Burning Man 2014: Thursday Trek: Center Camp, Man, Temple

And now, more of my BM 2014 experience.

The Man

I was hosting events in my theme camp all week, but I had intentionally left my Thursday free to roam, explore, and generally be open to whatever.

The road to the Man

I had planned to take a trek out to the Man and the Temple, both of which I consider essential to my Burning Man experience.

Temple of Grace

On the way, I'd planned a bit of street theatre, carrying one of my painted palm frond masks in front of my face and playing a little solo on drum and pipe as I walked along.  I had lashed an aluminum oatmeal can to a cloth sash using leather cordage.  Slinging the sash over my shoulder put the can at about waist height so I could beat on it with my length of PVC pipe which someone had turned into a rudimentary flute.  I had acquired this at a Cubensis show, from a man selling homemade instruments like this pipe, which I gave him five bucks for.  Over the years that I'd had it, I'd learned to get some noise out of it, though my skill was adequate only for rhythms, not melodies.  Despite the six finger-holes, I could only get a decent sound if I left them all open, or covered only one.  Otherwise, the restricted air flow made the sound too soft to hear.

Dancing with my latest shaman mask at a full moon drum circle in Laguna Beach

So I geared up, donning a pair of over-the-shoulder satchels to carry my drinking water and essential items like goggles and dust mask.  A wet cloth draped my shoulders to cool me off and a wet bandana or two under my straw hat kept my head cool and shaded.  A pair of sunglasses over my prescription glasses, and then my strap-on drum, and pipe in one hand, and my shaman mask in the  other, since it has no strap to keep it on my head.  And I was ready to go.

Gorgeous sunset sky over the Souk shade structures

Incidentally, I had eaten a single psilocybe cubensis mushroom to tinge my day's experience with a hint of the otherworldly.  It was not enough to really send me on a trip, but just kind of shifted the whole experience a bit towards the strange.

A smattering of people checking out the Souk

So I began my performance, beating out creative rhythms as I walked, and holding my mask in front of me as my "persona" (the latin word for mask, meaning "for sound," referring to the mouth hole which was originally designed as a cone to amplify the sound of the actor's voice). As I got tired of drumming, I would play a rhythm on the pipe, with my two notes.  My mask is mostly there for show, I don't use it to hide my face, per se.  Mostly people seeing me do this as I walk along take it in stride; this is Burning Man, and it takes a lot more than that to catch most burners' attention.  What attention I might have drawn came mostly from what looked like new burners, in touristy-looking cargo pants and large unwieldly cameras. As I passed camps and artcars that were booming their own music, I would match their rhythms and try to contribute to the overall noise.

That sky...!  Just awesome!

My first stop was the Center Camp.  I wanted some coffee, and even though it was easy to obtain at various points around the city without standing in line or paying a fee, there is something I like about the ritual of standing in line for coffee at the Center Camp.  There is a veritable horde of people buying coffee and other drinks during most of the day, and they express a wide variety of styles.  It is fun just watching people and taking in the spectacle, the pageantry.  In the center, acrobats and dancers stretch, practice and perform.  At certain times, there are aerial performances.  Around the circle, people practice a myriad of healing arts, such as tea ceremonies, sharing herbs, massage, reiki, etc.



I was pleased to see that the coffee line had been streamlined, so that there was one fast-moving line for people who only wanted quickly-dispensed drinks such as drip coffee, lemonade, iced tea, etc.  The other lines were for the more time-consuming drinks with fancy names in Italian.  So the people who wanted quick drinks could get through quick, and those who were willing to wait longer for theirs would wait longer.



