After Burning Man.
Got there on Sunday, mid-day after stopping for the night at the hot springs in Bridgeport with Meloney and several others. The Pinzgauer did fine, except for a bit of oil coming out of somewhere — specks all over the back from the long trip. The hot springs were marvelous and I plan to do that again next time. Sunday and Monday are a blur of acclimation and meeting people and helping set up stuff.
A week in the desert there is a long damned week; though it goes by quickly it beats the hell out of you physically as well as emotionally. Things you normally take for granted — food, water, bathroom, sleep — you’ve got to work for those. And massive sensory input.
One of the things I thought to myself when I was most down: “Sometimes the loneliness goes away for a little while, but when it comes back it feels even worse.”
Also thought maybe I’ve learned everything Burning Man can teach me, for the moment. And: “Hearts are like eggs, meant to be broken. Scrambled or fried and served with toast.”
Woke up before dawn the last morning, loaded up the truck, drove out to pick up my artwork. 12 hours in the Pinz. 53mph average, no problems; drove straight from Fernley to Bridgeport and down. Stopped for smoked meat products in Bishop — I hate to keep saying it’s the world’s best bacon, but it is. Passed on the Schatt’s jalapeño cheese bread because of the diet.
While the Man burned I sat and soaked in the hot tub.