The dry playa of the Black Rock Desert once again greeted the tenth convergence of the Burning Man event, and more specifically our "Mer-camp" composed of the tribal surf band, the Mermen, a film crew, other friends and housemates, and myself-- ATN intrepid reporter and roadie for the weekend.

For a group of people rising so early, spirits were high, perhaps in response to the smell of the cooking food, and perhaps in anticipation of the unknown. I've never before appreciated the wonder of bringing people with you who can cook. Doc whipped up a fantastic breakfast. Granted, a bowl of cereal could pass for fantastic in the desert ("Got Milk?"), but this really was a bountiful selection of pancakes, potatoes, toast and bacon. Fueled up and raring to go, the entire Mer-camp moved a couple of hundred feet north-- away from the pyrotechnic danger zone of the "World On Fire".

This "World On Fire" innocently sat near our
camp until we were warned that it soon would
become engulfed in a white-hot flame of death.
We moved further away.

Following an hour of picking things up and putting them down in the exact same configuration a few hundred feet away, we all promptly relaxed. Indeed, most of the afternoon was spent sunbathing while taking in the strange scenery around our encampment: RVs with flags, naked folks on bicycles, and of course, the Burning Man himself. Entertainment was not lacking, whether it was the "Rabbit Scooter" (the moped made up to look like a rabbit gave me deranged visions of the Alice In Wonderland-themed episode of Star Trek), the "Shark Car" with huge silvery fins stretching skyward, or the surprising site of a naked folks "couch surfing" (aka dragged across the desert by a car). Allen and Leslie set up a badminton ("It's shuttlecock!" corrected Laura) net and a few games ensued by those with the energy. They did not last long in the hot sun, and soon joined the others in sunbathing, relaxing until the sounding of the lunch bell stirred people like a pavlovian herd of cattle.

Video by Gabe Eberhardt

After lunch, I took advantage of Other Mark's motorcycle to take a daytime tour of the site. After a quick helmetless (gasp!) zip past the Burning Man later, I was once again pulled into the orange parachute of the Weird Blinking Lights (WBL) camp. The goggled night crew had done a fine job of compensating for the insufficient lift of the balloons with a renewed rigging effort, and things looked impressive. Folks were bouncing on the trampoline, lucky to be shaded from the heat. Out in the desert a little bit of shade can be amazingly effective. I don't know if it's the lack of wind, or perhaps something special about the playa surface, but once you blocked out the sun, the difference was thankfully noticeable. After reacquainting myself with the now-goggleless faces, I enjoyed a bit of ambient relaxation and then pushed on.

The Weird Blinking Lights (WBL) camp lured
people in with it's billowing orange parachute.

After a quick jaunt out to the deserted rave camp (though they in fact were still playing music for the remaining three dancers) I headed back towards the site itself and began a clockwise tour. I didn't come across anything particularly notable, yet the subtle, surreal nature of the environment had an impact of its own. Here I was, riding this beat-up old off-road motorcycle past a small group of airplanes which had been flown out from points unknown into this small dot in the Nevada desert. A small turn to the left and out into the vacant playa I went, able to stare straight up at the sky without worrying about running into a curb... a car... *anything*. A small turn to the right and I'd head into the center of this hybrid of technology and nature. It looked as if aliens had visited in millenia past and given a roving band of gypsies a radio tower and generators and network connectivity to the Internet. Some people had set up makeshift performance areas where attendees could stop by and play guitar, sing a bit, or perform in whatever way they wished. The trip back to our area was too short and I putted in, watching (and ready to participate in) the covering up of pasty white complexions with a serious tan.

An atom-bomb of a hail cloud descends
on Burning Man

Video by Gabe Eberhardt

In the desert, there is one constant: still, dry, hot weather. Or so we all thought. This illusion was shattered when suddenly, in the horizon, a huge cloud of dust approached. We watched as it zipped through one part of the town, like the twisted cousin of a tornado. The force of the wind and its effect on this temporary city was swift and hostile. Many people retreated into their RVs and others went chasing after their tent. The enormous cloud of playa dust tore across the camp and just as it looked as if the Mer-camp would remain untouched, it shifted and swept down with a vengeance. At first we casually gripped our shaded retreat, as it was secured into the ground by stakes. I sipped my drink. A moment later I was in danger of enacting the tornado-tossed Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. The force of this whirlwind was entirely unexpected and with my full weight on one of the four corners of this 8'x8' artificial roof, it was lifting me up, threatening to toss me back on my ass and the "retreat" out into the playa. Some ran around haphazardly, securing down anything loose, hoping their tents didn't pull up and fly off. Others joined me in my foolish quest to keep order in the centerpiece of our little Mecca. Ten minutes, 2 broken stakes, and a dust storm later, we had succeeded. As with most natural disasters which befall a community, conversation was fast and furious. "That was intense!" "I've never seen anything like it!" "My tent collapsed!" "Did you see that huge beer can go rolling by?" The latter is unlikely to have been bandied about after the latest California earthquake, but it was in fact accurate for the Burning Man. You see, a group of destructionists known as the Seemen had a four-foot tall Budweiser can they'd been attempting to destroy for quite some time. It broke loose and rolled back and forth with the wind, doing a great impression of a bowling ball. This Bud's for you!

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