Playa Dust in the Bedouin

Tim jumped out in hot pink shorts and a white fishnet tank top. He rushed over to the two girls and joined the group hug-in.

Like me, Jim got out much slower. The long drive in was beginning to take a toll. The knowledge that we had to set up my massive tent -- and knowing just how much work that took -- before I could lay down and catch a nap was depressing.

Jim walked up and held out an open bag of wet grapes to me. Taking one, they were super cold and the juice was almost intoxicatingly sweet.

"Linda and Bill called; they are one their way but won't be here any time soon. Kat called just before we lost cell coverage. She's in Reno, should be here tonight." Jim looked around at the flat patch of white playa. "So this is home for the next week. Well, I've lived in worse looking apartments for longer. So, what's first? The tent?"

Looking over at the sun hanging like an orange ball of death above the scorched mountains surrounding this place, I gave a nod. "And fairly quickly. The temperature is rising by the second and the sooner we get some shade set up the better." I looked over at the other three who had a 'let's go explore' vibe setting in. "Hey! Before we all head off in different directions, it takes about an hour to set up my tent, but a lot less than that when there are more people."

Tim struck a hip out pose. "Well, let's get er done' then stud muffin. I'm ready to get my party on and we are burning daylight."

"Speaking of which ..." Gloria took off her wide-brimmed hat wiping her forehead on the back of her hand. "It is really blistering out here, isn't it? How much hotter do you think it will get today?"

Leaving that unanswered, I walked around to the trailer and opened the door. Inside were the multiple rolls of ground tarps, colorful linen cloth inner walls, old oriental rugs, and the big camel and goat wool canvas jelly roll that was the tent itself lay -- more or less- neatly stacked. The long tent poles and the battered old green Rubbermaid with the brass finials, carpet and canvas squares, and the newly bought long screws - which I learned would be best to use as tent stakes in the hard desert playa -- were also all packed away inside.

Jim stepped around and looked inside. "Good lord. Is all of that just the tent?"

"Mostly, yep," I said, nodding. With a sigh, I began to drag stuff out. When he appeared beside me, I handed Tim the big gray roll that was the ground cloth. "Can you wrangle up my sister and Gloria to help you spread that out?"

He nodded. "Sure. Oh, ladies!"

Handing Jim the semi-heavy Rubbermaid, I took a deep breath and with a grunt-heaved lifted the big heavy roll of slightly fuzzy cloth up into my arms. With a deep breathy moan, I took slow carefully placed steps over to where the others were gathered. I saw that Tim and the ladies had unrolled and folded out the big gray tarp. I dropped the tent canvas atop one side. It landed with a heavy thud.

"Good lord, what does that weigh?" asked Gloria.

Leaning forward, hands on my knees, I took a deep breath feeling the small twinge pull in my back. "About two hundred pounds, but I swear it gets heavier every time I pick it up. Let's roll it out across the tarp."

With all of us working it didn't take long to get the fifty foot of cloth unrolled. Then, with me directing them, we folded one side out till it was nearly on the edge of the tarp. Opening the Rubbermaid, I took out a good handful of metal screws and dropped one of the foot-long metal bars by each of the steel grommets in the canvas. Waving away questions, I walked over to the van and came back a moment later with my impact drill.

Just like the videos had said they screwed right into the hard-packed dusty ground, securing the tent.

"Well, ain't that neat," said Gloria.

I handed her the drill. "You can do the other side. But first, I need help with the tent poles, so follow me. Everybody grab one and I'll show you where they go."

Behind me, Tim sang out. "Jim, did you hear that? This nice man wants me to grab hold of his pole for him. I knew this was going to be a fun week."

I stopped in mid-stride back to the trailer. It's going to be a long week.

Stepping up into the trailer, I handed out the heavy and ornately carved wooden tent poles.

Gloria took hers and paused to look over the carvings. "These are beautiful. What is the screw at the top for?"

I leaned the longest one on my shoulder. "Come and see."

I directed them to place the different length poles at the various places, pointing out the heavy-duty round grommets in the canvas at each. Kneeling down, I had them gather around while I demonstrated.

"Place a carpet square over the threaded end first. Then thread the pole through the metal grommet. Then a canvas square, then screw down the finials. Short poles along this line of holes. Longer poles go in the middle of the tent."

