Burning Man 9.1 - 9.6.15
Black Rock City
Words By J. Picard
Photos By Carly Picard & J. Picard
This isn't necessarily an easy story to tell. What follows is an absolute account of a single group's experience at one of the most challenging and most unexplainable events of our time. The stories and occurrences described are our interpretations of reality and perceived reality throughout our time in Black Rock City, and the resulting tale is one of an expansive dream that plays out with 70,000 dreamers on a dry prehistoric lake bed. Our adventure began as most do in our home town of Denver, CO with extensive preparations, including the purchase of a brand new tent and EZ-up. For weeks we slowly directed costumes and nonsensical items towards dusty bins that eventually filled to the brim and were sealed for the trip. Prior to our departure we met with our group that included my fiancé, Carly (five time Burner), Murray (two time Burner) and Spuckes, who would be making his first trip to Black Rock Desert. Following our meeting of minds, it was clear that Spuckes was not taking the sentiment "The Playa is trying to kill you," seriously, as he was avoiding the available literature and information. "Just bring a shovel" became the joke, with Murray insisting that it would be best for Spuckes to dig his own grave. Murray flew west to Reno on Saturday, August 29th, with Spuckes departing the day to follow. Our departure came on Sunday, August 30th with a 1,100 mile trip down I-80 west to our outpost in Lovelock, NV. We awoke Monday morning and began our final preparations of last minute shopping, cooking, freezing and packing, including hordes of water. One last shower, one last night in a real bed, and a stop into a small saloon style bar called Crazy Corners for Coors Light and freezer pizzas, and the day had come for our return to The Playa...
Tuesday, August 1, 2015 - Arrival:
We tuned into 94.5 Burning Man Information Radio (BMIR) which was outputting bizarre music intertwined with live, almost classified ads from Burners seeking a variety of objects and services. In the distance, we could see a massive dust storm covering the whole of Burning Man. "What a way to see Black Rock City for the first time," I said to Carly regarding Spuckes' first impression. We pulled onto The Playa and posed for a group shot next to the Burning Man sign. We drove along wide open lanes past signs that told fairytale style stories, towards the first friendly checkpoint. We were welcomed by a volunteer who directed us towards will-call, where we were greeted by a young lady who had a bit going with her friends who were behind her laughing. The gig was such that she had to sing until she was interrupted by the incoming guests. We greeted her relatively quickly, negating her agreement to sing, while Murray and Spuckes sat waiting patiently for her song to conclude. They parked behind us and exited their vehicles before we dawned our goggles and bandannas and collectively headed to the box office. The year prior was pure chaos. We waited in a long line to be told that we were in the "wrong line" and ended up waiting in an additional line. Time spent last year at the box office was two plus hours, with the line building behind us to six hours or more. This year, we discovered the large tent structure and empty turnstiles. We walked right up to the box office staff and acquired our guest wristbands and we were on our way. We returned to our vehicles and drove past the BRC airport where planes were coming and going at a constant rate. We approached the second checkpoint where we were greeted by more Burners, who scanned our parking passes and advised us to proceed with caution at five miles per hour to avoid being pulled over by the authorities. We arrived at the final checkpoint where we were welcomed to Burning Man by the official greeters!
I glanced to my right to see the front end of Murray's car emerge. He passed in front of us and we followed him into the camps. Upon our arrival in the camps, the dust and wind had subsided and we were able to cruise the rows to find a solid spot in which would we reside for five or six days. The camps were significantly more crowded than the previous year around the same time, but we found a perfect spot just past the Twistine Chapel, in between the streets J and K, around the cross street 5:00. We prefer the suburb vibe, as sleep is an important part of sustainability throughout the week long party. We were greeted by a French camp to our right, a camp flying a marijuana leaf flag behind ours and a camp of three older women to our rear. We began pulling bins, gear and equipment out of our already dusty cars and our camp began to take shape. We pounded water as we hammered rebar and erected our tents. This easily took a couple of hours and upon the conclusion of setup, decorating commenced. While we were decorating, I gave Spuckes his playa name, "Gerard." The sun began to get lower in the sky and the temperature, which was already mild, began to drop, meaning it was time to drink beer.
