Heather, lounging in front of Chez Brian (see next photo), looking all desert-rattish.
Sundancer, one of the Black Rock Rangers (the unofficial police/mediation force for the event), sets up Chez Bryan each year, basically a fully stocked kitchen. I was amazed that this structure made it through the outrageous sandstorms.
The following three shots are simply photos of the road in front of our camp, "Desert" and "7:30". The camping area was set up as a large semi-circle, with lettered streets going from the center out to the rim, and clock times making up the radii.
This is a shot across the road in front of VICC, at the impromptu bar that our neighbors set up (the wood pallet looking thingy). They'd get quite a crowd at night, including some of our folk. Heather was sent over to get Aiden a second of some oddly-named drink, which she successfully secured.
This was night on the second day, Tuesday. While the colors washed out during the day, at dusk the subtleties of the desert palate would emerge, quietly ravishing, like the vividness of certain moments of meditation. The temperature would still be about bath water, but it was as if the desert gave a collective sigh that day was over and relaxed a little.
This photo doesn't quite do the sundown justice, but here's an attempt.
Here I am, captured on film by Heather, putting my backpack puppet back in working order after his disassemblege for the trip out. I ended up never using it--I should have jumped on it the first night, because as the event drew out, my desire to participate out front, um, withered.
I'm going to try to sell it to some activist group.
VICC is part of the large gay-oriented camp called "Avalon Village," which apparently has been around for a while at BM. Here's the center of the camp, the performance space and the tower of...something (during the day and at dusk).
The Brits down at the corner of Avalon Village set up a pub for the event, called Quixote's Cafe, subtitled, per this year's theme, the Green Man Pub. As with last year (according to Heather), they allowed VICC to set up in a corner to serve coffee. Nice lads.
Day one of the VICC contribution to the otherwise understimulated Playa. "Playa," by the way, is Spanish for "beach," and the whole alkaline ex-lake bed on which BM sits has been given that name. Here you see, L to R, Jack, Blue, Aiden (in the back), Heather (looking dashing in her goggles), Charlie, and an unnamed patron.
VICC's near fanatical patrons. They stood in line patiently for their hyper-caffeination (there was talk of setting up caffeine IV drips, but that got nixed by the health department), were given their unstirred mix of condensed sweetened milk and drip coffee (you can see the regallness in Heather's posture, as she instructs, "Stir long and vigorously!"), and then, with a chopstick nee stirrer (man on left demonstrates), they stir, and are finally given a scoop of ice (Charlie, with his bare back to us, fulfills that vital function here).
More VICC patrons. Monty, our Brit benefactor, is dead center in his traditional British orange and blue smock.
The VICC assembly line.
Harrison and Aiden man the washing station after a hard day's service.
In the process of cleaning up after VICC, Aiden and Heather discover they share similar tatoos on disparate body parts.
We enjoy our iced coffee, which we got without waiting in line...because we could!
Burning Man goes with the idea of "Radical Inclusion," that anyone is welcome to come and participate. But with this guy, that's going a bit far...O.k., actually this is Gieve, whose Playa name was assigned as "Protein," here mugging with Heather under his IKEA-bought leaf bicycle shade structure, adapted from some kiddie thing.
Protein, Carbohydrate (nee Anya), Heather, and I (nee Butchie, photo taker), ride out for the first time to check out the Playa, in this case meaning the open space in front of the residential section of the event space. The green tent almost in the middle of the picture is the pavilion that the Man sat on, before some fellow decided to burn it down in what I was to learn was a fairly typical BM gesture of half-meaning and not so hidden look-at-me! narcissism.
Just one of the visitees to BM, out cycling the Playa at dusk.
The Playa was home to most of the large art installations. You would be riding along and come across various projects, some interesting, some fairly uninspired, in my humble opinion.
On the second day at BM, we were told some folks were going to set a piano on fire and throw it through the air with a modernized version of a medieval trebuchet. Here's the setup photo, with the video of said throwing after.
This piece of Playa art (next photo) was actually just across from the Green Man Pub. Why? For what? And why was it roped off? All good questions without good answers.
The Oil Derrick was out in the "deep Playa," towards the back part of the fence (12 am, I suppose). It had a half-dozen or so metal sculpted figures around it, worshiping. You can check out my other entry to get my take on the manifold contradictions of this, um, art. Or you can click here and watch it blow up.
On Wednesday and Thursday, massive dust storms swept through the Playa for a couple hours each, with Thursday bringing a dappling of rain. Apparently, the mid-late afternoon is the time when these storms whip up, with winds up to 65 mph, caused in part by the way the surrounding mountains funnel the winds. You have to wear goggles and a bandanna or else you're going to be very uncomfortable with all the dirt jamming itself into your face holes.
In the photo below, the lovely Heather of the Desert points out the approaching dust storm to her newbie husband, both and educational and welcoming act.
The desert gratefully takes her up on her offer, and is eager to show it's artistry to its new visitors. Here Heather and Protein point out where Carbohydrate's belly is, because it would be easy to miss with the low visibility.
Center Camp was the main gathering area, at 6 o'clock, in line with the Man and the Temple (a structure the artist David Best does each year in the deep Playa). It was where you could buy the only purchasable commodities at BM, coffee, ice, and rehydration drinks. Here it is in the Thursday dust storm as people pretend to be Bedouins (see my other post for more snarky comments).
Here's how intense the dust storm can be, with our bikes huddling together for safety, and a pirate ship sucked up from last century deposited on the Playa. Incredible.
Heather attempts not to be swept up and taken away from Kansas. Really, the storms in the Black Rock Desert are incredible, like nothing I've ever seen in this world.
But after the Thursday storm, with it's dribbling of moisture, we got these rainbows (photos courtesy of Heather).
The Man burns on Saturday night, on years when whack-jobs are not muddying up the already ill-defined ritual of the Burn. Here is the almost functioning Green Man (leg was having trouble lighting up), being watched by Protein and his British friend (in bowler).
Here is Ranger Bacon, who manned the Man perimeter in front of our party, dancing and entertaining the masses, and then helping stop some hopped up camper who apparently wanted to go jump in the bonfire.
And below is a video of the Man burning, prior to it exploding (my little camera ran out of memory).
And here is, by far, the most beautiful person I saw on the Playa, a gorgeousness that's totally apparent to me even through the desert patina.
The leave taking day was Sunday for us. Having seen both the Man and Oil Derrick explode and burn, we were sated without having to see the Temple go down. Which was good, because it would have been a mess leaving Sunday night, and as it was, we got down the hill early enough to have an improptu birthday celebration for me, my 39th, with my parents in Sacramento. This last photo is of the line of cars we sat in for three hours, to drive three miles, to get from the BM gate to the road that heads back (about 60 miles) to I-80. The cars actually go back to the photo's horizon, and then arcs left and off-frame to the gate.
