Burning Man 2014: Arrival, Setup, Neighbors, Poutine

And now on, to the story of my 2014 Burning Man experience.

The Man was huge this year!  No, seriously, really, huge!

  I arrived Tuesday night and was not in the mood to begin the arduous setup process in the dark. I needed sleep first, so wandered over to where I knew I'd find Pink Heart, a theme camp from San Diego that I've often visited.  I suspected that they'd have their usual chill-space, a semi-quiet dome filled with pink pillows, cushions and plushies.  I headed over and sure enough found the dome in question.  I was not oriented enough to have my phone handy and charged, or I might have taken pictures of this, but anyway, it was plush, posh and perfect for a snooze.  But first, I planned to work off some of my nervous energy, for here I was, back home on my spectacular playa.  Monday night, and the place was hopping! 

Enjoying a nice break on an easy chair.

Nearly next door, was another large dome-space that I learned was called the Freestyle Palace.  Indeed, what attracted me in there was the sight of musical instruments being played, and a guitar just sitting there on its amp, as though waiting for me to waltz up and pick it up.  I have played for a few years now, and have some skillz as a rhythm guitarist, but am just starting to learn some lead.  A few other random strangers picked up the other instruments, an electric bass, a drum kit, and a microphone, and we were off.  Just simple jams.  Three-chord blues, a natural easy pick.  But just back and forth between two chords was even enough, with a talented front man rapping freestyle into the mic, sending out our sounds across the playa and attracting the occasional audience.  That was so fun, and went on for at least an hour, maybe two, but it's hard to tell.  

My actual brother, "Fango" jumping for what is presumed to be joy, just beyond the bare skeleton of my soon-to-be posh Davedome.  To the right, our large shade structure, and solar panel.  Left is our neighbors, Seven Sirens Pirate Cove.  Across the street, the colorful curtains of Drapes Everywhere.

  Soon enough, it wound down, and a new set of players stepped in.  I wandered back to Pink Heart and set up my little bed of a few pillows and a blanket that I'd brought.  Just thought to have my own, just in case it was crowded, but it wasn't.  A delightful half-night's sleep later, and I was up and ready to roll back to my camp, just around the corner.

"Fango", participating in the city-wide tradition of "Tutu Tuesday."

  Once there, I began to unpack and set up with a vengeance.  Before too long, I had my dome set up, and was draping the fitted cover over the sides, creating a nice shade space beneath.  I enjoy the heighth of comfort with my air mattress, ample warm blankets, comforter, and pillows.  My dome was soon ready to be initiated with a nice rip from my glass bong.

Inside the Dave dome.

  Our neighbors this year were the same from last year: Seven Sirens Pirate Cove, with their pirate-themed structures and toys, like their crow's nest; and Temple of Polegasm, who sets up a nice-sized stage with four spinning stripper poles under lights.  Directly across the street was Drapes Everywhere, which stayed true to its name.  On the corners of our "7:30 Keyhole", the widening of the street where the 7:30 street intersects with the Esplanade, were big camps Tri-Fucta, who makes an elaborate climber/shade structure and hosts parties and dispenses drinks; and Black Rock Roller Disco, which hosts a large skating rink on the playa, with skates to lend, and pumps out disco and hip-hop.  A great little neighborhood, all around.

Inside the large parachuted chill space of Drapes Everywhere.  

  It was either Tuesday or Wednesday night that my brother Phil, aka Nostrildamus, and I, cruised over to Midnight Poutine to get some poutine, right around midnight.  This was a theme camp that sets up every year, and does this and only this: serves poutine, French Canadia's answer to chili cheese fries.  It is french fries and cheese curds, smothered in gravy.  A simple dish originating among the poor, as a thrown-together mish-mash of whatever was on hand, and it makes for excellent drunk food.  When you're drunk and up late, the warm doughy fries with the creamy cheese curds, combined with the salty gravy, really hits the spot. A long line afforded us a chance to talk and joke with our neighbors, and before an hour had elapsed, we were served by enthusiastic volunteers and scarfing down our poutines.    I wasn't blown away by my first taste, but I could see how it might grow on me.

My brother, Phil, aka Nostrildamus at LA decom

Next: My big Thursday trek: Center Camp, The Man, The Temple, The Embrace.

Hammocks, pillows, carpeting, etc.  Pretty nice.

