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One night in Byron Bay, I was lying in bed watching the Lonely Planet travel series on the telly. The reporter was covering an event in the USA called "Burning Man", held annually in the middle of nowhere, in the Nevada desert. It left a vague impression on me as being something "different", and worth checking out - whenever. Flash
ahead two years later to OSHKOSH, July 2006. I sent a few emails to Skychick, found the Burning Man website, and set my sails. My destination: a remote alkaline mud flat 50 miles northeast of Reno, Nevada. I departed Taos early and flew 4 hours non-stop to Bryce Canyon, Utah for lunch and refueling. After that, I crossed 15 mountain ranges and skirted numerous Military Operations Areas to refuel again at Elko, Nevada. I had planned to fly straight from there to Burning Man, but at the last minute decided to fill up my tanks at the last outpost of civilization; Winnemucca, some 50 miles east. That turned out to be a brilliant decision! Leaving Winnemucca, I flew low along the unobstructed salt flats for 15 minutes. In a matter of about 7 seconds, the visibility went from 100% to almost zero! I had inadvertently flown into a dust storm. I hit full throttle and jerked back on the stick, climbing quickly out of the total white-out. I arrived at Burning Man and made my radio call from 5 miles out. Normally, pilots report into a control tower giving the International Phonetic Code to indicate that they already have the current weather briefing, i.e. "November Two Five Zero Zulu Papa, five miles north, with Uniform (or Victor or Whiskey, etc. depending on what code is current). At Burning Man, to indicate that you have received the pre-arrival briefing , you report in to the Air Traffic Controller with, "Black Rock City, Zero Zulu Papa, inbound with Whiskey Breath!" It took me two passes to spot the landing strip which was barely discernible from the rest of the desert, by way of a miniscule windsock. I then called downwind approach. The Controller called back, saying, "If I were you, I wouldn't land right now!" Looking ahead I noticed that the dust storm I had flown thru previously had taken a shortcut over the mountain, and was just about to hit, with 3 dust devils (mini-tornadoes) on the leading edge - one of them located right where I intended to make my base leg turn! I aborted the landing, and then spent the next hour circling the city. Lucky I took on that extra fuel! Trouble was, by this time the sun was setting over the mountain, and it was either land now, or turn back. There were now five planes circling the city and we were all talking to each other on the radio. One of the pilots who had been there before said, "Look, you can land anywhere on that salt flat. I'm putting down where it's clear, north of town on some tire tracks". I flew alongside him to check out the conditions, and observed that he made a fine landing - then all of us followed him in. As we taxied back to the airport, conditions on the ground became a total white-out with zero visibility at the airport. It took us an hour to taxi back 3 miles on the dried mud, sometimes just inching along, or having to stop entirely. The dust was so thick at times I couldn't see my own strobe light flashing on the tip of my short little wing! It was harrowing, because sometimes I couldn't see the other planes alongside me, or was afraid of striking my propeller on an unseen object. When I finally arrived at the airport, a young man immediately came out to help me drive in the tripled rebar tiedown stakes I had been advised to bring along (they're the only thing that will hold securely in the dried mud), and even helped me put up my tent, because, by now, dark was imminent. Then, a golf cart came out from the Customs Terminal and the official asked me to come in and register because it was 7PM and he wanted to go off duty. As I was waiting my turn to clear Customs, a very sexy, scantily clad, and provocative, twenty-something young woman starts chatting me up, and innocently inquires, "Have you been to Burning Man before?" I replied that I have been there for only fifteen minutes. Oh boy! Immediately, she turns to everyone in the Terminal and unashamedly shouts out, "A VIRGIN!!!" She then informs me that I am going to have to receive a spanking, owing to my virginity, and it is her responsibility to be the one to give it to me. Things are looking pretty good, now that I am (safely) on the ground! She looks directly at me and orders, "Drop your pants!" There were some other people at the counter taking care of their paper work, so I informed her I wanted to really enjoy this, because I don't get this pleasure every day, and could we please wait until the other party is out of our way. Eventually, she becomes impatient. Or, maybe she thought I was trying to put her off, because from behind me she starts undoing my belt, unzipping my jeans, caressing my back, pulls my pants down, and proceeds to dispense with my underpants as well. As I teetered on the edge of reality, I placed my hands for support on the Customs desk, now noticing that there was a Magic Marker outline of two hand prints on the counter top, and between them was printed the (not so clandestine) message, "ASSUME THE POSITION". I followed the directions without further hesitation. She then proceeded to give me three lovely spankings on my now unencumbered backside, gives me a kiss on one butt cheek, then implants a huge airplane shaped rubber stamp on the other cheek, and says endearingly, "Welcome to Burning Man!" Well, I must say, I don't think I ever felt so welcome in a strange place anywhere! Possibly, it was related to the sensation of my cheeks still stinging - just a bit. I can't actually recall what questions Customs asked me, or what I subsequently paid to gain admission. The only message that was going through my mind was -"This is going to be FUN!" The Burning Man rules insist on self-sufficiency - you must bring with you everything you need for your weeklong stay: costumes, camping gear, food, and enough water for a desert environment, etc. And when you leave, you must take everything with you. In other words, zero environmental impact. Owing to this huge load of gear, and the weight of all that food and water in my airplane, on the next day, when I caught up with Skychick, I received accolades for this folly in the form of an official unofficial certificate that reads:
