It was 1971 and I was standing on a dusty road on the Costa Blanca, Spain. I was with three travel-weary friends who were hitchhiking to a small fishing village for an epic reunion of travellers who had met at Oktoberfest in Munich the month before and had agreed to meet up again in Calpe.
As we stood under the Spanish sun, a black car pulled up. Inside was this strangely dressed guy in a beach hat with a charming smile. He asked where we were headed and when we mentioned the reunion, he said: “Hi, I’m Philip. Hop in, I’m heading there too.”
