They say "getting there is half the fun" and I sincerely hope that "they" are wildly inaccurate in their estimate of the travel:destination enjoyment ratio. As much fun as it is to cruise down the west coast in the middle of the night I am fairly certain that a week at Burning Man will have more to offer. We'll find out soon enough.
After passing through the entrance gates it's time to find the camp which will serve as home over the next week. The street system is very easy to understand and laid out in a simple and straighforward structure but once you leave the main drags and get within one of the "blocks" all semblance of order seems to break down into a mixture of concert festival seating and land grab homesteading. Some of the larger theme camps apparently already have their plot of land reserved with the organizers as is the case with the "Shift" camp where we'll be staying. But on the drive through the low rent areas it looks like it is pretty much just park and set up your stuff. Just like in a movie theater, everyone wants their space so people stake claim to roomy areas and give themselves buffer zones to other camps. The further away from the "front" of your street you are the more sparsely populated it is and the more room you'll have. If you want a spot with more convenient access to the public porta-potties then you'll have to endure somewhat more densely populated surroundings. Still, there is plenty of room for everyone.
Thanks to the intelligently laid out street stystem it is no problem navigating to our camp at 5:00 and Esplanade. There are street signs at each intersection and I've already researched the Black Rock City layout to know exactly how to get there. The location is on prime real estate; the high rent district, front row center section, just off the field on the 55 yard line. Whatever phrase you want to use for premium space, this is it. Centrally located to minimize the distance to wherever you want to go and right on the main drag. It's like being in a hotel located in the middle of the Las Vegas strip...except for the hotel part and all its yummy air conditioning, swimming pool area, indoor plumbing, and comfy beds.
We press on through the bad neighborhood and make our way to the sunny side of the street. Without any clear signage I'm not entirely sure that we are in the right spot since the 5:00 and Esplande block is fairy big. We pull off of the road and park in a relatively open area. I get out of the car and scan the area for indication that we're in the right spot. I see a smattering of recreational vehicles, clumps of tents, random cars parked around the area, a large canopy structure, and rental trucks but no clear sign that this is the right camp.
There is some semblance of loose structure to how the camp is laid out but it is a far cry from the sketched out map on the camp's website. I ask around and try to find someone who can point me in the direction of someone "in charge" who can tell me where I should park and set up camp. Before too long I find one of the camp honchos and she says to keep a few access areas clear but otherwise just park wherever. I scope out an area the pulls the car toward the center of camp to keep it away from the street and is adjacent to a bunch of tents. I confirm that the spot will be OK and we move the car over to that spot.
Now that we have our mini-plot of land designated, it's time to unpack the car and set up camp. Fortunately enough, BOTH bikes are still there to remove from the bike rack. After the rack comes off the back of the car we can dig into the trunk and pull out the camping gear. In short order the tent is up and the inflatable mattress is ready to go. I decide to keep as much stuff in the car as possible to keep stuff from getting any more dusty than necessary.
I run into Laraine before too long and exchange salutations and some small talk. There is a check-in that will be happening shortly so I fill up my water bottle to stay hydrated and just hang out around the camp and realize how long it's been since spending more than ten minutes outside of the car.
Walking around I find myself stepping over a heavy gauge cable. I trace it back to a large flat metal box about the size of a small carry on suitcase, elevated off the ground by its integrated thin metal legs and tethered to an industrial strength bio-diesel generator. With other cables snaking off through the camp to RVs I surmise that this is all part of the camp's makeshift electrical grid. Roughing it indeed. I mean you can only pull a few amps of 120 volts AC through this grid instead of the hundreds of amps like at home.
Before too long the check-in starts. They check your name off the list and anyone on the meal plan like I am gets a green plastic wrist band to indicate that they've paid for meals. Meal or plan or not, everyone gets a gift bag with little goodies like a t-shirt, water bottle, and lip balm but by far the most valuable item in the bag is the coveted lanyard with the magical key to the bathrooms on it. I put it around my neck and it will stay there until it's time to leave.
The tent is set up. Bathroom key is secured. Water bottle is filled. No meal being served currently. Fully decompressed from the commute. Time to head out and explore.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
802 miles later
Drive south on I-5 out of Seattle and a mere 17 hours or so later you end up at Burning Man. Simple. There is a turnoff from highway 447, the two lane road that has been rolling underneath the car for the past couple of hours. The line of vehicles stretches in a big arc up to the gates. There are signs dotting the landscape which notify drivers that there is an event happening...quite possibly the biggest understatement of a sign ever. I could use a shrub to stand behind to relieve myself but, well, it's the desert and they just don't make many shrubs that grow in desolate arid expanses of salty dirt so I just hope that I don't get too uncomfortable while waiting in line. I am pleasantly surprised to find that the line actually is moving at a pretty decent clip. We're not going to break any land speed records or anything but it isn't stop and go traffic either.
We get passed by a bicyclist who brought all of his gear on the back of his bike. The road we are on is not the most bicycle friendly surface yet he has no problem returning the favor of passing the hundreds of vehicles that must have been passing him all morning.
My first glimpse of the organizers' sense of humor is a mile plus long series of Burma Shave-esque signs lining the access road. The theme of the multi-part message is about how Burning Man is not what it used to be.
This theme echoes throughout many BMan conversations before, during, and after the event.
