August 14, 1969.

A shiny red Lincoln Continental pulled out of New York City on a highway that was more crowded than ever before, heading toward the previously unknown town of Bethel. A warm summer wind blew through the driver's blond hair as he energetically tapped his hand on the steering wheel to the beat of a popular jazz song.

The drive from New York to Bethel usually took no more than three hours, but tens of thousands of young people had been flocking in that direction for the past few days, and it was obvious that the entire road would soon be in catastrophic traffic jams.

But the man behind the wheel was not at all downhearted. He was planning to have a great time at a music festival for the next three days, and literally nothing could dampen his spirits or wipe the smug smile off his face.

After passing the small town of Chester, the guy noticed a figure standing by the road with a characteristic gesture with an outstretched thumb. The passenger seat was free, and the young man didn't mind a little company on his risky journey.

The car stopped right in front of the stranger and the driver took off his rose-colored glasses, flashing a charming and slightly cheeky smile.

“To Woodstock, too?” asked Aventurine.