If we had only walked the 7-square mile city of Burningman and not biked or rode the art car, we would have thrown out more than two pairs of boots. We hiked back from the Playa one night, under the stars, after hitching a ride on our friend’s art car. Walking meant you could actually make personal contact with the multitude of camps. One morning I got up early, opened up my parasol and took a walkabout around section 4:30, meeting my neighbors and grabbing hugs along the way. It was the perfect way to pass out my journals!
Having a bike was a necessity, but it also was a refreshing return to childhood. Teri was on a regular bike and I was on a three-wheeled tricycle. I had to relearn how to ride the darn thing! I hopped on and it kept turning right. I panicked, thinking to myself if I cannot master this, I am in big trouble. Brooke hopped on and did fine, but one of our campmates finally figured out why I was having such a tough time. (Aside from riding one-handed.) I was trying to balance and she instructed me to act like it was a car and just steer. It was all I needed to hear.
Our bikes were tricked out with lights, lanterns, and baskets. There are no rules of the road at Burningman. People are from all over the world and other countries drive on the left, while we drive on the right. In the desert bikes just pedaled wherever they wanted, so lights were essential at night to be seen. (They were also essential as a pedestrian if you did not want to be run over by an art car or bike.)
We had bike locks. Should we do keys or combination locks? We decided on combos, worrying we would lose the key. Gage took a large marker and wrote my 4-number combo on my right arm, in case I forgot. (Branded like a heifer:) Why do we need a bike lock, I asked, and was told that drunk or high peeps may think that your bike is their bike and just wander off with it, and how would you find your bike in a city of 80,000? 90% of unlocked bikes are stolen!
The desert roads in the city started out rock-hard, but as the city grew and traffic increased, the bike paths became rutted and tough to ride. Teri and I moaned as we jostled along the pothole paths, whining about saddle-sore butts and tough pedaling. (The tricycle was even tougher than the regular bike.) We finally caught on to the fact if we rode all the way to the right, it was easier to ride. Biking on the Playa was smoother still, but other areas that experienced more dust storms were like riding in talcum powder. (This was not a sand desert, but alkaline dust.) If you blew a tire or lost a chain, there were camps that repaired for free, but thankfully ours never failed us.
We loved the fact that our new friend with his art car liked hanging in “Camp Nailed-It” and enjoyed ferrying us out to the art installations. We enjoyed the sunrise, sunset and various parties as we motored out on his invention. It meant we could ride, view more art and people watch as we passed bikers and pedestrians. We met new friends, as they hopped aboard the musical vehicle and it was a nice spot to sit while we watched the burning of the Burningman and the temple burn Many of the art cars were works of whimsy or moving discotheques with techno blasting from their lit vehicles. Others were floating bars offering free shots of whiskey chased by pickle juice or alcoholic slushies.
We saw many abandoned bikes as we packed up to leave. Leave no trace is one of the ten Burningman principles and it shocked us to hear thousands and thousands of bikes are left behind. Instead of heading to a landfill, groups collect them, repair and refurbish and resell them back to burners the next year.