The line of vehicles marches on and my confidence in the organizers grows. The single line branches into mulitple lanes and there are people directing cars into the various different chutes. I see a sign indicating a separate lane for will call tickets so we pull off to the right and I'm wary since there are not many other cars around us. Where is the huge line for will call tickets? We pull into a sparsely populated parking area. By now the pajama bottoms and long sleeve shirt that I picked up from Goodwill are feeling over dressed for the weather. It is late morning and the mercury has made good headway up the thermometer already. I am about to step out of the car but before I commit my first step to the playa I remember the stern warnings about "playa foot", the painful cracking of skin that has been dried out from extended contact with the alkaline suface of the dried lake bed, so I throw on my socks and hiking boots instead. After detouring to the porta-potty in the parking lot, I figure I can find the will call ticket office by following the long line of people waiting for tickets but once again I am perplexed by the absence of a queue. I literally walk straight up to a window, give them my name and my credit card, and in less than a minute am walking back to the car. Really no waiting so far. Weird. A welcome circumstance but weird just the same.
We pull out of the lot and take a hard right to get into one of the many lanes to gain access to the venue. All lanes have a short line of cars so we arbitrarily pick one. It is clear that there is a protocol at hand because I can see people getting out of their cars, weilding a length of pipe, and striking a bell suspended in a wooden A-frame. Some decide to jump up on the frame as others strike the bell. Some pound the crap out of it. Some barely plink it. I conclude that this must be the deflowering ceremony for Burning Man virgins that I read about. Not nearly the "being pulled from your car and subjected to merciless hazing" exercise that I had feared; nonetheless, I decide that I could do without.
The vehicle in front of us has a clown car full of attendees who each take their turn hitting the bell. The greeter at the gate is taking his own sweet time with this car because all the other lanes in sight have processed at least three cars in the time that it has taken him to take care of the one in front of us. Finally it is our turn and a Ben Kingsley wanna-be pokes his head in and welcomes us to Burning Man. We do the obligatory ticket presentation and he hands us a small tree's worth of information pamphlets including the survival guide which I'd already researched the week before. Not sure what giving someone a survival guide at the entrance is going to do since it is already to late if someone didn't bring enough supplies but I thank him for the pamplets anyway. He reiterates the importance of staying hydrated and asks if this is the first time for us. I immediately reply "it's HER first time" pointing to Violette but before he can get a word out, Violette chimes in that it's my first time also. The greeter has a confused look on his face so I once again make the true though not entirely forthcoming statement that "She's never been here before." But my half-truth doesn't cut the mustard and we are both escorted from the car to ring the bell. A short two notes later and we are back in the car and through the gates.
We are now finally in Black Rock City - Population: thousands...and growing by the minute.
We get passed by a bicyclist who brought all of his gear on the back of his bike. The road we are on is not the most bicycle friendly surface yet he has no problem returning the favor of passing the hundreds of vehicles that must have been passing him all morning.
My first glimpse of the organizers' sense of humor is a mile plus long series of Burma Shave-esque signs lining the access road. The theme of the multi-part message is about how Burning Man is not what it used to be.
This theme echoes throughout many BMan conversations before, during, and after the event.
The line of vehicles marches on and my confidence in the organizers grows. The single line branches into mulitple lanes and there are people directing cars into the various different chutes. I see a sign indicating a separate lane for will call tickets so we pull off to the right and I'm wary since there are not many other cars around us. Where is the huge line for will call tickets? We pull into a sparsely populated parking area. By now the pajama bottoms and long sleeve shirt that I picked up from Goodwill are feeling over dressed for the weather. It is late morning and the mercury has made good headway up the thermometer already. I am about to step out of the car but before I commit my first step to the playa I remember the stern warnings about "playa foot", the painful cracking of skin that has been dried out from extended contact with the alkaline suface of the dried lake bed, so I throw on my socks and hiking boots instead. After detouring to the porta-potty in the parking lot, I figure I can find the will call ticket office by following the long line of people waiting for tickets but once again I am perplexed by the absence of a queue. I literally walk straight up to a window, give them my name and my credit card, and in less than a minute am walking back to the car. Really no waiting so far. Weird. A welcome circumstance but weird just the same.
We pull out of the lot and take a hard right to get into one of the many lanes to gain access to the venue. All lanes have a short line of cars so we arbitrarily pick one. It is clear that there is a protocol at hand because I can see people getting out of their cars, weilding a length of pipe, and striking a bell suspended in a wooden A-frame. Some decide to jump up on the frame as others strike the bell. Some pound the crap out of it. Some barely plink it. I conclude that this must be the deflowering ceremony for Burning Man virgins that I read about. Not nearly the "being pulled from your car and subjected to merciless hazing" exercise that I had feared; nonetheless, I decide that I could do without.
The vehicle in front of us has a clown car full of attendees who each take their turn hitting the bell. The greeter at the gate is taking his own sweet time with this car because all the other lanes in sight have processed at least three cars in the time that it has taken him to take care of the one in front of us. Finally it is our turn and a Ben Kingsley wanna-be pokes his head in and welcomes us to Burning Man. We do the obligatory ticket presentation and he hands us a small tree's worth of information pamphlets including the survival guide which I'd already researched the week before. Not sure what giving someone a survival guide at the entrance is going to do since it is already to late if someone didn't bring enough supplies but I thank him for the pamplets anyway. He reiterates the importance of staying hydrated and asks if this is the first time for us. I immediately reply "it's HER first time" pointing to Violette but before he can get a word out, Violette chimes in that it's my first time also. The greeter has a confused look on his face so I once again make the true though not entirely forthcoming statement that "She's never been here before." But my half-truth doesn't cut the mustard and we are both escorted from the car to ring the bell. A short two notes later and we are back in the car and through the gates.