As we prepared for the long night ahead we layered up, packed our backpacks with water, box wine, additional bandannas and of course, our cups. An empty cup is an important part of the Burning Man experience whether it's you filling your own cup, a stranger passing by or a barkeep in a saloon, you must have a cup on you at all times. Once we were locked and loaded, we hopped on our bikes and rode a block over to the porta potties. From the johns we rode up 5:00 towards Esplanade and the open playa. We passed Brokedown Palace, the Grateful Dead camp, which was in full swing. At each intersection it was an eb and flow with bikers criss-crossing from every direction. As we pulled onto Esplanade the full scale of Burning Man unfolded. "This place is massive," Spuckes said seeing it for the first time. We glanced from right to left observing glowing lights, lasers and explosions on an incredible scale in every direction. We decided to start by heading to Center Camp to get oriented.
We hopped off of our bikes and locked them up at one of the many bike racks outside. Out front of Center Camp stood a large robot called "Becoming Human." In its left hand was a dog leash connected to a smaller, bulldozer looking robot and in its right hand was a flower that it would raise to its face and smell every once in a while. We pulled out our cups and a box of wine from my backpack and filled up our glasses before we headed into Center Camp. As we entered the tent we were greeted by a sparse scene with ample art of all sorts. We gravitated towards the center and glanced up at the large open portion and the camp's flags waving in the night sky. Carly walked up to Spuckes and turned his headlamp off prior to our slight wandering as we enjoyed the art. A short time later we saddled up and headed out to the open playa, past a small structure with an elephant head on it, towards the large Serpant Monster, which was moving and shooting flames surrounded by excited participants. It was quite an amazing piece and gave off an incredible amount of heat.
From The Serpent we rode to The Man, where we parked, poured more wine and came upon a large carnival throughofair. There were carnival workers calling participants to "step right up!" Folks were throwing balls at a smiling facade of a clown in an attempt to knock out its teeth. Others were throwing rings or talking to fortune teller/psychics enclosed in glass, who were real people. The bright lights and the atmosphere did well in creating a carnival vibe before we stumbled upon the entrance to the maze. There we were welcomed by a gentleman who asked that we not smoke around The Man and that we enjoy ourselves. We entered and made a right, then took the first left toward the interior, down a hallway of mirrors and into what felt like a courtyard, with an intricate shine in it's center and cameras with large projection screens along the perimeter. I have no problem with mirrors and cameras, however, for many I am sure all of the attention to the self could have been a lot to handle at the time. We made our way up a wooden staircase onto a second story under The Man that overlooked both the small courtyard and the maze. From our vantage point we could see that each corner of the maze played host to a unique interactive experience. Outside of the maze, there were stages that we didn't notice from ground level. On the stage to our right, there were people spinning fire. On the stage to our left seemed to be some sort of obscure dialogue, with the participants drinking heavily from a bottle of dark liquor.
The first structure that we came upon in the new direction was a large two story cube structure that had LED lights along its exterior lines and a large female face painted on the side facing us. We walked up to it and stared into some mirrors on the side, before noticing a small slot. Murray approached with a card in hand that read "The Life Cube Project." On the other side of the card, participants were encouraged to write down their dreams, wishes and goals and insert them into the slot. I looked back over my shoulder where I saw Spuckes sitting on what appeared to be a low bench. He had a shit eating grin on his face. Then, what looked to be a lobster drove by. We hopped back on our bikes and came to a collective stop to decide where we were heading. A large board room table with board members sitting in suits and a man on top of the table yelling, drove by. It was pure insanity. In our haze, we noticed my favorite art car, "El Pulpo Mechanico," heading for us, blasting fire. I felt a child-like excitement come over me as if I were about to meet Santa Clause. He came to a stop just short of where we were standing and as Michael Jackson played in the background, a ton of people surrounded the large metal octopus as if to worship their god. "Welcome to The Church of El Pulpo Mechanico," I muttered to Spuckes. With every explosion of fire, you could feel the extreme heat roar over the top of you with power and welcome warmth.
