Burning Man 10

I opened my eyes after a short nap.I looked over and saw the guidebook upside-down to my left, on my guitar case.

I fixed myself some breakfast and had a seat outside in my camp chair.It looked like some of Jay's friends had arrived the night before.The two beer kegs next to her tent served as my indication.

After a short while relaxing, I decided it was time to get moving.There was just so much to do, I didn't want to waste too much time sitting around.I figured that I had such a good time yesterday jamming out for people, I would try it again.

I picked up my guitar case inside my tent and hit Chaos Street with both feet moving.Steady traffic poured through.

A large water truck approached from the 5:00 intersection down Chaos.I stepped over to the side of the road and let it pass me.Water shot out of hoses attached to the back covering the street.(This is so the streets stay intact for the duration festival) A handful of people ran to catch up for a moment of relief from the playa's unrelenting, hot and dry days.I noticed Jay and Star were had already attached themselves to the back bumper, clinging to hand rails. They saw me and waved as they sped off.

I continued on, moving the opposite way of the truck that was headed to Center Camp.I hadn't done too much exploring in between my camp and the 3:00 plaza. I wanted to see what was over there.

I passed the corner of 4:00 and C, which was completely crowded.A large group of people had formed around a small 10 by 10 canopy.I pushed my way to the edge of the crowd to see what was going on, trying my best not to jam someone with my guitar case.

"Hey, do you want your shirt painted?" a guy asked me.

"No I am all set.I only have a few shirts." I answered.

It was true.My clothing selection was pretty limited due to my extended travels.There man in the center of the throng was un-phased by my declination and continued to drip paint onto other people's clothing.

To our right was another shade structure. I could see a small group of people lounging in camp chairs with their bare feet dipped inside a kiddy pool.

"Hey, guitar guy." someone from the pool are yelled with a southern drawl. "Yea you. Come play something for us?" she asked me.

"Umm, sure." I answered noticing that if I did play for them, I would be only one of the two people wearing clothes near the pool.

"What do you want to hear?" I said.

"Anything you want.How about one of yours?"The girl on my right with thick red locks of hair asked.

I took a seat and set my case down.I pulled the guitar out and adjusted my tuning pegs.The climate was really starting to affect its ability to stay in tune.For some reason though, I didn't mind that the playa was eating one of my prized possessions.

"This one is called, She still wants more."I said as I jumped my hand to a C# major 7 chord.

I started chopping at my strings as I rapidly switching chords every half measure or so.I made up some of it right there.

"My baby is accustomed to the prettiest things.Fur coats and diamond rings.All the things that I cant afford." I sang.

I finished and they clapped and splashed in the pool.

"I know that girl." The red haired girl said while laughing.

"Hey do you mind if I play one?" She asked.

"Sure." I said.

She took my guitar and started twisting the tuning keys it to open D. She pressed it up against her naked body and began strumming.

"Sitting in a park in Paris France. Reading the news and it sure looks bad.They wont give peace a chance. It was just a dream some of us had." She sang softly.

A few of us joined in on the chorus.

"California.California I am coming home.I am going to see the folks I dig I'll even kiss the sunset pink.California I am coming home." She let the last chord ring as we clapped.

"I love that Joni Mitchell tune." the woman on my left said."Blue is one of my all time favorites."

"Thanks for letting me play your guitar. Come back tomorrow at 12:30pm for another jam.I am trying to get a few people together.It would be great to have you back." She said smiling.

"I'll try." I said."Great to meet you guys too."

My mind recalled a quote I once heard Arlo Guthrie say in an interview on Folk radio a few years back.He said, "What's really great about music is that if you play, you'll have a friend everywhere you go."Music just connects us all.That might be why I enjoy it so much.

I stepped back out into the sunshine and through the masses, awaiting what I considered the destruction of their clothing.

I continued to wander with my guitar case, playing music for anyone who seemed open to it.I felt like a minstrel, in some weird post Armageddon, Sci-Fi movie.

First, there was Camp f***ing Yay, at 3:00 and Adapt.Every part of that camp, including the people, was covered in bright pink.They even had tiny pink buttons pinned to each of their shirts, advertising their camp theme.