Back to the 2014 Burning Man Story Menu Page

Burning Man 2014 - The Drive Up

Everyone loves to look at pictures of the drive up to Burning Man!  

No? 

What? Just get to the pics of the art and the spectacle of this amazing festival and skip all the boring desert landscapes and interior car shots? Never! 

For therein lies a tale, a saga, an epic adventure worth the retelling.

Desert and mountains alongside the 395 freeway

My original plan had been to ride along with another burner, so as to spare my own car the wear-and-tear.  In my quest for a traveling companion, I screened about 15 or more parties, and the one I chose dropped out. Then, a contact through the local burners group on Yahoo yielded a potential ride, but he ended up being a little too shaky and tentative for me.  Then I heard of someone else from that network who was driving up in an RV and was looking for passengers to share gas expenses.  I was picturing something like my ride from last year, which was a nice solid RV with a 27 foot trailer big enough for all my gear, which is no small amount of camp gear.  Unfortunately, this one turned out to be a rather rickety vehicle, and the trailer was tiny, only big enough for the bikes that were already in it.  The plan to ride along was shot, as my car was overstuffed with gear and it could never fit.  So, I was down to my last resort, driving my own car up myself.  Incidentally, this ended up being a better choice, as that particular RV broke down several times on the way and coming back.

I, the free radical, in my packed Honda Accord, driving.

So I left early afternoon on Sunday.  My car had a few issues on the way: the speedometer gave out, then the cruise control, and the engine was straining a bit to get up the hills. But I made it, driving through the night, to reach Gerlach in the early morning.

500 or so miles of relatively-featureless desert? Yeah, we got that!

From the road, as I approached the tiny town of Gerlach, the last stop before Burning Man, I could see lightning striking the area ahead, and sheets of rain that looked like it was over the playa.  This did not look promising.  In Gerlach, I was informed that the entry gate to Burning Man was closed due to the rain mucking up the roads, and people were being turned back.  I was advised to stay in Gerlach, while the playa was drying out.  I did for about an hour, napping in my car as a light sprinkle fell.  Upon waking, I noticed that I was the only one who'd stopped in Gerlach, and all the other cars were going on ahead, so I determined to do likewise, and got back on the road.  I was heading for a closed gate, but at least I'd be in line to get in, I thought.

Gerlach, Nevada. Thunderstorm over the playa, to the left. 

This turned out to be the right move, as I had soon claimed a place in the long line of vehicles waiting to get in, once the gate opened.  There was some trepidation, and disappointment, as it appeared I would miss a day on the playa, and lose valuable set-up time.  Also, I would likely miss the event I was running that evening, Laughter Yoga.

My car, loaded with gear, on the side of the road, waiting.

However, having driven all night, I had no problem with stopping for awhile, and set up a nice bed on the side of the road, with a canvas drop cloth, some old sofa cushions, pillows, and an umbrella for the sun.  I had a lovely nap stretched out on this comfy makeshift bed.

The line, facing towards the gate.  So close, yet so far!

The line of cars naturally included many colorful characters, large and small groups of burners with all different styles, from young hipster ravers, to older moms with kids.  There was some communing of the various burners in line, but mostly an anxiety and eagerness to move forward hung over all.  Some of my fellow travelers pulled their bikes out and rode up and down the line, perhaps looking for friends, or the party scene.  Near me, a large RV played music and sounds of drunken people wafted down the road. The police were ever-present in all this, and began announcing over their PA's that we would all be turned around, and sent back up the road, back to Reno, some seventy miles back the way we came.  At the time, all of the cars were parked on the highway, and blocking traffic. The police had a legitimate beef with this arrangement. But not many people seemed to be going along with the going-back-to-Reno plan; it was frankly ridiculous.  True, Gerlach and Empire were towns too small and sleepy to handle a few thousand vehicles parking there, so Reno was the only choice.  But most of us knew to stay in place, since we were this close to the playa, and determined to move only forward.  A few vehicles were ordered directly by police to turn around and drive away, up the road, so they naturally did.  Whether they simply drove out of sight, and got back in line, we'll never know, but I know I would've done so.  So the cops pushed, and yelled for us to turn around; this was mostly happening about a quarter mile up the road from me, so I was safe for the moment.  There was much push-back, and no doubt some legal wrangling from some law-savvy burners, and a compromise was reached, that all cars that wanted to remain in line would pull off the road and wait off the road, so as to allow traffic through.  Some vehicles seemed content to go back, perhaps because the radio was announcing that the gate would likely be closed until noon the next day, and we'd be stuck outside the gate all night.  I and many others were more than happy to camp all night and into the next day.  I had all my gear with me for a comfortable night, and was dead-set against driving back to Reno. Also, I highly doubted that they would keep us outside the gate all night.  The event staff would want to get the gate running as soon as possible, as they had tens of thousands of vehicles to process and couldn't afford to delay any longer than absolutely necessary.

