I’m really happy to be able to say that the final details were worked out just yesterday, and I will in fact have a repeat performance. :) A three-peat, actually.

You should start hearing from me when they start pounding the stakes in the ground for the fence, a week from Monday.

Thanks again.

Report this comment

I hope there is a repeat performance.

Cheers.

Report this comment

ALSO.

HOW COME YOU GUYS ARE SO NOT GREEN!!??? HOW COME YOU ARE ANYTHIN BUT SUSTAINABLE/ECO/CONSCIOUS/ORGANIC/HEALTHY!!!!

ALSO:

WHY DID YOU GET MAD WHEN THAT DUDE BURNED DOWN THE MAN! THAT WAS EPIC!

Report this comment

Report this comment

In 2007, it was my senior year. I’d been going since 2004, and I thought I had everything sorted and set. I knew what my vehicle could tow, what I could handle, and I was ready to drop a theme camp of AWESOME onto the playa, replete with something nobody else had thought of, nobody else had DREAMED of. I went with the intent and idea that the death of my dear friend would be assauged with the completion of my theme camp, that the dream we had together would come full circle. Our vision of a camp where people would casually drop in, have a drink, listen to some really good music, have a really good time, and meander on out into the night, mellowed by our awesomeness and our pure hipcat cool, would be fulfilled. In point of fact, that is exactly what I expected.

Fate, it would seem, is a motherfucking bitch when it comes to things you expect out of The Event In The Desert.

I drove down with someone who convinced me, one hundred percent, that my vehicle could tow a trailer of steel and outweighing my vehicle’s tow rating by over 3,000 lbs. I dealt with him harassing campmates, with expecting preferential treatment, with being, in short, the bane of my existence during 2007. I had to wonder if he was around. At the end of the event, I found myself apologizing to campmates for my inability to pull it out at the last minute. Needless to say my camp, my intended homage to my friend, my entire development didn’t happen. I wound up alienating people by trying to hold everything together, by trying to provide experiences for other people, by being something other than what I wanted to be. I nearly hit the guy who drove down with me. I had deep abiding depression during the event, and lo and behold, I even got laid off the day before the event actually started at the pay phone in Empire talking to my boss, who said, “Monkey, I’m really sorry I have to tell you this. Right now. But we have to lay you off due to a lack of funding for the position.”

Yes, I rode down with a complete and utter jerk who wound up trying to scam free meals off of people in our camp, who offended people left and right. I knew what I was doing, right? I mean, I’d been a theme camp lead. I’d worked bars. I knew my community. I had it under control. I was there and I was totally on board with everything. I knew nothing that the playa could throw at me could diss my experience.

Oh yeah, that trailer that my co-rider convinced me to drive down with? Burned out my brakes and left me stranded in Cedarville for forty-eight hours. It took a dear friend who found the part for my vehicle, drove it TO Cedarville, and an hour later helped me get back on the road with completely AWESOME mechanics busting their chops to get me moving that I was even able to make it to the playa that year.

That’s even BEFORE I got laid off in Empire at the phone booth on a prepaid card, finding out that I was once again one of America’s early 10% unemployed. I pulled into to Black Rock City exhausted, tired, not even wanting to deal with the people who cheerfully greeted me. I said, “yeah, yeah, happy welcome home, lemme get to my camp and fuck the hell off,” or something similar.

Then during the week, I wound up trying to run a theme camp, work a volunteer gig, be a stage manager, and party all night until 3AM, go home run myself ragged, AND try to hook up with at least one or four playa hotties. That’s not even keeping out the four playa dates I had scheduled, the three major events, and the support roles I’d done for friends. Oh, and the Boys Night Out – a tradition held with friends from my hometown starting at sundown Wednesday night at the base of the Man and continuing until the Last Man Standing fell asleep – usually around 10PM the next day.

Who wants to call me an insane beeyotch? Go ahead. I TRIPLE DOG DARE YOU.

Let’s be clear here, though. I could have dialed my commitments down. I could have said, “I’m not going to ride with anyone else.” I could have dropped theme camp lead, volunteer position, and finished out all of the things I “needed” to do at the event. I could have canceled my traditional Sunday Bacon Bacon Bacon breakfast, not gone out hunting for my friends from Germany, Greece, London, Denver, and Chicago. I could have stopped my role as an MC for a talent show, cut back on my hours as a volunteer and not gone out until 3AM.

I could, upon hearing that I was laid off from a job I utterly loved with all my heart and soul, that I was perfect for, have turned around and gone home.

I could have called it a day.

