There was this outdoor concert, kind of a new thing back in 1969, and my friend Steve asked me if I’d like to go.

Where’s this concert gonna be? I asked him.

A place called Woodstock, he said.

Thus began my association with the event 40 years ago on Aug. 15 that became THE icon of my generation, the high water mark of the ‘60s — a nation of kids, half a million of us — with only peace, love and music on our minds.

Although for me the reality turned out rather dismal, and I’ve hated crowds ever since.

But in the beginning, the sun was shining as Steve and I piled into his Austin Mini and left behind the little town of Grimsby, Ontario, heading east on the New York Thruway toward Woodstock, New York.

We stopped to pick up some American girls Steve knew who lived near Woodstock, and they helped us find the farm in Bethel where the concert was actually held.

We were among the first to arrive, and I remember walking across a big empty field to a rolling green hill in front of the giant stage still being set up.

We sat near the bottom of the hill, about eye-level with the stage, the best seats in the house.

We lit up a joint. We inhaled. Lay back and let our own outdoor concert begin.

But at some point I sat up, looked over my shoulder, and was stunned to see the entire field behind me packed solid with kids.

Then announcements started coming from the stage: the New York Thruway was closed; the Woodstock Festival was declared a free concert because too many kids were arriving to control.

The Woodstock Nation was born.

We smoked another joint to celebrate, maybe several more, they seemed to be floating in from all directions, like chaff adrift in a sea of kids.

Frankly, I was starting to lose track of just about everything, even before the concert began.

Richie Havens came on stage first — playing the odd guitar rhythms of Freedom — but it would be the only complete song I’d remember.

The rest of the night is like one of those art films: all jump-shots and freeze-frames. I no longer remember which performers I actually saw, and which I saw later in the Woodstock movie.

I do remember walking away from the crowd at one point, just trying to find a space not filled with people, and coming upon a pond on the outskirts of the concert grounds.

And the most beautiful girl I had ever seen stepped from the water, like Venus arising, completely naked, squeezing the water out of her honey-colored hair, head tilted back and elbows in the air, her breasts glistening.

An epiphany of beauty worthy of James Joyce. I was transfixed. Back to the Garden, indeed.

But then it started to rain. And rain. We tried to find shelter in our tent, but soon our sleeping bags were soaked in mud. We decided to leave.

Steve had really come for the girl anyway, so they got into one car and headed back to Grimsby; I drove the other girl in Steve’s car.

Heading home in the rain, I lost control on a curve above the city lights of Syracuse. As the car spun around and around I was thrown out of my seat, my back against the windshield on the passenger side, staring down at this wide-eyed girl. I figured she would be the last thing I saw before we went over the cliff to the city below.

But the guard rail saved us. We slid along it in a shower of sparks.

When we finally stopped, the girl couldn’t remember her name, couldn’t remember my name, but oddly enough remembered her girlfriend’s name.

I told her that her girlfriend was in Grimsby, and that was just enough to persuade her to let me take her there too. The car was drivable, but only just.

The girl recovered, eventually, but neither she nor her friend stayed long in Grimsby. Too much bad karma.

That’s also why I never liked to tell anyone I was at Woodstock. Too much bad karma associated with the place.

But Woodstock wasn’t a place, really. Woodstock was a state of mind. A dream of peace, love and freedom that, sadly, did not last very long.

Somehow, we dropped the ball, my generation.

Maybe we were bought off; co-opted by capitalism. Maybe we just grew up; too many crashes with reality after those three idyllic days.

Like landing on the moon, we seemed to reach great heights in the '60s, only to fall back to the safety and mendacity of the status quo.

Maybe someday a new generation, smarter and wiser, will pick up where we left off, grab onto that dream of peace, love and freedom ... and not let go.