The way back to Gerlach and Reno.  My fellow burners waiting in line along the side of the 447.

The police also tried desperately to keep burners in their vehicles, and, principally, off the road, whether on bike or on foot.  It was truly a safety hazard for them, and a delay and hazard to the many safety and law enforcement vehicles that had to traverse the road. Of course, the exuberant burners wanted nothing more than to use the road as bike-path, foot-path and dance floor.

The sunset hitting the clouds over the mountains.

I was calm through all this, taking it all in stride.  Sure, I wanted to be in the event, but I knew I eventually would be, and there was no sense rushing onto the playa while it was wet, since the wet ground turns to peanut butter and gums up any vehicle's tires and wheel wells.  I just rested, listened to BMIR, the burning man info radio, and ate my snacks.   

The clouds at "golden hour"

Also, wandering off the road to relieve myself, I was able to get a closer look at this landscape which I'd only ever zoomed past before.  Despite being a desert, it was vibrant, alive.  The plants were all adapted for this climate and there were numerous holes in the ground that must have housed rodents, snakes, scorpions, and other creatures that thrived in this environment and provided prey for the hawks and buzzards overhead.  The sky was gorgeous when the sun went down behind the hills.

Black Rock Canyon sunset

Eventually, at about 7:30, we got the word down the line that the gate was being reopened and the line would be moving.  Sure enough, after not much longer we slowly turned back onto the road and got in line for the gate.  Now I was in for more waiting, in the massive line for the entry gate, but that ended up taking a mere two hours, putting me in my camp roughly around 10:30pm, safe and sound, and happy as a clam.

Gently-sloping foothills around BRC

What a journey! Many have expressed sympathy for my being stuck for 12 hours along the side of the highway, and having missed half a day of burning man.  But I have no regrets, no complaints; it all went perfectly according to plan.  Of course, no one could predict that a thunderstorm would pour all over the playa, locking up traffic, but all were prepared for just such an occurrence, or should have been.  Mostly, my late arrival was due to poor planning on my part, and I hope to do better next year, if I am lucky enough to return next year.  

Now on to My Burning Man 2014 Adventure! (next post...)

Story Thread Page

Burning Man 2014: Story Threads

The road journey, getting stuck outside the gate for 12 hours

Wadsworth, Nevada

My shaman walk with mask, drum and flute, bumping into the Burning Band on a black dress march

Temple visit

Souk visit- drum circle, OC souk area

The interminable Man burn

After-burn swarm, drum circle

The beautiful Temple burn

Peace Vigil for Palestine

Embrace, from the outside

Joining a large play-group with light-up frisbees and balls

Crawling and climbing through the Alien Siege Machine, our local art installation.

Meeting and hanging with Ashkey, Goro, Samir, and Mark from NY, India.

Spinning on the poles at Temple of Polegasm

Trifucta's structure and party scene on the Esplanade

Having a member of the Black Rock Rangers camping with us, Tabias, aka Sgt. Pepper.

Getting my groove on at BR Roller Disco, on skates, on foot.

Drapes Everywhere, our neighbors across the street.

First Night, sleeping in Pink Heart's plush lounge dome

Jamming on guitar with others in the Freestyle Palace

Center Camp - my spoken word performance

Laughter Yoga at Cartoon Commune

Painting a character on a skate ramp.

Ice Cream from the Reverse Cowgirl Creamery

Laughter Yoga guest, Simon from New Zealand

Karaoke at Cartoon Commune

My Cartooning Workshop

Improv Comedy

Life Drawing, decorating Fango's hat meeting David Silverman, producer of the Simpsons.

The indomitable Cartoon Commune

Dance camps Sat nite

Massages in the Carport of Comfort

Sunday Temple jaunt, seeing David Best, and the Sharpie Shaman

Having some poutine after midnight at Midnight Poutine with Phil, aka Nostrildamus.