They each took a pole and we soon had the first row in place.

"Okay, lay it flat like this." I demonstrated what I meant. "Now, same thing for the longer poles."

Walking out onto the canvas, we repeated what we had just done.

"Alright, now the fun part." I picked up the longest pole, slid a carpet square onto it, and pointed to the largest of the brass finials. "That one, please."

Attaching it, with its double-thick canvas washer in place, I took a couple of deep breaths and then pushed up on the thick pole, raising the center of the heavy canvas off the ground.

"Hold this one for me now, please."

Jim and Tim rushed forward and help hold it in place. I turned it loose and ducked under the heavy canvas to raise the other poles behind us, tightening the canvas as each was lifted. When I ducked back out I saw that Gloria and Olivia were already working on getting the other four short poles in place. I moved over to help hold those in place.

"Gloria? Want to screw?"

She looked up startled, then - seeing the drill in my hand, held out towards her -- she grinned. "Always."

"Olivia, help her pull the canvas tight, then she can screw it down. Do each corner first." I gestured for Tim and Jim to come help. "Guys, that center pole will stay in place now. Help me lean these poles out to pull tension on the canvas."

As we held the shorter poles in place, Gloria and Olivia rushed around drilling the long screws deep into the playa. I could tell when she was done. I turned my tent pole loose.

"Well, there she is." I took a deep breath. "The rugs in the van cover the ground cloth. Those two darker canvas rolls are for the ends. We can roll those up to let air in. And the colorful cloth rolls attach here." I pointed to the line of ties across our canvas ceiling. "They make the inner walls. We can divide it up in a dozen different ways. We'll just have to see what works for us."

Olivia was turning around looking at the shaded space. "This is huge! You could place volleyball under here."

Jim walked over to the main tent pole and gave it a light push. It moved just a bit. "You don't have to anchor these down?"

I shrugged. "We can, I have bracings that do that, but the weight of the tent will keep them in place. Also, it's meant to move a bit with the wind."

Tim was slow spinning in a circle looking around as well. "You said it's fifty by fifty? That's twenty-five hundred square feet. Hell, my house isn't much more than that. I love it. Where did you get this thing?"

Having known that this question would be asked, perhaps many times, still didn't lessen the pain that flashed through me. "I was gifted it. It belonged to the dead brother of a man who I helped out. He was a city dweller, and he didn't need the tent. Just had it in storage. I mentioned to him that I spent a lot of my time camping out ... back home. He gave me it. Just drove up in a truck and dropped it off for me at the base camp." I looked at the open space remembering the last time I had stood under this canvas. "It was only the tent canvas. I made the poles and had a metal working guy I know to craft the bronze finials for me."

My sister looked around. "Um, is it just me or does it feel cooler?"

Tim gave her a look and then gently patted her shoulder. "We're in the shade, lovely."

Toting in one of the long rolls of oriental carpeting on my shoulder, I began to spread it out on the floor. "The tent drafts air." They all gave me an odd look. "The dark canvas gets hot, the heat rises and pulls air through the cloth which makes a cooling draft. The hotter it gets the better it works."

Tim gave his face a fan "We have an air-conditioned tent? Oh, lord we are blessed with this man."

He was the first one to hug me, but the others closed in and hugged me as well. It was a strange but, at the same time, rather familiar feeling. Other than my sister, these were strangers. But then so many times in my life I had been in similar situations. Living for a short time under a canvas roof with strangers that became closer to me than family. I had the feeling that, before this week was out, I was going to feel similar feelings towards these people.

Then Tim grabbed my ass.

Yep, it was going to be a long week.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

We emptied the three vehicles into the tent quickly enough. Gloria and my sister worked together to place an inner wall to give them some privacy for changing into their 'outfits' before heading out into the festival to look at art projects and to find the other members of the art project we were to help with.

Jim worked on setting up the kitchen area by one of the outside walls. He began a small meal of grilled sandwiches while Tim and I basically hung partitions, organized, and decorated the inside of our camp.

Stepping back outside to my van for the half dozen folding chairs, I noticed that the ever-growing temperature rise was now a brutally palpable thing. I grabbed my wide-brimmed hat after the second trip.

"John?"