We rode out past wind up teeth to a three story wooden structure with a bright rainbow on top. We locked up our bikes and headed up the rickety stairs that led to dead ends, only to have to turn around and pass other climbers. Back on The Playa, we once again filled our glasses with wine. We made our way towards what looked like a small radio tower with an LED blanket hanging underneath. On the ground there were a ton of Burners spacing out to the changing array of colors. We continued riding past a large fairy tale looking boot house called "Storied Haven," that had a long line that extended out of its gate and only stopped once we arrived at The Temple. We locked up our bikes, filled up on wine and walked toward the sizable wooden cornucopia, past fire spinners and folks sitting on the ground in front of it. Surrounding The Temple were small wooden designs that had lights shining inside of them. We entered The Temple and immediately began to see pictures of folks whom we lost, as well as messages of love and heartache. For some reason at that moment I didn't feel sad, as I did in the previous year's Temple. Instead, I smiled as we walked further into its spiraling core, until it bottle-necked and felt like a line that wasn't moving. We turned around and walked out passing an influx of people still coming in. A man inquired, "where is Timothy Leary's funeral?" to which I smiled and said, "that's good." He replied by saying, "what's the answer?" to which I said, "there is no answer." As we exited, two young men to our right were clutching each other in all out laughter. I found it an odd and uncharacteristic reaction to The Temple and smiled.
We slowly returned to our bikes and headed toward a spinning piece of art that changed colors as participants spun it in one direction, then the opposite, while onlookers stared in amazement. We continued on and stopped at a piece that we recognized called "Brainchild," which was a sitting baby's legs on the bottom and tube like shape that looked like it had nerves coming out of it, connecting on the top in a circular shape with a light inside. I knocked on its base creating a hollow resonating noise. We continued to ride across the open playa passing groups of bikers, art cars and people on foot towards White Ocean, a large sound camp at 10:00 and Esplanade. We parked and locked up, cuing another massive pour of wine. Our cups were full on so many levels. We headed into the circle of glowing spires that were shooting fire and we danced our asses off. Behind me read a large sign that said "Fuck it." That pretty much summed up my thoughts at the time. We danced and consumed wine for a solid amount of time before deciding to head back towards camp to chill for a bit.
We rode down Esplanade laughing and joking when we were blindsided by our first bad dust storm of the week. We put on our goggles and pulled our bandannas up over our noses and mouths. We attempted to ride slowly before it became impossible in the madly euphoric environment. I glanced over my right shoulder and connected with Carly, where we stood in place until we were able to see slightly. There was no sign of Murray or Spuckes. We made our way into the camps, almost unsure of what direction we were heading. As it was our first night back in BRC and Spuckes' first night ever in BRC, we assumed the worst. We assumed he was wandering aimlessly through the dust, though we had much more confidence in Murray's ability. We rode and rode, stopping at 6:00 and I, where we took a second to recall that we were actually camped off of 5:00 and J. We continued towards camp and pulled up through the dust to shockingly find a parked bicycle in the waves of dust, and Spuckes laying flat on the ground, possibly passed out, possibly eating a sandwich. Murray pulled in right behind us while we were in shock over Spuckes' ability to locate camp. We cracked beers in a celebratory fashion as waves of dust blasted our camp. "Do you like horse meat or Vicodin? If so, join us at 'Opulent Tent" at 5:00 and J,' I chirped as we joked and laughed insanely as our night faded. We climbed into our tent, where we found a layer of dust, which made no sense as all of our windows were closed. We laid down, closed our eyes and fell asleep immediately to the quiet of the Black Rock City's suburbs.
Wednesday August 2, 2015 - Minus One:
My eyes opened as I coughed dust. My head hurt from all of the box wine. I needed bacon. I stepped out of the tent, stretched and grabbed a Gatorade. I opened the cooker and fired it up, and began boiling water for coffee before grabbing bacon, eggs and cheese from the cooler, which would require more ice before long. I fired up the propane cooker atop of our new camping table setup and put it to the test. There was a rustling in the tent as Carly awoke to a breakfast burrito, follow by Spuckes from "Opulent Tent." I noticed that our tent had ripped from the base loop, but was still structurally sound and enclosed. I also noticed that our phones had limited service as well as internet, so I checked a few messages and made a couple of phone calls. We sat, ate and recovered before Spuckes and I saddled up to ride past Center Camp, to Arctica, to fetch some ice. We grabbed a Black Rock Beacon newspaper (Piss Clear) and read some nonsensical articles while we waited in line. Entering the dome, we found almost all of the employees dancing their asses off. We purchased one of the two things that money can buy in BRC, Ice (the other being coffee). In the previous year, I threw the five pack of ice over my shoulder. As it slowly melted, it formed to my body, making it possible to carry the long distance to camp. We purchased the ice and I tossed it over my shoulder, only this time it was a lot more solid. I rode and rode, shifting as I rode, never finding a great position. Spuckes rode off completely, like a child. About half way to camp I tossed the bag into the air and caught it on the way down. A gentleman cut me off, followed by a girl who boxed me in. In the real world, it would have felt like a sting, but on The Playa, I welcomed the interaction. "Toss the ice in my basket," the friendly man said. "Oh, you don't have to do that," I replied. "I insist," he said. "You're not riding any further." "Toss it in the basket," the young lady said. I obliged.
