Wednesday 8/27 arrival - we bring virgins

We caravanned to BM from Roseville, my brother in his Volvo station wagon, three bikes mounted on the rear, camping gear crowding the cargo area as well as the back seat, my nephew Freeman mixed in somehow with the camping gear, and my sister-in-law Carmen sharing the front with John. Marcia and I led most of the way as our truck and 25’ Airstream travel slowly. We are also burdened with more weight than usual because of extra stuff, e.g. unbelievable amounts of water. I’m worried about the trailer tires. We’ve had two flats in the last couple weeks.

Traveling east on I-80, we encounter many bike-laden vehicles which we suspect are also heading for Burning Man. Burning Man actually began last Sunday; Marcia and I were in Victoria British Columbia then, coming off a WBCCI national Airstream caravan (see www.cammurray2008.blogspot.com). On our drive south from Seattle we encountered Burning Man-bound travelers as far north as Oregon. How did we know? Oh, there is a look. If that fails, burners often sport a large hand-made Burning Man logo on their vehicles.

Although we are arriving mid-week, during the final 50-miles of open desert travel 90% of the vehicles seem headed for Burning Man. There aren’t many other reasons to be out here.

The excitement grows as we pass Pyramid Lake, looking incredibly blue and beautiful in this otherwise dust-brown scrub landscape. As we cross Indian land we find locals selling Indian Tacos, but there are few takers – everyone just wants to get to Burning Man. The small towns of Empire and Gerlach are filled with burners buying last minute supplies, including beat-up bicycles left from previous burns, called burner bikes.

Finally we see small temporary directional sign and turn down the dirt path to Burning Man. There is no danger of missing it – the couple-mile path is full of slowing moving vehicles stirring up a long thin cloud of Playa dust.

We are greeted very cheerfully at our first border crossing by hard-core burner volunteers, but they must search our vehicles to be sure no one is sneaking in - tickets cost up to $295 per person, and they can’t be bought at the gate. Our trailer is searched by a smiling shirtless vest-wearing bearded twenty-something but he seems to be taking a long time. Marcia checks and finds he has accidentally locked himself inside. She rescues him and he seems a bit embarrassed, but ever-cheerful.

After this check the road widens into maybe ten lanes and a woman waves us toward an open spot attended by two very cheerful twenty-somethings looking good in shorts and tops, and a layer of dust. They check our tickets and ask if we are virgins, and I point to Marcia. (In the parlance of Burning Man, a virgin is someone on their first visit. I came five years ago with my brother, so I'm not a virgin.) Marcia agrees to leave the car and although I can’t hear anything she is given the choice of getting at-one with the earth by rolling on the Playa or scooping and patting herself with it. Seeing no way out, she goes for the latter and certainly looks a lot cleaner afterward than Carmen, our other virgin, who elected to roll in the dust. No matter. Marcia and the gate keepers exchange hugs, a gong is rung, we proceed past a bunch of Burma-Shave-type signs, and in a few hours we are all equally coated in Playa dust.