I could have called it an event. I could have said “I’m done.”

I was sorely tempted. I cried on the phone to my father in a tiny motel room in a tiny town on the Oregon border, who has never been to the event, doesn’t understand a single whit of what TEITD is or does or will be and can’t stand temperatures over 80 degrees F, (which explains why I grew up in the Pacific Northwest). I could have dropped that pseudo-poet Jim Morrison wannabe asshat on his ass on the side of the road the minute he decided that the destination, not the journey, was more important. My friends could have failed to come through for me, the friends who I found and forged through this event over the years not because of how superficially awesome they are, but how much they truly care for one another. I could have walked away at the end of the event thinking, “Damn, that was not my year, and that year would always haunt me for life.”

And then I had a friend say, “Hey, you doing Burning Man in 2008*?”

I dropped a lot of preconceptions. I got involved, seriously, with a non-Burner who will never go to the event. I dialed back who I thought I was at TEITD, and who I thought I needed to be.

And I had the best time of my life in 2008. Everything that could go right did. Every excess of the year before was cautioned, the negative aspects cauterized, the jackasses and jackassery of the year before ignored and conditioned. I drove down with an acquaintance and came back with a deep and meaningful friend. I went to bed early and awoke in time for the sunrise each day. I got my life back in order, and I reconnected with what the playa dust means to me.

Whether this is your first year or your twentieth year, it doesn’t matter. Your experience is purely what you make of it. In 2007, I had my hell year, my year of intense fear, of intense worry, of doubt, of repudiation, of anger, of distaste, of pity, and of deep anxiety for the future. In 2008, many of the things that happened the year before hadn’t changed, but the way I went most certainly did.

Whether you want to look at my tales of 2008 and 2009 as warning, cautionary tales for your own experience is something I can’t give any creedence to. My experience is not going to be your experience. Your Mileage May Radically Vary.

I can honestly say I’ll never allow a poetry-spouting wannabe beatnik halfassed foreign-language English teacher back into my playa vehicle again, but I will always allow the warmth of the people who deal honestly and openly with the problems of the open road into my life and my van.

I can honestly say in a pinch, the men and women of Cedarville are good, decent folks who will always go the extra mile for a Burner in need.

I can honestly say that I don’t know what I’ll expect out of 2010, 2011, or 2012. But I can say that in every aspect of these years, I know what I expect of myself, and that is that the desert calls to me for the week prior to Labor Day.

I hope I’ll see you there. If the journey is hard, just remember that sometimes the journey takes longer than a year to make it to the playa. And even then, it’s not always what you might expect it to be.a

Report this comment

#1) honestly i did not see this one coming! we were actually the 1st two people though the BM gate since we were at the official opening time (sunday, 11:59pm) and we biked while everyone else (except one other cyclist) had to get in their vehicles and get in line and you know, wait in their car in line (cars that arrival early and dont have early passes stage in a big parking lot till 1159am). We got to the gate and like 5 of our friends were greeters! We hadnt seen anyone since leaving the US 4 months back. So that was amazing…then all the art cars were there waiting for us. i have never arrived at this time.. always early or later. never on time – lol :)

#2) so there is something about my first day on the playa… well, you know, i’m TIRED…yes, i tried to plan the year and that certainly helped, but in the end its a mad scramble usually in the last week for the final push. you know what that means-? you are seriously sleep deprived upon arrival – a place where you never want to sleep at all. BUT, if you cycle 7-9hrs a day, your body will give you no choice to immed pass out in the first wam sleeping bag and soft pillow that comes your way. so, we basically exercised and slept out each night (no tents even, although we had ours) and i got like a full 9hrs in each night. I’ve never had that kind of a Monday on the playa!

#3) the geography is always a bit of shock. most of us dont live anywhere near a place like BRC or if we did, don’t go out for survival camping all that much. by biking, we were already in the “playa” leaving susanville ca on smoke creed canyon rd. i had a couple of days to watch the scenery change, and it made for an unusual peacefulness upon arrival.

if you want more information about our trip, check out http://edmundo.com/blog

dusty love,
+ed.mundo

Report this comment

Report this comment

Coming back into the real world was a bit of a culture shock. My tentmate and I couldn’t stop laughing for an hour at the iHop in Reno, and that was after laughing for an hour at Sparks. If you see a fellow burner on the road, wave and honk!

Most importantly, if you enjoyed burning man let that be yours. Don’t let someone who has never gone and plans never to go (on the account that it’s too corporate or ‘says one thing and does another’) tell you otherwise.

Report this comment

Report this comment

Report this comment