The distant glow that appears to be oilwell fires in Saddam's Iraq are actually blasts from propane flamethrowers. Burners love propane blasts. The blasts are loud, they appear in unexpectated locations, if you are within a 100 yards you can feel the heat, and they impress.
We had a fine dinner in camp and then set out on foot forsaking the bicycles. This gave our butts a rest and eliminated our exposure to bicycle-to-bicycle collisions in the dark. This still left us with bicycle-to-Murray risk and mutant-to-Murray possibilities, so we wore clip-on LED lights to make us more easily seen. Even so, we were near invisible compared with the bikes and people adorned with fluorescent-bright strands of el/wire, powered by little battery packs – a beautiful sight.
It is a 9-block walk to the Esplanade from our camp on J Street between 7:30 and 8:00. We walked the Esplanade to the end at 10:00 absorbing what we could of the excitement without actually, you know, becoming participants. Murrays are reluctant participants, a family trait going back generations. In the neighborhood of 10:00 were several very large geodesic domes with beckoning sensuous entrances, but we did not go in—put off by the crowds, tremendously loud music and earth-shaking bass. But we admired the beautiful structures - did I mention the nearby tepee village?
At this point we could see the lights at the distant end the Esplanade, the Man structure in the clock-center, mutant cars roaming the Playa, and distant Playa art projects. I didn’t really think Carmen would like Burning Man, but I was wrong. She suddenly went hyper, determined to find a way out to the lights. As we stood by rather passively she approached a roving mutant bus and soon we had permission to hop aboard.
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