Burning Man 

Everyone who knows I went to Burning Man this year has been asking me the same questions:

“Did you see a lot of naked people?” There were some, but after you’ve seen your fifth naked guy on a bike you get over it.

“Was it a bunch of dirty hippies?” After a few days in 45 mph dust storms everyone was dirty–the hippies, the artists, the ravers, the kids, the goths, the pagans and the cops.

“Were there orgy tents or public sex?” I heard about that too, but if it was there I didn’t find it. Besides, see the previous answer and you might change your mind about hooking up.

“Were there drugs?” I’ve seen more at a concert at the Idaho Center.

“What was the bathroom situation like?” Every so often there were groups of 20 or so porta-potties. With 38,000 people basically car camping in the desert the lines were long, smells were frequent and it wasn’t pretty by the end of the week.

“Were there police?” There were a lot of cops, both uniformed federal and local police driving around in suburbans with flashing lights. The undercover ones, identified only by the radio earpiece sneaking up through their costumes, were the scariest, especially when driving around their decorated golf carts and infrared goggles. Not that I was doing anything illegal, mind you.

“Did you like it?” No, it sucks. Stay away. You’ll hate it. I suffered dehydration, numerous blisters, third-degree chaffing from riding my bike all day long and am still recovering almost two weeks after I returned. It was torture. Pure torture.

“Will you go back next year?” You betcha.

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