After a few Grateful Dead tunes upon request, they showered me with tiny gifts and hugs.One of the trinkets I received was a tube of Chap Stick.This was actually the highlight of all the gifts I got the entire festival. (Due to the unrelenting dry weather and my lack of preparation)

Time flew as I roamed around from camp to camp, though my arms were keeping close track.By this point, I had literally lugged my Taylor 210 for hours.My guitar was getting heavier by the minute.

I grabbed a seat for a quick rest around the 3:00 plaza.I chose a spot next to a peculiar looking bookcase, standing upright along Biology. It was filled to the brim with random titles.

There was a copy of Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" on the top shelf jammed in with a bunch of other paperbacks. I opened to a random page.

"I'd been poring over maps of the United States in Paterson for months, even reading books about the pioneers and savoring names like Platte and Cimarron and so on, and on the road-map was one long red line called Route 6 that led from the tip of Cape Cod clear to Ely, Nevada, and there dipped down to Los Angeles. I'll just stay on all the way to Ely, I said to myself and confidently started. To get to 6 I had to go up to Bear Mountain. Filled with dreams of what I'd do in Chicago, in Denver, and then finally in San Fran…"

As I began to flip to the next page, a dust storm came out of nowhere. I heard the low rumble of an oversized engine.

Panning across my field of vision from left to right, I saw one of the oddest looking art cars on the playa. (That is not said lightly)

At the front was an old truck had been converted into a tank. The sides of the truck were covered in camouflaged wood paneling. From the front extended a long green barrel.

The tank was somehow managing to pull a MASSIVE trailer, with a huge paper mache wind-sail covering the roof.The sail looked like the top of an oversized Conestoga wagon, made out of old bits of faded newspaper.It looked as old as the book I was reading.

I slipped "On the Road" back to its original resting place, ready for the next modern-day beatnik wannabe.

A team of people climbed down a tall ladder that was secured to the other side of the vehicle. As they hopped off, each of them grabbed a black barrel from the first level and swiftly marched off in different directions.

"Hey, take a census." a girl with bright green goggles and flowing dreadlocks asked me as she hustled forward.

"Sure." I said, grabbing the small pamphlet out of her hand.

The driver of the tank got out and headed near where I was standing. His round black goggles projected about 3 inches off his face, as his head shifted around quickly in different directions.

"Lots to do, lots to do." He muttered repeatedly, while pulling barrels out of the back.

"Hey, what are you guys doing?" I injected.

"Delivering the annual census of course." He said in a now traceable Scottish accent.

"Be a pal and give me a hand up here will ya. The sail is coming loose."

"Sure.I'll trade you for a ride back to Center Camp." I said in mild desperation.

"Deal, we are heading that way anyway. But first, we gotta fix this sail."

I looked above my head and saw the wind-sail rocking back and forth catching the strong desert breeze. I rushed up the ladder and grabbed one of the loose ropes. The tank operator climbed up next, and ran over to another loose rope in the back.

As he grabbed for it, a huge gust pulled up the wind-sail. The wagon top teetered back and forth dangerously from side to side.

"Don't let go of that rope or your are walking back to Center Camp." He yelled jokingly over the swirling noise of the wind. (Or at least I think he joked…my gripped tightened just in case.)

"Thanks man.Sit tight. I'll get you back when were done dropping off all the barrels.It may take a while though." He explained.

"No worries." I said.

When we got things under control, I had a look about the wooden platform.It was high in the air, allowing me to see the whole city at once for the first time.The streets wrapped tightly around the esplanade, while the art installations shot up out of the middle.It seemed impressively organized from my current vantage point.

The census crew came back a few minutes later and set the now empty barrels in on the first level. The engine turned and we started moving.

"Hey guys, look what that camp just gave me." One of them said climbing up the ladder, cradling a glass jar of pickled eggs.

I laughed to myself, as we rumbled through the Black Rock City, in an over sized tank, with the precarious teetering of a wind-sail just above our heads, delivering the annual census to the inhabitants of Burning Man, all while sharing what was the first pickled egg I had ever eaten with a girl named Inferno.

"How do you even describe this?"I thought.