As I walked out of Center Camp, and around Rod's Road, the circular road that surrounds Center Camp with highly-interactive theme camps, I heard and saw the Burning Band approaching.  This is a perennial favorite act on the playa and at decoms.  A functional and quite professional marching band, playing standards.  About 25 people marching with their drums, horns, flutes, and whatnot.  Of course, I immediately matched their rhythm and fell into step with them as they passed me.  They were all, every last man and woman of them, wearing little black dresses or some variation thereof.  This was, I'd heard an annual tradition for the Burning Band on Thursday at Burning Man.  I was in my shaman robe, or repurposed dress-thing, with ornate black trim.  So, though it didn't quite mesh with the day's uniform, it was still like a dress and had some black on it.  I marched with them for a good ways, and had a blast, loudly singing the standards which they always play: Anchors Aweigh, Happy Days Are Here Again, and Yes We Have No Bananas, are the ones I remember.

The Man, Souk entrance archway

After awhile, I saw it was getting late in the afternoon, and I still had several places I wanted to visit out on the playa.  While I was happy enough to simply roll with whatever the experience brought to me, I did have the goal in mind, of seeing those important sights.  So I began the walk out to the Man.

Simply... huge.

The Man was huge this year, some 150 feet tall.  Usually, it is about a third that tall, and stands on a base structure which can be as tall or taller as the Man itself.  This time there was no base, with the Man's legs rising up right from the ground. It was truly impressive.  They had to create a whole new configuration for the structure based on the larger size.  The limbs had to be much thicker, and they made what looked like a habitable structure in the chest.  The Man structure was not climbable this year, as it is some years.

Side View

This year, the base of the man was surrounded by the "Souk", which was supposed to emulate a mediterranean bazaar of antiquity.  It was a noble effort, but fell a bit short logistically, in my humble opinion.  I confess that I myself made little to no contribution to the Souk experience, despite my earlier enthusiasm and offers to draw caricatures there, as well as offer healing, counseling, listening, hugs, and laughter yoga. The idea for the Souk was that the Regional Networks, groups of burners from around the world who organize events and community around the Burning Man brand, would each host a small part of the large shade structures provided by the Burning Man organization around the man.  They would provide a "taste" of all the regions who sponsored a Souk space.

Souk

What I saw when I got there was more like bits of several theme camps, all thrown together, and a lot of it deserted.  Some had interesting art to look at or interactive features, and there were some exchanges happening in some of the booths, but this hardly compared to the original vision, of sort of a crowded bazaar with barkers touting all the best goods and services.

Art at the Souk

Library at the Souk

Lib'ary

I had also expected the central public areas of each Souk shade structure to be a bit more comfortably appointed.  There were basically tarps for floors, and I wasn't seeing the luxury or comfort of, say, carpeting, couches, pillows, hammocks, or any seating of bedding at all.  This was supposed to be a refuge for the weary desert traveller, but it provided little refuge beyond shade.  I thought they would have emulated some of the more comfort-intensive theme camps like Pink Heart or Ashram Galactica.  Rugs and pillows on the floor, hammocks, mattresses, (clean) dog beds, etc.  The BMorg well knows these time-tested methods of providing comfort on the playa.  As it is, the Center Camp Cafe is still the hub of cultural exchange, and desert refuge on the playa.

A self-portrait with a couple of random friends I encountered at the Man base.

At the Orange County regional booth at the Souk, I had a brief interaction with some of my fellow OC'ers.  They had, among other things, a mechanism for dispensing playa names.  Many new burners crave a good playa name, but the best arise organically from spontaneous and unforgettable group experiences. Anyhoo, their playa-name picker consisted of two spinning wheels, which would spin, and then the attendant would randomly stop the wheels, with pointers pointing to one of twenty or so words written on each wheel.  So your random playa name would be like "Scarlet Monkey", or "Angel Spirit", or some other two-word, fairly forgettable name (unless the random phrase just happened to fit for some reason). They had taught me how to work the name wheel, and as someone walked up, I thought better of it and figured I'd just give her the first name that popped into my head, which happened to be "Bubbly Betty."  The name wheel gave her like "Mystic Magenta" or some such.  So she had a choice of two names, equally random and perhaps uninspired.

