There's no place quite like Eugene, lonesome outpost of the failed `68 revolution. Boulder, Colorado has a similar reputation, but with more fame and one major difference: in Eugene, people ask you which commune you belong to, and in Boulder they ask you which commune you own. Eugene may be an underground legend, but that doesn't help the economy much. The city has only three major industries--timber, tourism and tutelage, to which track comes as an honorary fourth, although hardly a source of income. Eugene is a university town: one-fifth students and who knows how many ex-students who stayed on with their psychology and literature degrees to live off thin air and be mellow. For the uninitiated, it's a bizarre place where five out of ten inhabitants wants to be, pretends to be, or maybe even is vegetarian; where there are still regular protests against everything from the inhumane killing of rats to the selling of Hershey's chocolate; where the penalty for pot was long the same as a parking fine (if the cops even bothered to write out the ticket, which they usually didn't), and a Legalize Home Grown initiative was the most popular movement around while Reagan was spreading anti-drug hysteria; where a noticeable percentage of the population wears hand-sewn, hand-spun, hand- woven, hand-dyed; where back to nature is second nature; where the late sixties were still alive in the mid-eighties.