Turning, I found my scantily dressed little sister almost in my shadow. She was wearing what was basically a bikini top with yoga shorts and boots.

"Can you get my bike out for me?"

Looking over, I saw Gloria had on a similar outfit and was busy getting her bike down off the rack on the back of her car. My eyes took in the view of pale freckled skin. "Sure. Lunch will be ready soon though?"

Olivia nodded. "We'll grab it to go." Then she leaned in close to me and cut her eyes towards Gloria. "Like what you see? I wouldn't get your hopes up, big brother. She's not interested in dating."

Looking down at my sister, I smiled. "Never been terribly partial to redheads. Besides - between the two of you - you've got the better body; she's a bit thin for my tastes."

She gave me a smirky smile. "Um, hum. Well, just keep in mind that just because this is an Arabian tent does not mean you get to collect a harem this week. My bike? Please."

Going back to the trailer, I stepped inside and lifted her pink monstrosity of a bike from the hooks on the inner wall. A rolling monument to pink fluff and bright pink para-cord tassels it was instantly trying to snag on my bike, the hooks, other gear, and a half dozen other things before I could get it out of the door. I wheeled it over to her where she and Gloria stood eating their sandwiches. They waved goodbye and vanished off into the growing city of dusty tents and roving cars.

I took two of the sandwiches and grabbed a soda from the cooler.

Looking up, I saw Tim in a billowy white bathrobe, a turban hat, snowboard goggles, and enough bangle bracelets to deck out a dozen Vegas hookers come walking out of his side of the tent. He set a One Wheel board on the ground and vanished after my sister and Gloria.

Jim came over and sat near me with his food. "I don't know about those fools, but I'm exhausted. They want to go explore and party. I want to eat and pass out for a few hours."

I nodded in weary agreement. "Same."

He took a bite and chewed it slowly. "John, I have to ask. Do you have any problem with Tim and me? Being gay, I mean?"

Taking a sip, I cleared my mouth. "To be honest, I could care less. It never has been a major thing for me." I shrugged. "My time in the military ... well, it can make people go either way as far as caring about that. Me? I just have other things that I have to worry about than who is doing what with whom in bed."

He gave me a nod of agreement. "Tim ... well, lord knows he can be a bit much at times. He was a little worried is all. Wanted me to ask."

"Well, tell him I'm fine with it." I smiled. "And if he was concerned he could have asked before he grabbed my ass."

We both laughed.

After a bit, Jim finished his food and, with a yawn and a mumbled goodbye, vanished behind a curtain wall off into his side of the tent.

Sitting there, alone at last, I looked out the end of the tent to the seemingly endless line of new cars, trucks, vans, and RV filtering in. The knowledge that there could be as many as seventy to eighty thousand people pouring in here over the next few days and the logistic nightmare that it must be taking to deal with that was staggering.

Then a topless woman stopped before the open side of the tent. She stood there looking around inside for a moment, saw me, and smiled. "I love your tent. This is awesome!"

I had to grin. "Thank you."

She waved and vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

Well, maybe a walkabout would be nice before my nap.

Going to the area I had walled off for me to sleep, I opened my trunk and dug out a change of clothes. Light billowy black pants, a beaded vest, and a tan and black patterned shemagh scarf. Placing a wide heavily decorated belt around my waist, I hooked my goggles with my drinking cup on my belt carabiner just in case.

Stepping outside, I went to the van and pulled out my favorite of the carved, burned, stained, and sandblasted walking sticks that I had made over the last few years. It was starting to get polished smooth in places from my handling it. Turning to walk towards the center of the growing city, I paused, backtracked to the van, and grabbed my cigar case off the visor, just in case I wanted a bit of smoke.

The sun on the white playa dust was as blinding as snow, and the billowing dust was thick as fog behind the many moving vehicles.

Ready to face this desert world, so similar to one I once knew, I ambled off into the growing chaos that is Burning Man.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

I've never considered myself an artist. A craftsman, maybe, since I've always liked working with my hands. When I was stationed in the mountains in Afghanistan I would often pass the time carving walking sticks, mostly just to help not go mad with either anxiety or boredom between the firefights. I made dozens of them in the months over there. I know most of what I made must now be in the hands of local villagers. The elders all moved over the hilly terrain with the help of such canes, and mine got remarked on all the time. I gave away most of them as gifts.

