Chapter 2: The Playa

Grey-green. Mustard. Ochre. Sienna. Umber. Occasional ribbons of rust and cinnamon layered in the striated ancient hills. Miles and miles of muted earth tones contrasted against the blue of a late-summer sky and the industrial grey of well worn asphalt.

I was aching inside. Fear. Sadness. Visual boredom. Around the last bend we lumbered in our overladen mothership. And there she was in all of her blinding glory: The Playa.

Four hundred square miles of the flattest, most arid, most desolate earth known to man. An ancient and all-but-extinct lakebed, it gets impassably muddy with winter rains, but it never holds water for long. So arid and alkaline the rest of the year that nothing - no plants, no animals, no insects - inhabit it naturally. So flat that land speed records have been made and broken here. So white in the distance, that it stung my eyes to look directly at her.

My fear and sadness fled. I could do this.

All of a sudden I couldn't sit still in my seat. I started bouncing up and down and giggling like a child. My co-pilot, for all his opaqueness (opacity isn't the right word here) and sarcasm, understood completely, and actually seemed to take some delight in my giddiness. It was his third Burn and he knew exactly what I was feeling. I took comfort in his sudden openness.

I rolled down the window to breathe the day in. It was nice to feel real atmosphere after having spent so many hours with the air conditioning running (not that I wasn't TOTALLY grateful for it...) It was hot outside, but not uncomfortable. High 80s, low 90s maybe. In the distance, the Playa receded into nothing. There was no horizon where earth met sky. The shimmering heat created a mirage that made it seem as if the world just ended in blue.

It was 11 miles from the NV Route 447 turn-off to the Playa entrance. I couldn't get there fast enough. Of course, it was particularly slow going along this stretch, partly because of the relative sizes of the vehicle and the road, and partly because of the police presence - unseen, but very much there - waiting to enforce the 35 mph speed limit. Our route bypassed the two nearby towns - Empire and Gerlach - so we didn't have to slow WAY down, but discretion en route to Burning Man is definitely the watch word. Don't give 'em ANY reason to pull you over.

After a couple of miles, I saw small breaks in the whiteness: dark smudges in the distance. In a flash I realized that THAT was Black Rock City!! I was astonished at how the desert dwarfed the site. Granted the city was barely formed, but even still....

When we finally turned onto the playa, we had to close the windows as well as the vents. Playa dust is a fine powder, slightly...well, slightly greasy to the touch, and it sticks to everything. It doesn't come off easily, either; you have to use vinegar or lemon water to cut the alkalinity. I couldn't resist just keeping the window down a few extra seconds to take a good deep breath. I wanted to smell the playa, to breathe her in. Yes, in the back of my head, I knew I'd be smelling the dust for 10 days (and then some, if my lack of motivation to clean my gear is any indication...). But at that moment, I needed it. It was like I was breathing life back into my Self.