We are now finally in Black Rock City - Population: thousands...and growing by the minute.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Mailbag - Volume 1
Well I now know that I have at least some readership because I have received some email with questions. So here goes Mailbag Volume 1...
Playatini,
I was sure you mean playa as in playa from the urban from of player.
- BB
That's a common misconception and Mr. Loblaw actually made a similar comment in the blog. I know that I previously gave a tongue in cheek definition of the word playa but in actuality it is a Spanish word meaning beach and Wikipedia explains that playa refers to a dry lake bed. So now you know the true meaning of the word. Indeed the word is so much more benign than one might initially think. But as long as we are on the subject, I would like to take a moment here to assure all of the women that I am currently seeing that you can trust me when I tell you that I am not a player.
Hey Playatini,
I'm enjoying reading about your road trip and all, but when do we get to hear all about being at Burning Man?
- Anticipating in Seattle
Patience grasshopper. I've just concluded the road trip portion and the next post will start with entering Black Rock City.
Playatini,
What's going on the the blog? The posts are most recent ones on top in the main body but most recent ones on bottom in the side bar?
- KS
Good question. I've chosen to reverse the order in the side bar from the default so that anyone jumping in can start at the very first post and use the side bar links like a table of contents. And another note for you technical geeks out there is that you can also add the Playatini blog to your RSS reader so you can keep track of when new posts go up. Be the first on your block to read the latest post!
Well that's about all the time we have for mail this time. Keep those questions coming!
Playatini,
I was sure you mean playa as in playa from the urban from of player.
- BB
That's a common misconception and Mr. Loblaw actually made a similar comment in the blog. I know that I previously gave a tongue in cheek definition of the word playa but in actuality it is a Spanish word meaning beach and Wikipedia explains that playa refers to a dry lake bed. So now you know the true meaning of the word. Indeed the word is so much more benign than one might initially think. But as long as we are on the subject, I would like to take a moment here to assure all of the women that I am currently seeing that you can trust me when I tell you that I am not a player.
Hey Playatini,
I'm enjoying reading about your road trip and all, but when do we get to hear all about being at Burning Man?
- Anticipating in Seattle
Patience grasshopper. I've just concluded the road trip portion and the next post will start with entering Black Rock City.
Playatini,
What's going on the the blog? The posts are most recent ones on top in the main body but most recent ones on bottom in the side bar?
- KS
Good question. I've chosen to reverse the order in the side bar from the default so that anyone jumping in can start at the very first post and use the side bar links like a table of contents. And another note for you technical geeks out there is that you can also add the Playatini blog to your RSS reader so you can keep track of when new posts go up. Be the first on your block to read the latest post!
Well that's about all the time we have for mail this time. Keep those questions coming!
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Are we there yet? Part III
After I switch to the driver's side Violette takes a nap and we hit a stretch that must be pretty flat because we've been going dead straight forever. Even though the moon is nearly full helping with visibility on the road I still turn on the high beams to give me as much notice as possible in case there is wildlife in the road. Turns out that truckers can tell that your brights are on literally a mile away because they will flash their lights to get you to dim yours. Seriously, I did the math and based on when I first see lights, effective closing speed, and elapsed time until we pass, they can tell over a mile away. I guess my mind strays off into random observations to combat white line fever because during this graveyard driving shift I also notice that there are thirteen reflector posts between mile markers. Sometimes more if there is a side road that warrants an extra one or two but by and large thirteen of them. I try to divide 5280 by 13 in my head, unsuccessfully. I am also amused by a "school zone" sign but given that it is still summer at whatever A.M. in the morning I don't really slow down. Only a few hundred miles left.
I stop by the first gas station that we've seen for what seems like 100 miles and we get some munchies and take a bio-break. We still have over a half a tank from last fill up and I check my phone to confirm that Klamath Falls (one of the big dots on the map) is definitely within range of the remaining fuel in the tank so I ignore filling up. About a quarter tank later I pass by another remote gas station but Klamath Falls is getting near so I cruise past that one too. Finally we reach the city and I'm ready to fill up but it is a ghost town. This isn't a little town either. There is a downtown area that stretches quite a ways but there is no gas station in sight. Not even a closed one that I can curse at for being closed! I am now regretting foregoing the last two options to fuel up and am mentally exploring options. Could turn back to the one we passed a while ago but that's going backwards. Sun is coming up and stores in town will be opening shortly plus we could sleep while we waited. Could drive on and hope to find something and as long as I use less than half of the remaining tank we could always circle back if I can't find anything.
I choose to press on and before too long I see a station on the outskirts of town. I'm unsure if it is open or not so I drive past it to what looks like a well lit larger gas station but that turns out to be something else so I turn back around and drive back to the first one. I pull up and the Oregon mandated gas station attendant emerges from the office. I sit there wondering how many gas stations actually hire these high school kids to sit there all night to pump gas and how profitable it is to stay open overnight. I tell him we're going to Burning Man and ask him which road to turn on since the map gets a little vague at this waypoint. He says to just keep going down the road a couple miles and to turn onto on a road with some generic sounding name like "Klamath Lake Road" or something like that. I overpay for the gas so I don't have to fish around for smaller bills and to tip this guy who has to work a sucky shift since helped out with directions. I pull out and get back onto the road continuing away from town with an eye on the trip meter. After about a mile I start to keep a lookout for this road to turn on. The second mile comes up and I don't see it yet. Three, four, five miles and I'm wondering if the dude just has real bad distance estimation skills. Ten miles and I'm regretting giving the guy a tip. I do a U-turn and head back toward the gas station to either find the road I missed or to go back to the gas station expecting to see the guy laughing his head off. But about half way back I realize what happened. I drove away from town, passed the gas station, turned back toward town to return to the gas station, asked directions while the car was pointed toward town, then left and drove away from town again. It all makes sense now. The kid's off the hook. So now I sheepishly drive past the gas station (again) trying to make a car full of gear with two bikes strapped to the back look as inconspicuous as possible.
