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Gallery
Two 
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This is something that is hard to describe. In a pentagon shaped area, one and half miles on each of the five sides, 30,000 people camped on the flat, desert plya. But there are no lines, no real crowds. See, all 30,000 have brought their own food and water, and there is nothing for sale. So no lines. No crowds. And everywhere there are sights, outrageous sights. Lots of naked people, but they sort of pale compared to the wind storms, the art cars, the sculptures and the Man. I had driven down from Montana. Three days. It should have taken two days, but the alternator on my truck burnt up in Nevada. On a dirt road. On a short-cut. That's what sometimes happens when traveling alone; short-cuts take longer than the pavement. The valve to things open and close... But I got there anyway, Black Rock City, about 150 miles north of Reno. As if some kind of surgery had removed the worst of Nevda and replaced it with the heart of what is best.... And, still alone, found a place to camp which was flat and hot and dry and windy -- like every single spot at Burning Man. .... oh, on the way back there were no mechanical problems, just the wonderful desert that is between Black Rock and Missoula, and lots of time to think about what I had been part of: The burning heart at night, the dust, the wind...
copyright 2000 by Steve Saroff