Murray came into the tee pee and said that he had a family emergency and that he was trying to figure out what his next move would be. We communicated that we were there for him, whatever he should choose to do. High winds ripped through our camp and we hammered everything down harder and put away anything that could blow away. Murray rode off and got his last taste of Burning Man before returning to camp and slowly packing up his gear. Our group assisted in the taking down of his EZ-Up. It was a sad feeling to be tearing down a portion of camp and saying good bye to Murray so early on in the adventure. It was decided that the tee pee would remain and that Spuckes would drive Murray to his hotel, hit the storage unit to drop off the un-needed gear and would return. The wind continued with gusts of thirty plus miles an hour and our EZ-up snapped. We quickly rushed over and messed around with bungee cords before ultimately removing the canopy and continuing to put away anything that wasn't nailed down.
We quickly returned to Center Camp and sought shelter on a small block bench. Carly and I took turns drinking from our large water bottle. We were surround by others seeking shelter, having conversations in many different languages. Across from us a man played a native American style drum, while his partner laid on her back and danced on the ground. We retrieved our bikes and headed back to camp, where to our surprise, only one of the bins' lids came off. We sat in solitude reflecting on Murray's departure and the current physical state of our camp. The day began to ware on us and I texted Spuckes to gauge the time of his return, and to let him now that we decided to take a short nap prior to our evening at Burning Man. We closed our eyes to camps on nearby streets partying and preparing for a wild evening, regardless of the conditions.
We drank beers, packed our backpacks and illuminated our bikes while our neighbors talked about un-hooking their battery. We rode off towards Center Camp, parked our bikes and headed up Esplanade in search of "Planet Earth," an indoor club past BMIR. "Justin?" someone said off to my right. I turned to see a gentleman we know from Colorado, Matt, in a white tutu, stockings and corset, with a white umbrella. We checked in with him on his experience thus far and continued on our way to "Planet Earth," which was blasting trance music. We danced for a bit before growing tired of the repetitive beats and we headed out front of the club, poured some wine a headed towards Death Guild's "Thunderdome." Spuckes and I stared at the metal dome structure while Carly wandered over to the dome's entrance to check the scheduled fight times and see about signing Spuckes up. The dome was dark so we continued on to a large pink pony art car, with people dancing all over it, while it blasted beats. We danced for a short time before making our way back past BMIR, which was broadcasting live unfiltered nonsense, while a group of people sat around their large burn barrel fire.
We collected our bikes at Center Camp and rode back to camp to re-fuel. Upon our arrival, we sat and drank beers, slowly sinking into our chairs. It was decided that our night was over, at which point Spuckes packed up for another round. As we climbed into our tent, we conversed about what sort of craziness he would get into alone at Burning Man. We agreed that it would be good for him. We dusted off multiple layers of dust, coughing and realizing that there was no solution at that hour. We crawled into bed, beaten, battered, exhausted and ready for a clear day...
Thursday August 3, 2015 - Plus Two:
A gentleman from the French camp, Luc, came out of his motorhome and threw up next to a car. I wandered over with a bottle of water, which he confusingly refused with one hand while accepting the bottle with the other. After his consequence of the previous night, he took a swig of water. I checked my e-mails and sent a couple of messages regarding a big show that I was throwing that evening in Denver. It was lining up to be a sold out show, which had me in a good mood. As it was a relatively clear morning, we decided it was necessary to open all of the windows on our tent, take everything out and sweep it. It seemed like one layer of dust after another. A short time later, our tent was in the best shape that it had been since our arrival. Spuckes headed off to look for the fabled "Grandma Camp" as Carly and I headed off to retrieve ice. A short time into our ride, the dust started to kick up, triggering us to grab our goggles and bandannas. We arrived at Arctica and hopped into line as a bus with clean tourists of an elderly age, holding cameras and cell phones, came to a stop out front of the ice camp. It felt like a safari and we were the wilderbeasts. As we were about to enter the "igloo," we noticed an entertaining piece written on the wall. "You may be a special snowflake, but this is a goddamn blizzard."
