In 1969, I was 12 years old. My mother wouldn’t let me go see Easy Rider.
Mom bought me the soundtrack album. I also managed to buy the movie script (paperback edition) — complete with color glossy pages in the middle with studio stills and frames from the film. I read it repeatedly. I played the record over and over, carefully lifting the tone-arm to repeat “Born To Be Wild” or to skip over “If You Want To Be A Bird”. I might as well have seen the movie — but I hadn’t. I knew every word, but had never seen the picture.