Walking here I saw what people who I would call artists can really do. The creativity, the sheer scale of some of what they had built - and were still in the process of building - was simply incredible. Wooden frameworks that towered into the skies. Huge faces made of simple lumber that seemed to scream so lifelike at the people walking past.

And so much of what I saw moved! It wasn't a simple static structure, but lifted and turned, and dipped in so many odd ways. It was like walking through a museum but with the art in motion.

Passing a structure that I couldn't have even begun to think of how it was built, I stood and listened to the sound of the wind passing over the hundreds of pipes. A series of strings vibrated as the pipes hummed. Great streets of metal trembled adding base notes. There were bells, like immense wind chimes.

And somehow it was all tuned to play the same harmonious tune.

The sound of a distant propane torch igniting drew my attention away from that musical sculpture after I don't know how long of me simply standing there looking and listening. Walking over in that direction, I smiled when I saw two men working on an art project doing something that I at least knew how to do.

The older of the two - maybe a half-decade younger than my own early thirties -- was dressed in a gray tank top and a faded blue denim kilt- was adjusting the flame length on the bottle torch he held.

"So we just burn the surface and then brush off the char?" asked the younger guy. He was shorter, a dishwater blond, maybe five-six or so, with ragged jean cutoffs and no shirt. His back was covered in blue ink Celtic tattooing. "And that makes it look like this?"

As I walked up I saw that he held a book on Shou-sugi-ban.

The older guy nodded, finally getting the torch to his liking. "Yeah, pretty much. I'm not sure for just how long we burn it. Guess we'll just have to try it and see."

I had to speak up. "Depends on what finish you're looking for."

They both turned to me and after a quick look, smiled.

The older guy held the burning bottle torch out toward me. "Do you know how to do this? We're pretty much making it up as we go along. I'm Derick, by the way."

"Steve," the other one chimed in.

"John." I looked over what they were working on. A huge wooden shrimp or perhaps crayfish of some kind. "Yeah, I can show you how. It's mostly about patients and heat control. And, even if you mess it up, it still looks okay." Taking the offered torch, I leaned my walking stick against the folding table nearby. "Warm the wood to start with, soft passes with the fire."

"May I?"

I glanced over at Steve. He was pointing at my walking stick. "Sure."

As I gently torched the wood to an even warmth, Derick watching my every step, I could see Steve turning the walking stick in his hands. Often pulling it closer to look over the different details.

"Now that it's warm, we start to burn. Slow passes from side to side. I like to go top to bottom, but bottom-up works just as well," I said.

"Dude, this thing is sick looking." Steve tapped Derick's elbow and passed him my walking stick. "How did you do this section here?"

Glancing over, I saw what had his attention. "Plumber's tape and a sandblaster. The tape gives that crisp edge, then the sandblaster cuts the soft wood away down to the harder grain."

"Wow. Can we do something like that with this prawn?" Derick handed it back to Steve.

A prawn? Okay.

Torching wood, I chuckled as I answered. "If we had a sandblaster setup here to use, sure. Otherwise, not so easily." Lifting the torch, I pointed out the zebra-stripped pattern now on the curved board. "Okay, now see how the harder 'fall wood' didn't burn? When we go back in now we burn it heavier and blacken everything that woods what we are trying to darken this time. The softer wood is going to burn away."

With them now both watching, I torched the wood to a blackened charred surface. Looking it over, I shut off the torch.

"Take your brush and scrub out the ash. You can lightly sand it smooth then, when you have the whole thing done, apply whatever top coat finish you like." I set the propane bottle to the side to let the tip cool. Taking back my walking stick, I leaned on it with both hands. "I'd recommend several coats of oil and wax, but varnish or polyurethane works just about as well. Out in this dust ... well, anything that dries quickly will be best, or you will have a white shrimp."

"Thank you, so much. Here. You will need this, trust me." Derrick reach into a pouch on his belt and handed me a still-wrapped tube of SPF lip balm.

I took it ... just because. "Thanks." I gestured out across the growing city. "Um, which direction do you suggest I go? I'm trying to see as much as I can here early."

They looked at each other then both shrugged.

Steve spoke up first."Have you seen The Man yet?"