Later on we are both just too tired to drive so I pull over at a weigh station in what I think is California by now. After a short power nap it is time to get back on the road but I need to answer the call of nature first so I head off to find the nearest tree. As I'm taking care of business it occurs to me mid-stream (of consciousness) that this would be a bad time to be disturbing some sleeping wildlife in the shrubbery while wearing flip flops. With the specter of a snake bite being particularly disturbing, I decide that I am marginally safer by stepping backwards a little so there is more clear area around my feet. Chalk up one more advantage for external plumbing. After narrowly surviving my potty break we swap drivers again and before too long we hit Alturas CA, the last big (permanent) town we are going to see for over a week. Another fuel/munchie/potty stop and I take over the reigns again with the sky getting light from the rising sun. We're cruising along and at some point down the road I begin to get a sinking feeling. I know we started out on the correct highway but the sightings of other burner vehicles on the road has dropped off to zero. I want to check Google maps but phone coverage stopped just outside of Alturas. Some people say that when you are lost you will be given a sign and in this case, that sign read "Welcome to Oregon" at that point I am pretty darn sure that we are not going the correct way. Time to turn around and head the other way until eventually finding the subtle turn off that was missed the first time. Oh well, a pleasant 20 mile (each way) detour. But now that we have navigated that tricky turn, we are getting so close and I'm getting so pumped up that I pull over to the side of the road and take a nap. We've been driving pretty much non-stop for about 15 hours by then and it is catching up to me even though I've been resting on non-driving shifts. Violette takes over for the final stretch and I wake up to find us on a curvy remote two lane road snaking through the desert. I ask if we are at Gerlach yet and she said we drove through there a while ago. I do one of those cartoon character double takes except without the comical sound effect. We were supposed to fuel up in Gerlach. We are well within driving range to get to Gerlach afterwards but the organizers warn to top off tanks on the way in because the lines are going to be awful on the way out. The 40 mile detour is now weighing heavier than it was before. While I am still crunching the MPG calculations to figure out what shape we are in we crest a hill and in the distance I can see the promised land. The wide open white playa, established encampments, and a plume of dust rising from the caravan of vehicles. We are finally here.
I stop by the first gas station that we've seen for what seems like 100 miles and we get some munchies and take a bio-break. We still have over a half a tank from last fill up and I check my phone to confirm that Klamath Falls (one of the big dots on the map) is definitely within range of the remaining fuel in the tank so I ignore filling up. About a quarter tank later I pass by another remote gas station but Klamath Falls is getting near so I cruise past that one too. Finally we reach the city and I'm ready to fill up but it is a ghost town. This isn't a little town either. There is a downtown area that stretches quite a ways but there is no gas station in sight. Not even a closed one that I can curse at for being closed! I am now regretting foregoing the last two options to fuel up and am mentally exploring options. Could turn back to the one we passed a while ago but that's going backwards. Sun is coming up and stores in town will be opening shortly plus we could sleep while we waited. Could drive on and hope to find something and as long as I use less than half of the remaining tank we could always circle back if I can't find anything.
I choose to press on and before too long I see a station on the outskirts of town. I'm unsure if it is open or not so I drive past it to what looks like a well lit larger gas station but that turns out to be something else so I turn back around and drive back to the first one. I pull up and the Oregon mandated gas station attendant emerges from the office. I sit there wondering how many gas stations actually hire these high school kids to sit there all night to pump gas and how profitable it is to stay open overnight. I tell him we're going to Burning Man and ask him which road to turn on since the map gets a little vague at this waypoint. He says to just keep going down the road a couple miles and to turn onto on a road with some generic sounding name like "Klamath Lake Road" or something like that. I overpay for the gas so I don't have to fish around for smaller bills and to tip this guy who has to work a sucky shift since helped out with directions. I pull out and get back onto the road continuing away from town with an eye on the trip meter. After about a mile I start to keep a lookout for this road to turn on. The second mile comes up and I don't see it yet. Three, four, five miles and I'm wondering if the dude just has real bad distance estimation skills. Ten miles and I'm regretting giving the guy a tip. I do a U-turn and head back toward the gas station to either find the road I missed or to go back to the gas station expecting to see the guy laughing his head off. But about half way back I realize what happened. I drove away from town, passed the gas station, turned back toward town to return to the gas station, asked directions while the car was pointed toward town, then left and drove away from town again. It all makes sense now. The kid's off the hook. So now I sheepishly drive past the gas station (again) trying to make a car full of gear with two bikes strapped to the back look as inconspicuous as possible.