At the feet of the Man

The best time I had at the Souk came at one of the other shelters, where a small four-person drum circle was hopping along.  Being one for spontaneous group performance, I gravitated towards it, and was dancing to the beats with my mask, as well as drumming and piping in rhythm.  One of the guys jumped up, and asked me if I was from orange County.  When I confirmed, he said he recognized me, and my mask, from the Laguna Beach full moon drum circle, which I always attend, and dance with my masks.

One of the chill spaces at the Souk, a small drum jam.

More photos of the Souk and the sky at the end of the post.  Now on to the Temple.  

The road to the Temple

Just about a half-mile from the Man is the Temple, a more sober spot on the playa, a place for reflection, communion, and all kinds of mourning and celebration.  A few art pieces caught my eye along the way.

Sculpture near the Temple, Embrace in background.

Archways

Spire

Center, in the distance, a wave of wood rising out of the playa to form a perfect curl, with surfboard for photo op.

Another library. This one had hundreds of hand-made books with blank pages for burners to write and draw in.

Someone's alternative Man, out on the deep playa, school of fish in foreground.

The Temple is different every year, but this year it was designed by my personal favorite, David Best.  His temples are always delicate wooden lace-work forming a sacred shrine-like structure.  The citizens of Black Rock crowd inside, and leave countless inscriptions on the walls.  People leave placards, little shrines, or other remembrances to loved ones past, other issues in their lives.

The central structure of the Temple, looked a bit like a helmet.

Many years I have had deep intense connection with the Temple, and been able to purge a lot of negative emotions.  More recently, I don't seem to need it as badly, and make only a surface connection with the Temple.  It is all too easy to get lost in the intense wave of emotions that flood and surround that place.  Just walking in, and looking around, I seem to take on the burden and weight of all that grief and sorrow.  It is normal for me to break down and cry there.  

the free radical at the Temple of Grace 

Needless to say, the Temple was gorgeous.  I have heard the designer say that it has to be a complete work of art, in order to keep people there, having to look at it, for long enough for them to get what they need, the release, catharsis, healing, or whatever it is.

The Temple complex, a fence with archway entrances, several shrines, benches, focal points, and then the main Temple structure with its central stupa, or altar.

The ornate, softly-lit fence surrounding the Temple

Temple and fence

Inside the Temple

Ornate central lamp 

Ceiling

Airy, open architecture, gives a feeling of being indoors, but still connected to outside

This time I was there more or less to see the Temple, but hadn't planned for sufficient time to have an extended sit there, to find my spot and meditate, check in, and leave a remembrance.  I made a token effort in this vein, but was anxious to see the Embrace before it was closed off to the public.

The Temple has a different feel at night.  Very mellow, and meditative, with a smaller, quieter crowd.

But what was this? I noticed some people, a large group actually, engaged in some kind of performance or ritual.  They were arranged in single-file lines with their hands on the shoulders in front of them, all wearing blind folds of black cloth.  The lines of people were being led around by some organizers without blindfolds.  I was curious as to what was happening here, and hung around long enough to find out.  Near the Temple was the start of this ritual, where people were being blindfolded and lining up.  One man was holding up a flag which seemed to draw people into the ritual.  Coming around him, I saw it was the flag of Palestine and a slogan on it read "Peace for Palestine." This was right around the time of a major offensive by the Israeli military in the West Bank.  Seeing this, I started sobbing openly.  I am also outraged by the treatment of the Palestinians, and feel continual sorrow over their seemingly hopeless plight.  I saw someone else walk up and hug the man holding the flag, and I felt I could use a hug as well.  The man was agreeable, and we hugged it out, both crying.  I declined to participate in the ritual, thinking to move on to my other stops, but it had done its job, in drawing my awareness to the untold suffering of the Palestinians.

