Chapter 3: "Welcome Home!"

That's what they say to you when you get to the Greeter Station. Cheesy, huh? Yeah, I thought so, too. Now I get it. But lemme back up a bit...

It's a long, slow drive from the highway to the gate; a mile or so at 10 mph. It felt like forever. We had to wait in a short line - maybe 5 vehicles ahead of us - for about 20 minutes. Because it was the Saturday before the event opened to the public, everyone needed to have their names checked against an early arrival list. Then the gate workers had to do cursory searches of each vehicle to make sure there are no freeloaders or hangers-on trying to get in free. With ticket prices averaging $250, it's no surprise.

We were waived through without being searched, and we drove the slow mile to the Greeter Station. To our right there were signs placed Burma Shave style, containing quotes and snippets of poems about hope and fear - this year's theme. My favorite was the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, from Frank Herbert's Dune:

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

It was quite haunting.

Our next stop was the Greeter Station where a man named "Naked Bruce" welcomed us home, gave us program guidebooks, a map, and hooked us up with our placer, who would guide us to the patch of desert which we'd inhabit for the next 10 days. There is a tradition that first-timers - Virgins - get out and ring a giant cowbell. I told my co-pilot that if he outed me, I'd flay him alive. Those of you who went to Hampshire will understand from whence my aversion public bell ringing arises. I didn't ring the bell.

Finally we were inside. Really, truly inside. We drove along the outer ring at a devastatingly slow 5 mph (prevents dust from kicking up) and met our placer at the 3:00 keyhole. Our address was 3:00 and Brave, but that was only a general pointer: 3:00 can encompass BOTH sides of the road, in BOTH directions. Our "real" address was 2:50 and Brave, Man-side.

The placer took us to our plot: a 100' x 150' chunk of glorious desolation. We were the first of our group to arrive! We walked the perimeter with the Placer, and he pointed out our neighbors: Zu on the 2:45 side (whom we knew and were sharing a gennie with), Nosefish on the 3:00 side, and the Damn Fucking Texans behind us at 2:50 and Anxious. Across the street from us were the Energy Riders.

It felt GREAT to be out of the van, and even better to FINALLY have my feet on the Playa. GOD DAMN, I'd made it. I was astonished at my own audacity for having come. I was proud at the risks I had to take to get there. I felt like a million bucks.

There wasn't much around, seeing as it was Saturday, but Jacob told me that it would start filling in a little more each day and soon you wouldn't know it was the same place. In fact, he told me that the city changed SO much over the course of the week that it wasn't uncommon for landmarks to change and for people to get lost trying to get home, stoned, at 3 am. Luckily for us, we were right next to the 3:00 keyhole, and therefore it would be easy for us. He turned out to be absolutely right. Ahem. Not that I would know first hand or anything...

The remainder of our Saturday-arriving campmates showed up about a half hour later, and we immediately got to work unloading the van. Sunset was at 7:40 ish, and we had a lot of work to do before then: we had to get our shade structure up, our kitchen at least nominally set up, and our own tents/shade structures up before dark. This was especially true since our gennie wasn't arriving until the next day - it was coming up via the Zu crew - and therefore we had no power that night. All told, it took us an hour and a half to unload the truck, and our shade structure - an army parachute once used for cargo drops - was up within three hours.

After the sun set, I EL wired my bike and then went riding the Playa with four campmates - all virgins like myself. We rode the Esplanade (the innermost street, facing in toward the Man), then cut across the Playa back to our camp. A lot of the camps were still being built, and a lot of the art installations were still works in progress, but there were lights and music and a buzz of excitement that filled the air. It was truly magical to ride across the desert in the darkness, a cool wind in my hair (Yep, channelling the Eagles... God I'm a geek), stars so much closer than I've ever seen them.

I had worked my body harder than day that I'd worked it in many MANY years. I hadn't eaten anything except some cheetos and a coke since breakfast. I was riding a bike (much to the dismay of my very ample ass) for the first time in a decade or more. I was nearly 1000 miles away from everyone and everything that represented security and safety. And I'd never felt better or more comfortable in my skin that I did at that moment.

I hollered a giant YEEEEEHAAAAAWWWW into the night, as I tore across the Playa with my new friends. They all hollered one in return.

Dorothy was right: there's no place like home.