Later on we are both just too tired to drive so I pull over at a weigh station in what I think is California by now. After a short power nap it is time to get back on the road but I need to answer the call of nature first so I head off to find the nearest tree. As I'm taking care of business it occurs to me mid-stream (of consciousness) that this would be a bad time to be disturbing some sleeping wildlife in the shrubbery while wearing flip flops. With the specter of a snake bite being particularly disturbing, I decide that I am marginally safer by stepping backwards a little so there is more clear area around my feet. Chalk up one more advantage for external plumbing. After narrowly surviving my potty break we swap drivers again and before too long we hit Alturas CA, the last big (permanent) town we are going to see for over a week. Another fuel/munchie/potty stop and I take over the reigns again with the sky getting light from the rising sun. We're cruising along and at some point down the road I begin to get a sinking feeling. I know we started out on the correct highway but the sightings of other burner vehicles on the road has dropped off to zero. I want to check Google maps but phone coverage stopped just outside of Alturas. Some people say that when you are lost you will be given a sign and in this case, that sign read "Welcome to Oregon" at that point I am pretty darn sure that we are not going the correct way. Time to turn around and head the other way until eventually finding the subtle turn off that was missed the first time. Oh well, a pleasant 20 mile (each way) detour. But now that we have navigated that tricky turn, we are getting so close and I'm getting so pumped up that I pull over to the side of the road and take a nap. We've been driving pretty much non-stop for about 15 hours by then and it is catching up to me even though I've been resting on non-driving shifts. Violette takes over for the final stretch and I wake up to find us on a curvy remote two lane road snaking through the desert. I ask if we are at Gerlach yet and she said we drove through there a while ago. I do one of those cartoon character double takes except without the comical sound effect. We were supposed to fuel up in Gerlach. We are well within driving range to get to Gerlach afterwards but the organizers warn to top off tanks on the way in because the lines are going to be awful on the way out. The 40 mile detour is now weighing heavier than it was before. While I am still crunching the MPG calculations to figure out what shape we are in we crest a hill and in the distance I can see the promised land. The wide open white playa, established encampments, and a plume of dust rising from the caravan of vehicles. We are finally here.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Are we there yet? Part II
We settle in on a driving rotation of roughly 90 minutes or 100 miles. It is a Sunday evening and traffic is light. We blow through more WA cities with funny names and reach the Oregon border in short order so we decide to get fuel for both us and the car in Portland. Let me tell you about Portland. The highway does a funny split thing and it is easy to get onto a spur that takes you on a road that slows down your progress to Nevada. Not that that happened or anything. Just telling you that it is possible. In a completely unrelated story, we find ourselves at a somewhat remote gas station in the corner of Portland. We pull up to the pump and from out of nowhere comes a random guy with a reflector vest who lurks around the car. Violette asks what he wants and he turns out to be the gas attendant. After a moment of awkeward confusion I recall something about a law that in Oregon you can't pump your own gas...which is a good idea...for thousands of minimum wage workers throughout Oregon. He tops off our tanks and we are on our way, right back onto the main highway that we were on the entire time, not that funny spur that takes drivers over to the zoo or wherever it leads, not that I would know where it leads. I decide that from here on out it would be best to avoid stopping in big cities and do touch and go pit stops at small towns where a gas station and off-ramp are both clearly visible from the highway.
As we head into the night the temperature drops and Violette keeps the air conditioning working so I dig around the back to add a layer of clothes to compensate. With the bike rack mounted on the back of the car preventing access to the trunk I made sure to pack camping gear back behind the pass-through area and keep the stuff useful for the road trip, like groceries and clothes, sitting in the front part of the cargo area on top of the fold down seats. Despite my best efforts to organize, my clothes seem to have migrated away from their intended position and I have to dig through the duffle bags and suitcases to find warm clothing. I finally get suited up and also grab one of the pillows out of inventory to make the reclined car seat more comfortable.
When it's my turn to drive I don't want to attract the attention of any state troopers but by the time we are in central Oregon it is the middle of the night, the roads are pretty much empty, and civilization is sparse. I'm not a lead foot but I do find that I'm passing cars with a certain degree of regularity. I'm not recklessly speeding or anything...just driving with purpose. Wish I could just dial in a comfortable pace on the cruise control but it is unreasonable to expect that feature on a car with window cranks. When I make more careful observations on the highway and at mini-marts, it occurs to me that pretty much the only other drivers going in our direction at this hour are other burners. The Burning Man logo made with masking tape on trailers, cars filled up to the windows with gear, and multiple bicycles hanging off the vehicles are dead giveaways that they too are on the pilgrimage to Black Rock City, home of Burning Man. This becomes clear to others as well and as we all converge on our destination we exchange that casual head nod to each other acknowledging that we are all burners on our trek.
Later when I wake up from my stint of sleeping in the shotgun seat I find that we are weaving through a mountain pass. After a while, I realize that there have been no other cars in either direction for miles and miles. With the dashboard thermometer indicating that it is below freezing outside I figure we're at elevation as well and I am now more sure than ever that renting a car was the correct decision. Breaking down in the remote Oregon forest and waiting for an expensive tow truck ride to a small town garage that will likely need to order in Acura parts just sounds like a real inconvenient, expensive, time consuming exercise. Good call. Maybe leaving behind schedule will actually work to our advantage for avoiding waiting in line because a little after midnight I get an email from the camp with the following report: "Right now it is beautiful and warm. It is 12:00 am and they have just begun letting the cars in. There are already 10,000 or so in… several thousand in “D” lot waiting for 12:01 and 8000 in line from Gerlach. Wow. The playa tonight looks like it did on Wednesday previous years." Burning man has started and we are still a few hours away but making good time.
As we head into the night the temperature drops and Violette keeps the air conditioning working so I dig around the back to add a layer of clothes to compensate. With the bike rack mounted on the back of the car preventing access to the trunk I made sure to pack camping gear back behind the pass-through area and keep the stuff useful for the road trip, like groceries and clothes, sitting in the front part of the cargo area on top of the fold down seats. Despite my best efforts to organize, my clothes seem to have migrated away from their intended position and I have to dig through the duffle bags and suitcases to find warm clothing. I finally get suited up and also grab one of the pillows out of inventory to make the reclined car seat more comfortable.
