"I thought the only places without phone service were third world countries and my grandfather's fishing cabin but to me that is a third world country. No electricity at all." Alison winced at her own comment. She was sober enough to realize she was tipsy and she knew from experience the more she drank the less her brain to mouth filter worked.<br/><br/>She was about to apologize when a van drove passed them and then screeched to a halt. Actually, she realized, it wasn't a van at all but a volkswagen bus. It was painted in a rainbow of colors with flowers and peace signs and it reminded her remarkably of her grandfather's bus that still sat in his garage. His didn't run anymore but it was a memory of his 'summer of love' and as a kid Alison had loved hearing the story of how her grandparents met at Woodstock when he was barely eighteen. To her it was romantic because he had already been drafted and her grandmother knew him for three days when she agreed to write to him.<br/><br/>But it was not 1969, Alison told herself, and that was not her grandfather on his way to Woodstock. "You may not want to kill me," she said to Ellie, "But what are the chances we can trust someone driving a tie-dyed van in 2014?"