Hot days, wild nights

After being welcomed home, I mounted a suspended, empty hydrogen tank, which was rung by the BRC greeting crew, and thus my adventure was begun. We had identified a target address for our camp, using some of the Burning Man collateral we had collected recently. 4:00 and Jungle, we said (those are streets in BRC), so I pointed the Caravan westish and we looked for a camping spot near there.

The city was already packed, teeming with RVs, campers, trailers, vans, bicyclists, nudists, costumed peoples, tents, geodesic domes, wig wearers, tarps, ropes, bungee cords, and of course, lots of dust. Thanks to the neatly organized infrastucture, it was no trouble orienting ourselves and finding our desired lot. We ended up on a patch of dirt near the corner of 3:30 and Jungle, in a small open space between a geodome and an encampment known as ‘In Dust We Trust’.

The neighbors said sure, you can set up here, so we did. A borrowed tent, a rented tent, and a recently purchased shade thingy went up and were battened down with stakes, ties, rope and rebar. The sun set was greeted by great cheers and whoops from across the playa.

Darkness settled in and the fun began. I knew I’d be tired soon, given my 3.5 hours of sleep the previous night, but the adrenaline and excitement of finally being here squashed any sense of weariness. Here is an excerpt of my journal that documents the night:

We spent a couple of hours setting up our space: the van, two tents, shade thingy, light poles, lights, coolers, organizing. Et cetera.

I drank three beers while we did that. As soon as I determined our basics were up to snuff, I said ‘let’s get on our bikes and go explore’, so we did. We rode up our street, 3:30, to the center of the camp, known as the Esplinade.

Holy Mackerel. It was already after 10, I believe but thanks to the fullish moon, it is not pitch dark. But still, nothing could have prepared me for the anarchy of lights, sound systems, circus freaks, and general chaos in which we found ourselves engulfed.

There was an endless horizon of displays, attractions, flickering and flashing light shows, neon, strobe, structures, signs, tents full of dancers, flame eaters, Buddhists, costumed people of countless styles, all ages, and in general beyond description.

We, like hundreds of others, chose to explore the landscape by bike. The playa is vast, and with little or no idea of where we wanted to go, bikes provide the means to meander easily. Arrive somewhere you like? Just lean your bike down and head off. Come back … whenever, and your bike’ll be there. Really.

Art cars beyond imagination. Massive burning and exploding sculptures. 200-ft Oil Derrick. Immense temple – attached to a rave club. And, admidst all this, a squirrelling sea of bikes traversing the lanes and open spaces upon the playa, most lit with some form of neon, blinking, or other bright light. That part – so chaotic! – was a little scary at times, but also loads of fun.

We stopped by a dance club, danced to some fantastic progressive house. Surrounded, mostly, by costumed people. Then to the jaw dropping oil derrick. Then to some sort of ice mountain. Then to the Temple of Forgiveness.

Between the anchored attractions, the oddest assortment of Mutant Vehicles ever assembled. One was the Mobil Landfill. Funny. Also, a giant bicycle with a kite-like roof. Lots of double-decker rolling nightclubs. A UFO. And on and on.

Finally called it a night, came home and made a sandwich. Now — some sleep, maybe?