We pulled up to find a very well thought out camp with a tent like structure covering individual tents. In the communal space towards the entrance of the tent, a band was set up. We made it just in time for the second set. The band stepped up and the keyboardist said something into the mic along the lines of "this is very difficult music, so please excuse any mistakes, blah, blah, blah," followed by a Niche' quote. The music began and immediately the guy next to me said "yes, Cities!" It was definitely "Llama" and not "Cities." The mainly seated crowd danced in place as one missed note after terrible riff bounced off of their eardrums. I gave a sideways glance to Spuckes who reciprocated, before I turned to Carly and said, "I think I am going to head back to camp." "Give it one more song," she said positively. The first few notes of the following song were discernible and I immediately turned and exited the camp. I tried to be as positive as possible and supportive towards people's creative output, but this was potentially one of the worst bands that I have ever heard, butchering complex material.
I stood by watching as dust pan after dust pan full of dust was tossed out of the tent, before Spuckes stepped out holding a weird dancing/musical toy that spelled out "love." I had him hold the toy, press the button and stand there while I filmed it, making for an entertaining clip. The sun began to set and we prepared for the arrival of two additional guests, Jenny and Jesse, who attended their first burn the previous year. A military helicopter flew over Black Rock City, doing laps, when Jenny and Jesse pulled in. I pointed out the different approach options before Jesse cruised around the block and pulled off of J, down a row of solar lights that we had been calling "the driveway," into camp. With the truck and trailer stationary, they began to unload and set up. At one point Jesse pulled a shredded tire out of the back of his truck and explained that it had blown out on their trailer on their trip from Reno, causing a slight delay. He also pulled a large bike out of the back of the pick-up truck that he had made out of a wheel barrel, large tires and a seat covered with a sleeping bag. I was impressed. Then Jenny busted out her traditional Burning Man cupcakes. I was a happy camper.
We crossed Esplanade and made our way out to The Man passing one wild scene after another. I was surprised at how many people were on The Playa without any sort of glowsticks or lights, causing a potential hazard for themselves and others, due to their lack of visibility. We pulled up to the carnival that surrounded The Man, dismounted, poured some wine and headed into the madness. There was so much activity taking place and the night was still relatively young. We headed into the maze and this time made a right toward the outside of the maze, entering a room of what appeared to be a sort of control panel in one corner and eleven white heads with faces projected onto them. It was a touch uncomfortable which drew me in and thoughts of artificial intelligence and the like swirled in my head. The faces discussed feelings, insecurities and a range of inter-personal topics. We made our way out of the room through a doorway adjacent to us and headed into to the other corner into a room with a row of two-sided mirrors and seats on each side. We watched as participants controlled the lights and translucency of the mirror combining the faces on each side, before trying it ourselves. It was very trippy when executed properly, though it wasn't easy to control.
We pulled up to White Ocean which was starting to fill in for the evening. We danced and took in the atmosphere for a while. At one point, I danced on Spuckes who was having none of my nonsense. After a short time, we hopped on our bikes and headed back to "Dragonfly Den," where folks had started to gather. We waited for what felt like a while, while someone repeatedly asked folks to back up out of the performance space so that the show could commence. While we waited "El Pulpo" crept up behind us and blasted flames causing our whole group to turn around. "I'm not feeling well. I think I am going to ride back to camp for a bit. I'll see you guys there," Spuckes said. We focused back on the performance, which still didn't seem to be underway, though it seemed everyone cleared out of the space per the hosts request. We grew bored and decided to head back to camp ourselves to refuel.
