Black Rock City, the brigadoon of the Nevada desert. The tales of wonder had whispered on the winds around each of us for years. Pilgrims would travel untold distances to an alkaline desert plain and there for a week in the end of August would cavort, dance, play, create, fornicate and burn, Burn, BURN. For years the logistics of comfort and survival in such harsh conditions seemed too daunting. It’s a desert, Janet! The closest amenities and services such as food, shelter and water are seventy mile away, for pete’s sake. We had contemplated going in luxurious style and rent an RV but we had become too cash poor to pull that off. But by following the seemingly circuitous path of our inner compass we had found ourselves backpacking this spring on the Appalachian Trail (AT) and by June we knew that we could just haul our packs to the desert and, if not thrive, assuredly survive. I mean they let you drive your vehicle right onto the Playa. Right? We wouldn’t even need to huff our gear in on our backs. Sweet!
Consider this: the recommended daily allowance for water (drinking, cooking, personal hygiene) is 1.5 gallons per day, times 2 people, times 7 days, times 8.34 pounds per gallon equals better than 175 pounds in hydration alone. Then there’s food, shelter, bedding. . . and costumes . . . and where will we get our hands on some bikes???? Despite an undergraduate degree in biology and chemistry I currently seem to be quite lacking in logistic skills. But I get ahead of myself (see???) Tickets. Tickets. yes, first we need tickets. Back some time before now or then, before we had even set foot on the AT , yes it was February, the idea of making a play for Burning Man came to us. At the same time, the call for applications for Low Income tickets was announced from BRC central headquarters. The beams of synchronicity crossed, we took action and sent lovely missives about our lives, and circumstances, and our uncertain trajectory. A week later we hit the trail and promptly forget all about the desert utopia (see xxx.) Five months later an email arrives proclaiming: YES! Welcome Virgins!