*Photo courtesy of Instagram
Merriam-Webster defines the verb 'to burn' as 'to give off light', which is a poetic description of what burners do each August. For the last twenty-eight years, seekers have driven to the near-lifeless playa of the Black Rock Desert, 100-ish miles north of Reno, NV, to create, experience and survive Burning Man. The event actually started in 1986 on Baker Beach in San Francisco, but the crowds grew too large and it was moved.
For a few years, I have thought about attending as something of a bucket-list item. Last year, I made a concerted effort to obtain tickets, but was not lucky in the various lotteries. This year, however, I got two tickets on the first try. I was ecstatic. I was excited. I was nervous. I really had no idea what I was getting myself into, even after speaking with several 'burner' friends. My friend, Gen, was interested and ended up purchasing my second ticket and we agreed to camp together and share supplies. Like me, Gen is a backpacker and so, between both of our gear-sets and outdoor experience, I had no concerns with surviving on the playa. That only left the 'burner' experience to be concerned with. Another friend, and regular burner, Nate, was extremely helpful in loaning me some playa-specific gear, providing tons of advice and perhaps most importantly, introducing Gen and I to a theme camp, which he is regularly part of.
Wet Spot is a well-established craft beer bar and five or so year history, built on the playa. In the weeks leading up to the event, Gen and I both assisted the camp crew with loading building materials, filling kegs, and other assorted preparatory chores. Most of the camp was planning to head out towards Black Rock City, the temporary community built by and for Burning Man, at the start of the event on Saturday, August 26th. Gen and I were only going for part of the week and planned to head out Wednesday evening after work.
From Saturday through Wednesday, we heard reports of intensive police activity on highway 447 leading to the Black Rock Desert. Burning Man has a reputation as drug-induced, orgy-friendly, art party, and while the police generally look the other way on most of these activities and only enforce laws against violent crimes, this year seemed to be a bit different for whatever reason. After loading Gen's Subaru with all of supplies and gear, we made the trip out and thankfully, had no issues with police or traffic. It takes about two hours to drive from Reno to the entrance, but early in the week, the wait time to get in may be as much as ten hours. Luckily, we didn't experience that and only had to deal with our initiation on the way in. As virgin burners, we were expected to get out of the car and make dust angels (like snow angels) on the playa as a right of passage. It seemed an unnecessarily silly way to get us dusty, but what the hell . . . it's tradition. We made our angels and rang the bell as our cherries had no been popped.
The long, slow drive into Black Rock City was eye-opening, even this far into the evening. The event obtains a use permit from the Bureau of Land Management for 70,000 attendees, plus approximately 5,000 volunteers and staff, but until you see what those people have created out of nothing, it's hard to understand just how big it is. In fact, during it's temporary annual existence, it is actually the 6th largest city in the state of Nevada.
Arriving at camp, other members of Wet Spot were preparing to hit the Deep Playa in the Yaba-mobile, which is a mutant car fashioned into the Flintstones mobile from what was previously a Land Rover. As I write all of this, I realize I'm introducing concepts that may be foreign to the reader, like 'mutant cars', but hopefully, it will become more clear as we continue. Gen and I decided to stay at camp and get our tent set up. Using a power-drill and an anchor assembly, which Nate suggested, it didn't take long to wind-proof our section of camp. Once we had our sleeping arrangements up, we decided to take our bikes, fully decorated in the Burning Man tradition, out to explore.
It's difficult to explain everything we were seeing, but I will try my best. From hammock retreats, to hot tea ceremonies, from mobile dance clubs, to stargazing, from genital painting to, yoga instruction, there is something for everyone. The lights, the sounds, the bodies, everything just seemed alive. Black Rock City is arranged in a clock configuration with 'The Man' functioning as the center of the clock, 'Temple' at midnight and theme camps arranged from 2:00 to 10:00. The area beyond theme camps where 'The Man' and 'Temple' have been constructed is known as the 'Deep Playa' and it's purpose always confused me until now. The Playa of the Black Rock Desert is a lifeless, flat, dusty lake bed that is known for hosting several land speed records. Dust blows up into clouds that can choke the life out of visitors and reduce visibility to near-zero. So, why would the event have so much of the playa partitioned off like this. As I learned during this time, the Deep Playa is full of amazing art installations, and is where the hundreds of mutant vehicles and thousand of neon-clad bikes go after dark. Mutant vehicles, like Wet Spot's yaba-mobile, are cars that are no-longer street legal and have been modified to appear as pirate ships, or dragons, or mobile strip clubs . . . the owner's imagination is the only limitation. These vehicles, their neon or laser-lights, and techno-bumping sound-systems wander the playa in search of _____ each evening during the event. With the addition of bikes and pedestrians, which are best-advised to use extensive lighting on their persons, makes for a sea of color throbbing and undulating with life on the lifeless desert plane. After exploring a bit and realizing how overwhelming the next few days were going to be, we returned to town and found a nice camp serving multiple flavors of hot tea. We sat and chilled for a bit, before crashing for the night.
Waking fairly early Thursday morning, we opted to go out and explore more in the daylight. While the Deep Playa comes to life after dark, the streets of Black Rock City burst with adventure during the day. We first chose to attend a lecture on the ecology of the Black Rock Desert offered by a theme camp known as the Earth Guardians. There, we learned that Burning Man is the single largest Leave No Trace event on Earth. As someone very involved with LNT, I was aware that it was one of the guiding principles of the event, but I never considered how much effort went into cleaning up after the event and ensuring the playa is returned to its natural state. I'm so very glad to be part of it.