When it's my turn to drive I don't want to attract the attention of any state troopers but by the time we are in central Oregon it is the middle of the night, the roads are pretty much empty, and civilization is sparse. I'm not a lead foot but I do find that I'm passing cars with a certain degree of regularity. I'm not recklessly speeding or anything...just driving with purpose. Wish I could just dial in a comfortable pace on the cruise control but it is unreasonable to expect that feature on a car with window cranks. When I make more careful observations on the highway and at mini-marts, it occurs to me that pretty much the only other drivers going in our direction at this hour are other burners. The Burning Man logo made with masking tape on trailers, cars filled up to the windows with gear, and multiple bicycles hanging off the vehicles are dead giveaways that they too are on the pilgrimage to Black Rock City, home of Burning Man. This becomes clear to others as well and as we all converge on our destination we exchange that casual head nod to each other acknowledging that we are all burners on our trek.
Later when I wake up from my stint of sleeping in the shotgun seat I find that we are weaving through a mountain pass. After a while, I realize that there have been no other cars in either direction for miles and miles. With the dashboard thermometer indicating that it is below freezing outside I figure we're at elevation as well and I am now more sure than ever that renting a car was the correct decision. Breaking down in the remote Oregon forest and waiting for an expensive tow truck ride to a small town garage that will likely need to order in Acura parts just sounds like a real inconvenient, expensive, time consuming exercise. Good call. Maybe leaving behind schedule will actually work to our advantage for avoiding waiting in line because a little after midnight I get an email from the camp with the following report: "Right now it is beautiful and warm. It is 12:00 am and they have just begun letting the cars in. There are already 10,000 or so in… several thousand in “D” lot waiting for 12:01 and 8000 in line from Gerlach. Wow. The playa tonight looks like it did on Wednesday previous years." Burning man has started and we are still a few hours away but making good time.
Are we there yet? Part I
Poker went late into Saturday night so after picking up the rental car first thing in the morning it was time for a breakfast power nap which ran long and became a brunch snooze then eventually turned into a sleep fest going past lunch. So the best laid plans to leave Seattle at noon transitioned into Plan B of starting to get packed by the time we should have been in Tacoma. After getting rested up it was time to start loading up the pack mule. All of the supplies that were carefully staged in compact organized stacks somehow blossomed into a big sloppy pile of gear in the back half of the car. I think trying to quickly load the car aided in that transformation. Nevertheless, everything finally made it into the car and a vision pops into my mind of when the Grinch is surveying a overloaded sled packed to the gills with Whoville presents. I shake my head in disbelief that people can actually hike-camp carrying everything they need to a remote location. Car-camping I could understand but hike-camping? Hmmm. I did my standard paranoia sweep through my place to make sure that I didn't forget anything...or at least anything critical.
A mere five hours behind schedule, the car is finally moving in a southerly direction. I'm not going to criticize anyone's driving but let's just say that before we got past Burien I have mentally assessed the agency's collision insurance, my health insurance coverage, and my life insurance policy. Deciding that ignorance is bliss, I figure it is better for me to get more shut eye for when it's my turn to drive and so I don't see any more close calls. Invoking my sleep anywhere/anytime superpower, I close my eyes and I'm out like a light. Then before too long I am jarred awake by an expletive laced tirade. I straighten up in my seat and am expecting to see another vehicle in very close proximity to the car but I can't tell what is going on. I swivel my head around trying to pick up the incoming bogey but the radar is clear. Violette then elaborates and manages to utter the word "Bike!" and I focus on the bike rack in the back which is now down to about one and a half bikes mounted. While I was sleeping a passing motorist had pulled up alongside and pointed to the rack to alert Violette that one of the bikes had worked it's way loose and was only being held on by one mount. The nice bike too as Murphy's law would have it. I am trying to keep an eye on the bike and also make sure that we navigate safely to a shoulder. Violette is trying to get over to the right shoulder from the fast lane and I suggest we pull over to the left shoulder just as the bike works it's way completely off the rack. A split second later I am expecting to see a seventy mile per hour metal tumbleweed following us down the road but after we pull over I find that the bike lock that I had thrown on as a lark was miraculously suspending the bike a few inches above the pavement. Somehow I have built up enough close call karma points that there is no physical evidence of any of the near disasters of the past hour.
After re-securing the bikes as best as possible, we head on down the road looking for an auto-supply store or some place that would have bungy cords when what shows up just off the highway but the welcome sight of an REI store. Yahtzee. We pull off on the next off-ramp and drive up to our salvation...ten minutes after it closed. My brain types a color and an open parenthesis. But in no time it hits the backspace key twice as we find a dollar store in the adjacent strip mall. I run in and ask the clerk if they carry bungy cords. "Aisle six." I head down there and sure enough a display peg is loaded with three-packs of various length bungy cords. Perfect. I pull one off the peg then think just to be safe I'll take two packs. I instinctively flip the product over to look for a price tag and it takes me a couple of seconds to add up the clues of a) missing price tag and b) dollar store. Got it. Genius: in the house. In short order we bust open the packaging and start strapping the hell out of the bikes. I am hooking up the first bungy cord and as I interlock both high quality plastic hooks...Snap! Plastic hook breaks. It's as if these cheapo cords were only worth 33 and a third cents apiece (before tax). I am careful to not over-stress the remaining cords and the bikes are once again secure. After the slight detour, re-packaging of the bikes, and a quick fast food pit stop we are back on the road.
