I'm a kid of the '90s. Our war stories are about the car breaking down on the way to a show. Eisen and 10 friends, none older than 26, had rented the camper to follow the band Phish on its six-week summer tour, stopping in Holmdel that evening and the next. Calif. They had driven hundreds of miles to see shows from Kansas to Georgia, sleeping alongside one another on increasingly dingy foam beds, selling fruit smoothies to earn spending money, taking time off to play music in state parks, and meeting fellow travelers at every turn.
Some people find religion in it, and other people find just a good time and a new city every night.
Such countercultural scenes are springing up like weedy flower beds all over the country, and not just in the wake of Phish. Phish shows can attract up to 70,000. Festivals staged by smaller bands draw thousands. N.Y. Many of its adherents appear to have stepped from photographs of that historic event, in their calico clothes and tangled hair, with their stashes of glass pipes for smoking marijuana and their fondness for group hugs. But they insist they're not trying to get back to the garden.