It was hard to leave the playa feeling so jumbled, yet I was never more grateful for a bed and shower than the night we pulled in to Lakeview. The ride home was so very ugly; the bed and shower were the only positive aspects until we reached Pdx. In some ways I'm still reeling from that drive, but that's not a topic for this space. That one stays locked up nice and tight.I just feel like this year was wasted, y'know? All the prep, all the excitement, all the work and effort and cost, and it was a let-down.
To begin with, the first two days were HELL in a bucket. We set the chute up in a major dust storm on Saturday. It took much longer than expected because the design changed - we raised it by 10 feet and put 8 foot poles around the edges to lift it off the playa floor. We had no electric and very limited water for the first 24 hours we were there, as the coordinators of those things... well, bygones, eh?
Sunday was just as bad, though the portapotties arrived on time, and the water (24 hours late) arrived shortly thereafter. Mid day we were hit with MASSIVE dust storms again, which eventually started pulling out the side poles. We attempted to tie the chute down to the Penske van, but it was clear something needed to be done differently. After about 8 hours of holding the damn thing down by hand - at one point we had around 20 people holding on to the chute to keep it from pulling more poles out - and much discussion about options, it was (wisely) decided that we should lower the chute. So Sunday night, after dinner, we took the whole thing down, and set it ALLL back up. It was tiring, but necessary. And wise, ultimately, because we had several more big, multi-hour storms later in the week.
Of course, all this meant that many of us didn't even SEE beyond our camp boundaries until LATE sunday night, and by that time, most of us were too tired to do much beyond wandering out to the esplanade to see what was taking shape.
Bold and BLove and I were among the MOST overworked that Sunday night, but we did drag our sorry asses ALLLLLL the way across the playa to the Big Round Cubatron, which is STILL my favorite installation piece. I could sit in front of that thing for hours if the desert floor weren't so damn cold at night. It's really THAT wonderful.Monday was much nicer - no major storms, moderate temps - so we got the rest of the place set up and organized. Bold and BLove and I decided to take a ride over to visit the DFTs to see Jonathan and Dad and Buttery. I got less than a block when my seat fucked up and my chain slipped. I lost it. Right in the middle of Arctic and 6:30 and I'm crying like a toddler. I was just so done. Yes, it was only Monday. Bless BLove's heart, he went and got his tools and he fixed my bike up for me. Unfortunately it was already SOOO dusty that there were little drifts and my skinny tired piece of shit couldn't manage them well. I realized that within a couple of days, I'd have to give up riding. Still, we made it out and about, saw the DFTs, then rode out into open playa for a bit. After a while, Bold and I split off from BLove and hit Center Camp just to check it out.
The rest of Monday was pretty mellow. The remainder of our camp arrived and got settled in, we had dinner, and took off into the night. Bold and I ran around with Tombro, who showed us how to REALLY work the backroads bars. My only real complaint about it was that my contacts were gummy and icky. It took another day or two and I switched over to my dailies; the eyedrops weren't helping and I got sick of having halos at night.
We came home, hung out with folks, and settled in to watch the eclipse. Once it was full, I toddled off to bed, saying "Ok, the moon has done its creepy thing. I'm going to sleep." I don't know how long I was out, but I awoke to Bold unzipping the tent and telling me I had to get up cause the man was on fire.
"On fire?""Yeah, he's burning!"
"Oh shit."
I hauled my cold and extremely tired ass outta bed and we tromped through the Virgins' camp and saw that he was, indeed, ablaze. Such a bizarre thing. I wanted to cheer it on, and yet, I couldn't because it was arson. More importantly, there was the very real potential that this little "stunt" could awaken the wrong interest in BMan, putting us on the radar of people who wouldn't think twice about shutting the event down.
So yeah, that set the tone for the week. Things were tense for me. The energy in camp was weird; there were some interpersonal dynamics that left folks feeling excluded and although we had no more infrastructure problems, the stability of the chute and our tents was always on our minds.
On top of all this, I got whomped with a bladder infection. I won't recount the clusterfuck that THAT turned out to be, but suffice it to say, it took me outta the game for a couple of days. In the midst of that, Bold decided to play a lil kickball with rebar and broke his toe. End result? I couldn't ride cause it hurt, he couldn't walk much cause it hurt. Sucked to be us.
We did manage to get out and see a lot of the installation art. And there were some really beautiful times - getting caught in the massive dust storm at the Temple of Forgiveness, riding out the rainstorm in the booth and being rewarded with a double rainbow, giving out snap peas on Friday, having a Margarita at Monticello on Thursday Afternoon, wine, cheese, and prosciutto on Burn night, riding on Leo's bee, Temple Burn.... Cherished moments, made all the sweeter because they were so few and far between. And I made some marvelous connections - I strengthened old friendships, revelled in new ones, and enjoyed the catharsis of baring my soul to a complete Stranger.All in all, I walked away from it all feeling very ambivalent. I know this is colored by Bold's experience, which was even less positive than mine. I wanted so much for him to love it unconditionally as I do, but this was a really hard year for everyone, doubly so for virgins. With the extra burden of me being down for the count and the constant wind which made sleeping difficult for him... well, it seems like he never really got his legs underneath him. By the end of the week he was so fried he told me he didn't think he could do it again. That's changed in the ensuing months, but he's still wary, I think.
Oh well. What will be, will be. Next year is a long ways off, and we've got a lot less time to burn (heh) thinking about it. So much is up in the air, what with jobs, money, the kiddo... I can't imagine not going back - the playa's in my blood now - but how it will manifest, I don't know.
Time will tell....