Friday August 4, 2015 - The Winds Pick Up:
It seemed as if the winds had continued through the night. I wasn't sure how much more we could take of the wind and dust. I did what I had done the previous mornings and jumped right into brewing coffee and making breakfast. A short time later I was joined by Spuckes and the rest of the group. "How are you feeling?" I asked Spuckes. "Well, I threw up on The Playa while I was riding my bike," he replied while holding water and paper towel in his hand. "Where are you headed?" I inquired. "I am going to go ride back to where I threw up and clean it up," he said. In that moment, I was really proud of his level of consciousness and his desire to leave no trace. He rode off while the rest of us ate breakfast and hydrated. Jenny and Jesse decided to ride the bike that Jesse built to Center Camp for some antics later in the day. I told them that we would ride along in order to get ice, at which point Jesse directed me towards a cooler by their trailer that was completely full of ice. I was grateful and the process of icing down the coolers was underway.
The dust cleared and our whole group was within' about five to ten feet of one another and everyone joined me at the piano, taking turns playing the worst sounding vibrations that one could imagine. On the piano a sign read, "I was hit by a truck! PLEASE: Be gentle and do not climb!" Presumably, the piano's encounter with the truck didn't help its tone or pitch. We collected ourselves and continued to Totem of Confessions. As we rode up, I saw a group of Burners prepping a smashed can on the end of a fishing pole. They cast it out and I figured I would humor them by attempting to grab it, providing them with some yucks. I picked up the smashed can, which didn't get reeled in on me. I had mistaken the antics and instead was rewarded with a shot of tequila for picking up MOOP (matter out of place).
Somehow, Spuckes was under the impression that both Carly and Jenny had gotten tattoos on The Playa, which is outrageous. We danced, took pictures and ate M&Ms as the wind and dust came and went. At one point, Spuckes turned to me and said "I think I am going to pack up and take off tonight," to which I turned and handed him a beer. "I see what your strategy is here..." he said accepting, then opening the beer. We rode towards "R-Evolution," an incredible, tall, female statue having to stop a couple of times and eventually walk our bikes due to the dust. We arrived to find a handful of women on stilts and people surrounding the statue, posing for pictures and admiring the complexity of the work. On the statue's base read "I am you and we are everywhere," repeating in different size texts. We ate more M&Ms as the dust, wind and sun beat down on us. Because only chocolate could make a dust storm tolerable. The wind was so strong that it blew a couple of our bikes over sending the contents of the basket across The Playa with us chasing after and collecting the entirety of the MOOP. While Jesse rode his bike in front of R-Evolution, he did tricks and Carly snapped some photos of the entertainment. As we rode towards The Man in anticipation of "Critical Tits," we passed a furry flamingo art car with a couple of the stilt walkers on board.
I quickly lost interest and wandered a short twenty feet away where I could hear the woman on the megaphone assembling the Critical Tits parade. I collected the group and off we went. We found a great spot amidst the chaos of topless women and I began to dance. I dropped a couple of my characteristic moves, the "Tornado" and the "Slippery Fish," before being run up on by a dude who wanted to get down with me, and get down we did. The requested guidelines came from the woman on the megaphone who stated that the men should ask the women to take any pictures before doing so. Then, "The Flight of The Bumble Bee" came on over the speakers and they were off. We hopped on our bikes and rode a short distance away for a better vantage point through almost whiteout dust. As the parade teetered off, we rode back towards Center Camp, down the road from The Man. We rode slowly as the dust and wind continued to pick up, at one point causing us to almost run right into the parade, which had circled back in our direction. We clapped and cheered along with the passing by women, who appeared to be having a fantastic time.
Spuckes said his brief goodbyes, almost apologetically. I began furiously packing up the bins, bedding and tearing down what remained of our camp. Carly and I attempted to talk about the situation, resulting in minor bickering as we crammed items into the Jeep. It was a hopeless situation that no one expected. In the six years that Carly has attended Burning Man and the three that I have followed, we have never experienced the relentless beating that we had taken this year. The last few items were forcibly packed into the car and the doors pushed shut. As I did so, a gentleman from the French camp wandered over, opened a tuperware container and said "Hello, do you want a crap?" "A what?" I said stepping back. "A Crap," he repeated. "Oh, a crepe. No, I am good. We're about to take off," I said. "One for the road?" he insisted. "A crap?" I said sarcastically. "No I'm good. Thanks, friend," I said putting my hand on his shoulder. Carly and Jenny posed for a couple of photos and shed a couple of tears. We told them that we looked forward to seeing them at our wedding in October and we were on our way. We drove past camps of folks hunkered down and attempting to hold the pieces together, many with smiles on their faces. We rode down the rows which were once designated for the mass entrance, this time towards the exit. Just before we hit the pavement, we passed about five police cars that had surrounded a single hippie. The cops were wearing flac jackets and had all kinds of military issued gear on. To our right an additional cop ripped across The Playa at about ninety miles an hour towards the scene, which had clearly already been secured. The two hour ride back to Lovelock was sad and dismal. We pulled into Carly's parents' driveway and pulled out our essentials for the evening. We headed into the air-conditioned house and took our first warm, dust-free shower in about four days. We laid our heads down on our pillows and closed our eyes. What could have easily been the end of our journey was instead a new beginning...