The vigil for peace for Palestine

As the darkness closed, I gathered my gear and headed over to the nearby Embrace sculpture.  This was the much-talked-about highlight of this year's large-scale art.  It had been recommended to me that I get to it, to see the inside, before it closed.  But sadly, by the time I arrived, the flagged rope perimeter told me I would not be allowed inside.  A friendly attendant at the rope fence told me that they had been closed for several hours already and were trying to clear everyone out of the inside so they could begin prepping it to burn.  They were going to burn it in the morning, at sunrise.  I was disappointed, and perhaps a but angry.  Burn it in the morning?  What was the point? Didn't they know people like to sleep in the morning?  And isn't the blazing light of a bonfire kind of ideal for the darkness of night?  Ah, but what do I know?  I'da done it at night, and left it open long enough so that I could get inside.  As it was, I slept in the following morning and missed the spectacle that was said by all to be awesome.  Resigned to having missed the interior, I just stood and admired the piece from outside the perimeter.  It was still pretty cool.  Look to others' photo albums to see more in depth shots of this amazing piece.

Embrace

There was more to my night ahead, but that's all that I took photos of.  More to come.

Next installment.

Stock photos:

Next installment.

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Burning Man 2014: Journey up: Wadsworth, Nevada, odd ISIS reference

Driving up to Burning Man often coincides with major, often tragic, world events.  One year it was the protracted siege by militants, of a school full of children and adults in Beslan, Russia.  Another year, it was Hurricane Katrina, one of the worst disasters in US history, which effectively destroyed the city of New Orleans.  This year, my drive out coincided with a fear campaign by media conglomerates that drummed up fear of a supposed new threat to our very well-being, a brand new terrorist organization with a new name and new attitude, ISIS!

Not to belittle the threat that is truly there, but the odds of a US citizen being killed by a terrorist is a small fraction of the odds that he or she will be wrongly killed by a police officer in the execution of his or her duties.  Not to mention that ISIS is entirely a product of US intervention, and all of their weapons say Made in USA.

So I had pulled into the colossal parking lot of the Walmart in Wadsworth, Nevada.  This was the last major spot of civilization on the way to Burning Man.  Only small towns remained ahead, which, though they did cater to burners, were not equipped to fully outfit everyone.  I caught a short nap in my car before heading into the store to clean myself up a bit, and get some last minute items.

Back at my car, I encountered a gentlemen of Wadsworth at his pickup truck in the opposing space.  His truck was empty; he wasn't going to Burning Man, but saw that I was and we began a conversation.  He was older than I and seemed to have a conservative bent, which would be fitting for this rural Nevada town.  He said he had been to Burning Man once, but the harsh desert conditions were not for him.  He talked of the event, predictably, as a festival of wild debauchery.  Not entirely untrue, of course, but hardly the whole story, but I happily indulged him with a smile and nod.

Then he expressed concern, that at a large festival like that, that we were open to a terrorist attack from ISIS.  I was a mix of shocked and amused.  I told him that it was highly unlikely that Burning Man would make the most attractive target for a terrorist strike, compared to, say, New York or Los Angeles.  The weather and terrain conditions on the playa make anything out there a daunting task, let alone sneaking around in the blank whiteness to plant explosives, or whatever this man might've feared they'd do.  No, this was just more warmongering hysteria drummed up by our media.  This man had no doubt been watching his fox "news", and moralizing about the hippie rave in the desert, and just put two and two together.

I did what I could to comfort his fears, or fantasies, or whatever, and bid him goodbye.  I take nothing personal from this encounter, as he was merely carrying and passing on the message of fear that had been given to him by the innocuous-looking television in his home.

Please, if you are worried about attacks from a foreign invader, have a look inside yourself and see if there's anything within you that is attacking, invading, angry, or belligerent.  What we fear and hate in others is that they reflect back to us some part that we fear and hate within ourselves.  Pointing to an outside enemy, or to "those people" as the ones that need to be fixed, or killed, is a distraction from real problems right at home, right in our own communities, in our institutions, and in our own bodies. 

Let's all look within to face and address the real issues.

"AMERICA FIGHTS TERRORISM" copyright 2008 David Fleischmann, the free radical

Burning Man 2014 Story Page

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.

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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