There’s something peaceful about being up at 5 am while the world is still groggy and full of early morning optimism about how the day will go. Until he realized the fridge was bare. HHH’s one goal was to grab a few breakfast items while easing into the morning like a responsible adult. On the way, he stumbled headfirst into Burning-Man-Mania, the pre-playa pandemonium turning every store, street, and gas station into a glittered, post-apocalyptic staging area.
The first hint that something was off was the traffic. Not normal “late-for-work” traffic, but a slow-moving, psychedelic parade of RVs, converted school buses, and dusty sedans dragging trailers that still had dealer tags. License plates from every state. Roof racks stacked with bikes. All windows covered with painter’s tape. All this at 5 AM on a Sunday.
With patience and effort, he finally arrived at the parking lot of the grocery store. Every spot was full, most with people sleeping in U-Haul vans (yes, rentable U-Haul vans), doors cracked open, solar panels on the roof, folks visiting in the lot like as if it was a KOA campground.
Inside the store? Polite chaos. Blue painter’s tape flew off the shelves, as Burner’s grabbed it by the armful to seal up their RV windows from the inevitable onslaught of alkali dust. Shopping carts stacked high with ramen, Cliff bars, gallons of water, and boxed wine rolled out the door. It was Mad Max meets Trader Joe’s.
And yet, amid the mania, kindness reigned. Two elderly locals stood behind a group of Burners with a cart that looked like it could support a small army. The old couple held nothing but two avocados and a jug of water. The Burners glanced back, smiled, and waved them ahead. “You guys go first.” Kindness never looked so sweet.
Our town has a population of about 25,000 souls on a busy day. This week? We’re the portal to the play for an influx of 85,000 people armed with radical self-reliance, disco balls, and apparently zero hotel reservations. No vacancies at our motels. Every fast food line is longer than the wait at the DMV.
The gas station looked like a techno refugee camp. Every pump was occupied, RVs and electric trucks trying to top off before hitting the void. People lounged under shade tents in the parking lot. At Reds’, people waited hours for EV chargers. There are NO charging stations where they are headed. Zero.
You see every kind of person during this week. Every color of hair. Neon dreads, metallic green buzz cuts, one man with a cherry-red mohawk tall enough to get Wi-Fi. One gentleman was wearing a vintage prom dress and moon boots while carrying a feathered purse, all in pink. And somehow, it all worked.
HHH did come back with the groceries (no thanks to whoever hoarded all the milk) and crawled home through a gridlocked mass of creativity on wheels. Of course, I was so disappointed that I didn’t get to go, we made a second trip through the mayhem. By then, the migration was gone, headed north toward the playa.
Sadly, 50 mph winds and rain have rearranged tents and belongings. The gates have been closed for a time, with forecasts for monsoonal rain all week. Not good anywhere, but especially on the playa. Stay tuned. Things could get messy.
Next year? I’m doing all my shopping in July. I’ll tape my windows shut just for solidarity. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll grab a tutu so I can blend in at Walmart. We’ll see.
More tomorrow.
