only just begun.

The hill-encrusted field has to be several miles from town. We park the caravan amongst the many other cars that have agreed to meet us here tonight. Seeing so many young people with a heart for classic rock makes me want to cry. Lil Wayne, Nicki Minaj, Justin Bieber, Chris Brown, yeah we still love them, but nothing can compare to the shredding guitars, teased hair, and straight-up rebellion. Before we know it, the sounds of Twisted Sister begin to pour slowly out of the speakers like honey. A bonfire is lit and the girls begin to dance. The guys sit around on tailgates and in the open doors of the classic rock caravan. We know every song by heart that is being played tonight as we dance. My boyfriend and I kiss, with only the rock music and the moon serenading us. This really has been the perfect night. And as of now, in this moment, we are not a part of the year 2011. We are lost somewhere in the sixties, seventies and eighties. Where we can be free as the hair on Bret Michaels, and as rebellious as those who skipped work and school to attend Woodstock.

All the teenagers load back into the caravan at the first glimpse of sunlight. Before I climb into the passenger seat, I look back on the field. I can still picture us dancing and having a good time like there was no school, or work, or hardships to go back to. Sometimes I wish I really could go back to these three eras. I wouldn’t waste a minute of my time. I would cherish every moment. I would be at the airport when the Beatles first landed in America. I would hear the news of Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix’s death (I would most likely wear black for months). I would have seen Woodstock. I would have gone to every concert that came my way. I would have lived in the moment.

As we pull out of our field and with silence in the back from the exhausted rockers, I look in the rearview mirror to find that every car that has met us here is following closely. In a line, almost like we are the circus train. I smile because I know these teenagers live for rocking, and also because now, we really are the classic rock caravan rolling into town. As said by the wise Ace Young of AC/DC, “For those about to rock, I salute you.”





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