Saturday August 5, 2015 - The Return To The Playa:
We pulled onto The Playa and didn't see a single car in either direction. We drove past where the first checkpoint was towards the second checkpoint. We were told to hold on as it was shift change for the greeters. I was skeptical as most things people tell you at Burning Man are pure nonsense. I half expected to have some sort of clever trick played on us. We waited while a group of about five volunteers gathered off to our right. We continued to wait as they seemed to be having a pre-shift meeting. I glanced in my rear view mirror and found that it was just our car waiting to re-enter. I checked my phone for the time and about ten minutes later a guy walked up to our car. As he went to scan our parking pass, we communicated that we were re-entering and we showed our guest bracelets. He called another guy over who waved us in. We scratched our heads as to why we couldn't have just been waived in prior to the meeting. There was no joke to be played.
The sun set triggering our ride down 5:00 towards The Man. The wind blew across my face as I rode and I felt extremely blissful. We pulled across Esplanade and made our way towards the bathrooms on the 9:00 road from The Man. We locked up our bikes and hopped in line. Ridiculous banter ensued as folks were in rare form for the climax of their week! We reconvened at the bikes following our emptying, where we found a bottle rocket in Carly's basket. We left the bikes locked up where they were, poured some wine and made our way towards the face of The Man through the incredible ring of art cars. As we stood waiting, fire-spinners captivated the crowd. At one point folks started telling others to sit down and we found ourselves uncomfortably sitting and waiting for a solid thirty minutes or so. The Man's arms rose and the incredible display began. There was a moment where we decided to stand and walk out of the seated area and run back to the bathrooms before The Man went up in flames.
From Thunderdome we rode towards "Big Red" and "Kalliope," the near inseparable duo, who were playing host to a large dance party in the open Playa. We danced for a short time while a DJ played some tracks, before we decided to dive in further and head to White Ocean. We rode across The Playa passing groups of revelers laughing and experiencing BRC on a high level. We danced as the night faded into morning, before making the last ride passed Disorient, pirate ships, Medusa, Center Camp, BMIR, The Celtic Castle and the club at 2:00 and Esplanade. Our week long experience slowly spiraled down the drain of time and every expectation that we had of the week went up in flames for an unexpected barrage of chaos and wind. We knew better than to set expectations for the week, yet there we were reflecting as we rode back to 5:00 and J. We sat in our chairs for a short time before making our way into the trailer. We found sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow.
Sunday August 6, 2015 - Return To Reality:
I awoke to people arguing outside. "Fuck you!" a girl yelled, before I had even a chance to brew coffee. "It must be the final day," I thought. A week of partying and hours of having to tear down while crashing from the euphoria will have that effect on people. I made one last pot of coffee and breakfast as the group woke up and slowly came to. Jesse was quick to follow on his cooker and the smell of bacon and eggs overtook the camp. We slowly packed the few items that we returned with into bins as cars began to file out in growing numbers. We listened to BMIR as we loaded up the bikes and they gave little to no info about traffic. We rode Jesse's homemade bike one last time before he packed it up and prepared the trailer for departure. We said our sudo-goodbyes and hopped into our vehicles. We made our way down J, turned left on 5:15 and headed up K. On the side of the road were hitch-hikers holding signs that reflected their destinations. At one point, we drove by an area of tables where extra food, as well as uppers and downers were being collected for the tear down crew. We pulled out of the camps and drove along at ten miles an hour for much longer than expected before coming to a stop where the pulsing began. A short forty five minutes later and we were on the surface road, passing through Gerlach, which was once again a police state, and back towards I-80.