From there, we went back to Wet Spot, where I did a shot of the 12-pepper 'Takillya', which is tequila that has had 12 Carolina Reaper chilies macerating in it for 3-weeks or so. I have a high tolerance for heat, but it wasn't the burn of the capsaicin that got me. Instead, it seemed to just hit my stomach like a brick. The feeling was much akin to being kicked in the genitals. It passed after a few minutes, but at least I got that out of the way. It's something of a tradition at the camp and I was glad to participate, painful as it was.
Returning to the Deep Playa, this time in daylight, we visited 'Temple'. Here a large and artistic structure has been created in the form of a giant spiral. Temple is approximately 50 yards in diameter and probably 20 yards tall. This is a somber place where burners go to mediate, to morn, to cry and finally, when the temple burns on Sunday, to say goodbye to those loved and lost in the previous year. I was struck by the strange dress or complete nudity of those walking around temple (and the entire event for that matter). People in the crazies cloths you have ever seen were sitting in complete silence. What's more striking though and what would become a theme of the event for me is the lack of judgement. No one was judging anyone else. Everyone was free to be or explore their own identity where it might take them. It was a unique micro-culture that I had not before encountered.
We visited a number of other art installations and theme camps throughout the day and eventually returned to camp around dark, just in time to hit the Deep Playa in the yaba-mobile. With plenty of booze in-hand and the sound-system blaring techno at volumes that would deafen mere mortals, we climbed aboard - a dozen or so on the top deck (including me), eight or so in the seats and on the sides and a number of camp-members on bikes riding with us. We headed out . . . destination unknown. Over the next couple of hours, we stopped a few times and visited a few art pieces on the playa, but what was most amazing, was the one-ness of it all. It was like a block party on an astronomical scale. There weren't hundreds of people out here. There weren't thousands of people out here. There were tens-of-thousands of people out here dancing, drinking, drugging, doing whatever their current whim charmed them into doing. As the playa is a relatively safe place, the police tend to overlook things of this nature at this event and surrounded by friends, people just seem to turn loose of all inhibition and be the person they instinctual are. We got back to camp about 2:30 AM and crashed. It had been a long day and I was ready to sleep.
The next morning, I tended bar at Wet-Spot for a little bit. Perhaps the most interesting thing about Burning Man is the lack of currency-acceptance. The only thing that money buys you here is ice, which is brought in by the organizers on a daily basis. Beyond that, everything else is given away for free. From food, to booze, from massages, to lectures, from instruction, to sex, nothing can be bought for money. The idea of event is that it is a honor-based bartering system. If you are here, then you have contributed something to Burning Man and are free to take part in what others have contributed. Wet Spot contributes lots and lots of booze. This year, that included four kegs of Great Basin's Icky, four kegs of Deschutes Fresh Squeezed IPA, Two kegs of Newcastle, a dozen or so pony-kegs of Skip-and-Go-Naked (our own concoction of American light lager, vodka, Everclear, and lime-aid), and a twenty or so bottles of the chile-infused "Takillya" mentioned earlier. People would come into our old-west style bar, complete with saloon-doors and we'd poor them a drink or three of their choice while we talk about life, the universe, and everything. No bar tab. No tips. No money. If they are here, then they are contributing something of themselves.
Gen wasn't feeling well and so, I went off on my own for a while that evening. I attended a couple of astronomical lectures, which included a showing of the Pale Blue Dot clip from Dr. Carl Sagan's Cosmos. For whatever reason, it seemed to put my mind in just the right place. This place, this event, this time is the Pale Blue Dot come in miniature.
After the lectures, I roamed the city. It's not hard to find something interesting to do. I found a burning T-rex, a wine bar, a creme-brulee service, topless pole dancers, flaming-limbo, a giant swing, a 747 fuselage turned dance-club, anything and everything one can conceive of is here to be found. The variety of this cornucopia of experience is endless. As the night progresses, I wander back out into the Deep Playa. Here some of the art installations have been set ablaze as was intended upon their creation. Fireworks sparkle overhead, while music pounds my brain and I maneuver through tens of thousands of bikes circling 'The Man'.
Rising the next morning, I realize how much dust is on everything. No matter what precautions you take, the fine, white dust of the playa is an absolute. It gets into everything, which is why the dust-angels we made upon entry were so important. You must embrace the dust to embrace Burning Man. Earlier, I had found a shower house that had about fifty naked people of both sexes outside in line, but decided to pass and just accept my fate.
Saturday morning, it seems the city begins to tear down. Many of the camps are closed and in various stages of deconstruction. It's unfortunate, as I find many more of interest: a pancake service, organic fruit and vegetable tasting, homemade soda bar, and even a brewery. Without experiencing it, it's impossible to understand the endless variety that exists in this place. We started packing up and headed out Saturday evening, but this experience has changed my world-view. It has changed me and the ripple-effect of it may manifest in mysterious ways in the months and years to come.
Burning Man is nothing; Burning Man is everything. It is the sum total of humanity in one place at one time. It is what we are. It is who we are. And it seeks to answer why we are. It's not evil. It's not deprived. It's not just a big naked orgy. It's search for what it means to be human; what it means to exist. There are parties and there are orgies, but there are also prayer sessions and scientific lectures. There is art and there is music. There is food and there is booze. There is nudity and there are drugs. Burning Man is everything you've ever heard it was, but so much more. Burning Man is.
After returning home, with a nasty sunburn, I reflect on what I have seen and what I have experienced. The man burns because he is fleeting, as is the experience (as is our lives). We must make of it what we can. Do no harm. Leave no trace. Just be . . .
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