Some great home-cooked meals out on the playa.

My awesome dome home.

Those playa sunsets

Robot Sketch

Lil Robot

Celebrity Caricatures

These are some of my favorite entertainers.  William H Macy, top left, is a B-list actor best known for his role as the husband in Fargo.  Top right is "Weird" Al Yankovic, the famous song parody artist.  At the bottom is Chris Elliot, comedian, actor.

William H Macy, "Weird" Al Yankovic, Chris Elliot

Burning Man Stories: 2013 Impromptu Naked Rock Jam Session

So after a morning of attempting to annoy people with my shirtcocking, I went ahead and took off my shirt, deciding to experience a naked day at Burning Man.

It was early in the week still, and I had yet to explore much of my neighborhood. I knew there would be a camp that was serving coffee to the community, I just had to find it, which I did with a little help from the official guidebook. Sadly, I don't recall the name of this camp which graciously shared its bounty of cookies and coffee with me, mostly undaunted by my nudity.

Soon after, I wandered over to a nearby camp that I'd seen on the way which had a jam dome set up. The prior year, I'd stopped at a similar, or perhaps the same, dome on the Esplanade, and had jammed for awhile on the provided guitars, bass, keyboard and drums with some other impromptu rockers.

This time, after I'd jammed on my own for a bit, a few other rockers wandered in off the road and before long a band had coalesced, and we just sort of clicked. As often happens on the playa, I didn't really get to know any of the other members, nor do I remember any of their names. The guy who grabbed the guitar was able to lead and picked out the signature riffs of many famous songs. The bassist and drummer were competent, making up a solid rhythem section. Someone was jamming on the keyboard, and I sang and yelled into the mic while shaking a tambourine and dancing my naked ass off. I remember only a few of the songs we covered: "Get back" by the Beatles, "Rock and Roll" by the Velvet Underground, "Cocaine" by Eric Clapton, I'll probably remember more later.

At some point, we drew a small crowd of "groupies", as we called them: girls who were rockin out to our sound. They laughed uproariously and cheered at my wild frenetic dancing. It felt great to be so in the moment, creating music with others and entertaining ourselves and anyone who may have been within earshot.

As all good things must come to an end, after a few hours we ground to a halt and said our goodbyes. I would later end up running into my old playa pal, Damon. He was riding with his campmate in a golf-cart-turned-turtle. I caught a ride and caught up with him. At this point my nudity was a bit awkward, but that's just life on the playa.

Burning Man Stories: 2013 Shirt-cocking

There is a phenomenon at Burning Man. Encouraged by the atmosphere of acceptance and free expression, some men walk around wearing a shirt but naked from the waist down. They have been labelled shirtcockers and called out as tacky by the independently-published Burning Man rag, Piss Clear. Indeed the look is tacky and uncreative, but this distaste for the outfit has spread through the community and in some cases, morphed into outright hostility.

I've seen a sign by the entrance of a camp that expressly forbade shirtcockers. My dad tells a story of being excluded from singing Karoake by his lack of bottoms. I was curious about this seeming discrimination in a community that is usually so open. Online I found a deep well of hatred from burners towards shirtcockers, albeit internet forums are notorious for unfettered snark. Frankly, I never had a desire to dress in this particular style, until I found I could annoy and provoke people by doing so. I didn't want to just shirt-cock, I wanted to stir the pot a little.

I considered organizing a protest group of shirt-cockers to march on center camp and offer free coffee to all who join our cause. I soon found I lacked the motivation to carry this out.

Instead, I came up with a little visual gag regarding the practice: When I went out, I was no ordinary shirt-cocker. I had on a tiny pair of pants, which I'd cut out of denim and taped to my left thigh. If challenged on my shirt-cocking, I would simply point to my three-inch jeans and say "Look, I'm wearing pants!" If this was further challenged, as the pants being not big enough to count, then I would make a big show of conceding to the challenger, and proceed to pull off the tiny pants, and then my remove my shirt (being naked is fully accepted, of course). But by doing so, I would reaveal a tiny little shirt pasted to my chest, so I would still be shirt-cocking, but this shirt would also be "too small to count." Thus, check and mate. This had always been more or less of a joke, but this year I put it into practice.

I had no luck in getting people to spontaneously challenge me, and decided that next year I will enlist one of my campmates as a plant, and script out the whole thing as a piece of guerilla theatre.