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total over-stimulation of the senses and one’s reason. Perhaps if I had arrived well-rested, maybe simply driven the 2 hours from the Reno airport after a flight from somewhere, I might’ve taken it all in with a giggle. But the journey that preceded our arrival—an arrival all the more noteworthy by the corps of totally nude official greeters at the entrance—was an exhausting adventure in itself and not something I was expecting. Luckily, excitement and delirium lend a special energy, so I was alert as we pulled up to Black Rock City on Wednesday afternoon.Our arrival was actually the cap-off of a Tuesday 7 AM start to meet my friend and have tea and see the pieces she’d made for the trip (a gorgeous feathered headpiece we would work into a costume somewhere), and an initial grocery stop and car exchange; then a trip to pick up an RV
with faulty locks and a scheduling of a locksmith for later that day… to a shopping trip to Costco with our patron who was gifting us this trip; then to hours of my friend and I packing and loading the RV with all our camping supplies, costumes, alcohol and food, wigs, boots, survival supplies (vinegar to neutralize the sand on our skin, nasal spray for the dryness…etc), our trusty bikes, and an industrial size box of glow sticks; after a jarring call from a friend who just learned he has a brain tumor; after making several last stops to drug stores and having one last real shower and shave; after stuffing down some food and then finally leaving San Diego at 10PM and driving 16 hours—sixteen hours—through the night and through freeway closures (can they do that? Just shut down Interstate 5? Apparently yes!) and detours and getting lost and several CDs and yes, come morning, caffeinated cocktails (whoever wasn’t driving had to navigate the bouncing 
mobile kitchen and flying marinated mozzarella balls—of COURSE it was the half gallon of oily cheese that had to take flight and crash onto the linoleum!—to make drinks and snacks for the driver and the third person if they weren’t dozing, a job in itself. SO…on that first day, the first moment driving into the temporary city felt slightly surreal. I soon learned that the surreal is a state to which one can adjust and accept as normal, and after 4 days in the desert, I wanted nothing more than to embrace that dreamlike reality. I’d enlist the help of strangers, with an optimistic but realistic faith, to stay longer if I had to. And I did.
On Wednesday evening, I hopped on my decorated bike and skimmed the surface of the city, got my bearings. The Esplanade was crawling with bikes, music wafted around on the breezes, and people cruised around in various levels of nudity, costumery, normalcy, and body paint. Giant sculptures soared above our heads and I picked out a few clever theme camps to use as landmarks. It was similar to my imagined picture of it, but on a much larger scale. But the vast emptiness of the center and the distance to the other edge of the city completely blew me away (we camped at 3 o'clock and I could just make out some huge structures across the playa at 10 o'clock). I heard that this year’s population was estimated at 47,000 people, and it must surely be one of the most intensely energetic, innovative, and unconventional collection of people to gather together. My eyes were open.My experience of that week is still trickling in, conversations and images and even fresh realizations filtering through a processing device in my being I guess. During the week itself, I was impressed and stimulated and sometimes amazed, but something about being there
provided me the resources to take it all in without much overwhelment. I’ve always understood that the adaptability of humans is one of our greatest abilities (as well as our most crippling quality) and as the week’s energy slowly grew, my ability to withstand its harshest elements grew with it. On Saturday, after riding through thick dusty sand to an art installation a ½ mile or so out into the vastness, we encountered a complete dust storm. After lowering my goggles and adjusting my bandana around my nose and mouth, we set off for the clubs and bars in the city’s outer ring. What the hell else would you do? How many opportunities do we have in our modern lives to test our reserves, to weather extremes with the intention of enjoying art and freedom and creativity? Should we sit in the RV? Leave early and sit in traffic? You may as well sip on a beverage someone hands you (no money is ever exchanged at Burning Man), meet some other gritty freaks, and dance to house music in a dusty tutu and a bustier…which is what I did...
to be continued...