I break out my laptop to look up the directions that I got from my burner vet friend for the route that he recommends. I wasn't thrilled about bringing a computer to the desert but I don't have a printer and having run out of time I just saved the map information onto the disk and took the laptop with me. I boot it up and open the map so I can find out what our next landmark is and the map page, even though I saved it to disk, still tries to reference the Internet. When it can't find the server the map does not redraw correctly so the file is useless. Note to self: buy printer. I fall back to using my phone and pull up Google maps and plot out a vanilla route instead. We are going to head south on I-5, cruise through Portland, hang a left at Eugene, drive through Klamath Falls, hit Alturas CA and from there we are within striking distance of Gerlach NV then the Burning Man site. Course is set, just need to keep the odometer turning.
A mere five hours behind schedule, the car is finally moving in a southerly direction. I'm not going to criticize anyone's driving but let's just say that before we got past Burien I have mentally assessed the agency's collision insurance, my health insurance coverage, and my life insurance policy. Deciding that ignorance is bliss, I figure it is better for me to get more shut eye for when it's my turn to drive and so I don't see any more close calls. Invoking my sleep anywhere/anytime superpower, I close my eyes and I'm out like a light. Then before too long I am jarred awake by an expletive laced tirade. I straighten up in my seat and am expecting to see another vehicle in very close proximity to the car but I can't tell what is going on. I swivel my head around trying to pick up the incoming bogey but the radar is clear. Violette then elaborates and manages to utter the word "Bike!" and I focus on the bike rack in the back which is now down to about one and a half bikes mounted. While I was sleeping a passing motorist had pulled up alongside and pointed to the rack to alert Violette that one of the bikes had worked it's way loose and was only being held on by one mount. The nice bike too as Murphy's law would have it. I am trying to keep an eye on the bike and also make sure that we navigate safely to a shoulder. Violette is trying to get over to the right shoulder from the fast lane and I suggest we pull over to the left shoulder just as the bike works it's way completely off the rack. A split second later I am expecting to see a seventy mile per hour metal tumbleweed following us down the road but after we pull over I find that the bike lock that I had thrown on as a lark was miraculously suspending the bike a few inches above the pavement. Somehow I have built up enough close call karma points that there is no physical evidence of any of the near disasters of the past hour.
After re-securing the bikes as best as possible, we head on down the road looking for an auto-supply store or some place that would have bungy cords when what shows up just off the highway but the welcome sight of an REI store. Yahtzee. We pull off on the next off-ramp and drive up to our salvation...ten minutes after it closed. My brain types a color and an open parenthesis. But in no time it hits the backspace key twice as we find a dollar store in the adjacent strip mall. I run in and ask the clerk if they carry bungy cords. "Aisle six." I head down there and sure enough a display peg is loaded with three-packs of various length bungy cords. Perfect. I pull one off the peg then think just to be safe I'll take two packs. I instinctively flip the product over to look for a price tag and it takes me a couple of seconds to add up the clues of a) missing price tag and b) dollar store. Got it. Genius: in the house. In short order we bust open the packaging and start strapping the hell out of the bikes. I am hooking up the first bungy cord and as I interlock both high quality plastic hooks...Snap! Plastic hook breaks. It's as if these cheapo cords were only worth 33 and a third cents apiece (before tax). I am careful to not over-stress the remaining cords and the bikes are once again secure. After the slight detour, re-packaging of the bikes, and a quick fast food pit stop we are back on the road.
I break out my laptop to look up the directions that I got from my burner vet friend for the route that he recommends. I wasn't thrilled about bringing a computer to the desert but I don't have a printer and having run out of time I just saved the map information onto the disk and took the laptop with me. I boot it up and open the map so I can find out what our next landmark is and the map page, even though I saved it to disk, still tries to reference the Internet. When it can't find the server the map does not redraw correctly so the file is useless. Note to self: buy printer. I fall back to using my phone and pull up Google maps and plot out a vanilla route instead. We are going to head south on I-5, cruise through Portland, hang a left at Eugene, drive through Klamath Falls, hit Alturas CA and from there we are within striking distance of Gerlach NV then the Burning Man site. Course is set, just need to keep the odometer turning.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Zoom zoom
How to get to Burning Man - that is the question. From what I hear, driving is pretty much the default mode of transportation even coming across the country from the wrong coast. Makes sense since generally everyone showing up has tons of food, water, camping equipment, and bikes and possibly some artwork or theme camp materials as well as a bunch of stuff that you don't want to run through the TSA, ahem. There is also the option of renting an RV which appeals to my sensibilities of having comfortable surroundings while eliminating the need to scrounge up camping gear but I had looked into that option when I was still wavering in my decision to even go and apparently every single RV in the world was already spoken for. Some people will fly into Reno, rent a car there, and buy supplies in town before making the relatively short drive to the site. Some camps will load up all of their gear into a giant rental truck and have a smaller advance team drive it to the site then the other members can either drive a lighter car or fly in.