Although I had read in advance that there are no commercial endeavors allowed at Burning Man, naturally, I took my wallet with me the next day, not wanting to be out on the town without some cash to cover necessities. I must say, I felt like a complete idiot, in that heat, and with minimal clothing on, lugging around my wallet full of cash, ID's, and credit cards all day long. At Burning Man, there is nothing that can be purchased. Everything is given. Everyone gives what they have to give, whatever that may be. This creates a unique, refreshing, and fabulous sense of community. I ended up giving airplane rides around the city with a buzz of the salt flats thrown in. In retrospect, that five days was the only holiday away from the predominance of money that I have ever had in my adult life. It was worth the trip to Burning Man just to have that experience, let alone all the other amazing wonders I beheld. The first morning, I attended the Pilot's briefing, which is necessary if you want to take Joy Flights around the city, during the week, while you are there. At the briefing, I struck up an acquaintance with a couple from London, from a tribe called "Donuts". They keep their tents and bicycles locked up in a storage unit in Reno all year. They fly from London to LA, rent RV's and Uhaul's, drive to Reno and pick up their gear, then on to Burning Man for the week. Far out! They were in the process of producing a coffee table book about world festivals. They were looking for a pilot to take their photographer for some aerial photos. I said I'd be happy to do it, and would they know where I might borrow a bicycle for a week? Without a bicycle at BM, you are pretty well isolated out at the airport, because the city is so large - miles across with 40,000 residents. They said, sure, we have plenty of bikes - you can borrow one of ours! We became instant friends, and I hung out with their tribe all week. That first day they gave me a guided bicycle tour of the city! Here
are my impressions of the unique event: The event was extremely well organized, and well worth the price of admission ($250-$450 for the week, depending how far ahead you buy your pass) - right down to the city street grid - including street signs at all intersections. The street grid is designated by clock radials and alphabetical names. So, your address might be "10:30 and Desire". Therefore, anyone you met had an address, and was easy to locate. The demographic is about 80% between the ages of 25-35, which made me decidedly an oldie. That had no effect on my experience, whatsoever. In this society, age has no relevance. I was disappointed to find almost no live acoustic music, even though I carried my harmonica with me everyday to sit in on some jams. I found none. This seems strange, because in the middle of nowhere, it would seem natural to have homemade music, as opposed to the "Disco Beat" which was playing constantly from various battery powered sound systems everywhere, and going "Doof, Doof" all night long. No worries, the airport where I was camping under the wing, is a fair way out, and I brought earplugs. Sex appeared to be a very popular theme, in one form or another. The paradigm appeared to be one of "sexual freedom" encompassing partial, or even total, nudity, mostly featuring topless women. One of the memorable things I encountered on the Playa was a man leading his attractive, topless, blindfolded, provocatively attired, female partner around on a dog leash attached to a collar around her neck. She was holding a tray up blindly offering appetizers for anyone who wanted a bite - to help themselves! Well, not exactly something you see on the street corner every day. Coming from a background of Tantra, I found the attitude perplexing. It seemed to me to be primarily a reaction to Judeo-Christian Catholic/Baptist ethics, and not exactly freedom, or creating any kind of new paradigm at all. I felt it was more 'reactive', and not so much pro-active. Oh well, people need a chance to "get out of the box" at least once in awhile, and that's a good reason for attending Burning Man. Besides, nobody got hurt, so who cares? The artwork was remarkable. Some of the outdoor environmental installations were mind-boggling. I also saw some unique personal installations, i.e. "The Underground Library" - and there were several large tents full of conventional artwork (paintings). By the way, the name of the event comes from the climactic event of burning a three story high statue of a man, just like at the Zozobra Festival in Santa Fe, on the final night. One day I was out in the middle of The Playa (the huge central plaza of which burning man is the centerpiece, at the middle of the "clock"). In the middle of this stark desert, along comes a surfboard rigged with motorized wheels. On the surfboard was a young man in a surfing stance, cruising across the salt flats. The image that is indelibly engraved in my mind, is that the young man was completely naked, and painted head-to-toe in silver paint - as was the surfboard. Unforgettable art - I saw "The Silver Surfer"!
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