Those are all well and good but the options for me are to take my trusty though well used (over 200,000 on the clock) Integra or to rent something. I am having a hard time stomaching the idea of spending money on a rental car for more than a week when it is going to be collecting dust (literally) for all but a couple days of the rental period. I also am trying to figure out how much I could fix up my car with the money it would cost to rent so I take my car to the garage to have them give me an estimate of what it would take to get my car prepped for a road trip. They keep it for half a day and tell me I need front axles (known issue), transmission fluid change (OK), oil pan gasket (whatever) and give a total estimate of $1150. Eeek. Is my car even worth $1150? Rental is looking a whole lot more appealing now. My car is super reliable so I'm pretty sure it can make it. Well, there was that time when a radiator hose clamp failed and I dumped half my coolant right when I was going to hop on the dyno at the emissions testing facility but I was still able to drive, coast, watch temperature gauge, pull over to let engine cool, and limp to my garage a few blocks away so that doesn't really count as a breakdown. I also have an offer by my friend Sun to help me do the work on my car so all I would be out was the cost of parts. And on his day off from work no less. Sweet. With labor costs and price gouging taken out of the mix I could get the work on my car done for a fraction of the estimate. I take him up on his generous offer, pick up replacement parts from the auto store, but when it comes time to take the old parts off we can't remove the nuts on the wheels. Sun is literally standing on the end of a four foot extension to his breaker bar and the things don't budge. We both do back of envelope calculations and figure that his weight on a lever that big is way more than enough foot/pounds of torque to break them loose but to no avail. Time is running short and the idea of a rental is looming bigger than ever now.
I once again turn to the trusty Internet to help me make my decision. I hit the Expedia website to get an idea of how much a rental is going to cost and it turns out Enterprise has embarrassingly low prices. I'm a bit backed into a corner and don't really have any good options so a rental it is. Made a phone reservation and went to the agency first thing Sunday morning. I had in mind the warnings from a veteran burner: don't tell them you are going to Burning Man and don't get a GPS device since both of them can tip off the agency that you will be driving in the desert and they can tack on surcharges for off-roading. Good to know. So when the agent asks purpose of the rental: "Just taking a road trip...to California" which is of course true that we will be going to/through California. I just omitted the part about also continuing on to Nevada. Ooops, my bad. They roll out a nice new silver Mazda 3. Silver is the perfect color too because it will help hide the dirt that will accumulate from the dry dusty conditions of the desert. I saved money by going with an entry level car but I can see why it doesn't cost much. Didn't realize they still made cars with hand crank windows and manual door locks. Was half expecting to see foot pedals in lieu of engine. Still it is dependable transportation and that is what was needed. The rental rate is cheap which helps to offset the hit my wallet is going to take by having to pay for insurance since I don't have comprehensive/collision on my car. Turns out I inadvertently paid for liability too which I didn't need. Ouch. I'm not happy that I'm going to be insuring what is going to be a paperweight 90% of the time but I'm not going to take a chance of being on the hook for costs to fix or replace a car. It is an EV- move overall but I can't afford the variance. After signing (and initializing in three places) my life away I am handed the keys. Time to load up the mule and hit the road.
Those are all well and good but the options for me are to take my trusty though well used (over 200,000 on the clock) Integra or to rent something. I am having a hard time stomaching the idea of spending money on a rental car for more than a week when it is going to be collecting dust (literally) for all but a couple days of the rental period. I also am trying to figure out how much I could fix up my car with the money it would cost to rent so I take my car to the garage to have them give me an estimate of what it would take to get my car prepped for a road trip. They keep it for half a day and tell me I need front axles (known issue), transmission fluid change (OK), oil pan gasket (whatever) and give a total estimate of $1150. Eeek. Is my car even worth $1150? Rental is looking a whole lot more appealing now. My car is super reliable so I'm pretty sure it can make it. Well, there was that time when a radiator hose clamp failed and I dumped half my coolant right when I was going to hop on the dyno at the emissions testing facility but I was still able to drive, coast, watch temperature gauge, pull over to let engine cool, and limp to my garage a few blocks away so that doesn't really count as a breakdown. I also have an offer by my friend Sun to help me do the work on my car so all I would be out was the cost of parts. And on his day off from work no less. Sweet. With labor costs and price gouging taken out of the mix I could get the work on my car done for a fraction of the estimate. I take him up on his generous offer, pick up replacement parts from the auto store, but when it comes time to take the old parts off we can't remove the nuts on the wheels. Sun is literally standing on the end of a four foot extension to his breaker bar and the things don't budge. We both do back of envelope calculations and figure that his weight on a lever that big is way more than enough foot/pounds of torque to break them loose but to no avail. Time is running short and the idea of a rental is looming bigger than ever now.
I once again turn to the trusty Internet to help me make my decision. I hit the Expedia website to get an idea of how much a rental is going to cost and it turns out Enterprise has embarrassingly low prices. I'm a bit backed into a corner and don't really have any good options so a rental it is. Made a phone reservation and went to the agency first thing Sunday morning. I had in mind the warnings from a veteran burner: don't tell them you are going to Burning Man and don't get a GPS device since both of them can tip off the agency that you will be driving in the desert and they can tack on surcharges for off-roading. Good to know. So when the agent asks purpose of the rental: "Just taking a road trip...to California" which is of course true that we will be going to/through California. I just omitted the part about also continuing on to Nevada. Ooops, my bad. They roll out a nice new silver Mazda 3. Silver is the perfect color too because it will help hide the dirt that will accumulate from the dry dusty conditions of the desert. I saved money by going with an entry level car but I can see why it doesn't cost much. Didn't realize they still made cars with hand crank windows and manual door locks. Was half expecting to see foot pedals in lieu of engine. Still it is dependable transportation and that is what was needed. The rental rate is cheap which helps to offset the hit my wallet is going to take by having to pay for insurance since I don't have comprehensive/collision on my car. Turns out I inadvertently paid for liability too which I didn't need. Ouch. I'm not happy that I'm going to be insuring what is going to be a paperweight 90% of the time but I'm not going to take a chance of being on the hook for costs to fix or replace a car. It is an EV- move overall but I can't afford the variance. After signing (and initializing in three places) my life away I am handed the keys. Time to load up the mule and hit the road.
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