An afternoon on the Gold Coast

On our second day, which happened to be a Saturday, we drove down to the beach and watched kids play in the surf and teenagers play rugby or sun themselves.

Jeff talked me into going on The Slingshot, whuch was a blast... He bought the DVD footage from the camera that was staring us in the face... I'm going to try to YouTube it so you can see how I look when I think I'm going to die!

Much of the rest of the day was spent in cafes or strolling along quiet streets with the ibis, parrots and people wearing flip-flops.

Again, jet-lag got the best of me by about 8:00pm... Lucky me, I get to wake up at 4:00am!

Landed in Australia...

Funny thing, I'm at the airport in Brisbane about to travel home and I'm just NOW posting all my pics.

After we landed way back on the 15th, we (Jeff, Michael and myself) drove into downtown and freshened up in the hotel. By quarter-past-lunch we were at the office brimming with bleary-eyed, jet-lagged goodness. As night fell, we ventured out and being that it was Friday night the streets were packed... The pic is of some Pacific Islander dance group that was performing with girls dancing and guys taking care of these crazy percussion-tube things.

As I recall, I was asleep by about 7:00pm.

Burning Man: Day 9

Where The Man once stood

Nothing keeps the dust out, even stuff issued by the military

In front of the ramp of death

Sadly you can see neither the flames on the ramp nor his crash landing

I call this piece "A Thin Man, With Dust"

Heading homeward

I was up at the crack of 7:45am, well before the others. I packed all my bags, ate my breakfast, went down to the bathroom and had my mind set on going out with a bang. Although the weather was pleasant at the camp site, out on the playa the dust was so thick you could barely see 5 feet in front of you. I wandered in the fog for a bit and slowly corrected myself enough to make it as far as the temple. I took a last look and wrote up a little note to the boys, my little shining stars. Tonight the temple is to be burned, but I won't be there for it -- Melissa would like to leave somewhere around 10am. I set off again into the wind and dust, this time my heart lead me to the site where The Man had burned last night. It was really magical -- the wind and dust died completely around the site where he used to be and about 30 people had gathered to mill about amongst the ashes and twisted metal. My stay there wasn't an extended one ... it was about time for the others to be getting up and preparing to head out. Before I reached camp though, I did witness "the ramp of death" which was constructed from a shipping palette and some boxes. The idea was to ride your bike off of it to receive a shot of Jack Daniels (aka "breakfast"). Many tried, few succeeded. It was horrible to watch, but I couldn't look away.

When I got back to camp everyone commented on my white hair and beard... the dust had returned with me (see pics)! The gang was ready to go about 30 minutes after my return and we set off in Melissa's giant beast of a car for SF. We sat and waited in line for about 2.5 hours to get out of there, but once we were rolling it was a straight shot all the way back to the bay area.

And that's that! I was on a plane and back in Oregon my about 1:00pm the next day and the rest, as they say, is history!

Burning Man: Day 8

Pretty much what it looks like

The Cathedral

Inside the cathedral, and one of my favorite pics

Mom and "Popsicle"

A Black Rock Ranger guards the man as he is disassembled for the burn

Playa art

The highest point I could find. To the left is center camp and to the right, major points of interest.

Pizzas in the making

Adam at The G-spot

The girl being painted demanded side burns and a moustache -- she would only speak as a German but in a French accent

More painting

Some guy

Pope Reggie says "Kiss it"

Tramp(oline)s

Another of my most favorite pics

Pre-burn the laser pointers were out in force

Art being created

People huddled around the fiery serpent

A fire dancer at the edge of the playa

Art car of DOOM

Dancing beneath the lights

Making out in the Belgian Waffle

Mr. and Mrs. Claus

Sparks flying as captured by some extended shutter action

I woke up early, around 8:00, and was filled with playa-lust. With bandanna / goggles firmly in place I raced away from camp with such a passion that I greeted the Esplanade breathlessly and with the sound of rushing blood pounding in my ears. I rode for hours, my camera never returning to its pouch once. Only pizza could take me away from the open and dusty playa -- by 12:30 I had returned to camp for Tom who was equally eager to try his hand at pizza sculpting. As #344 and #345 we were immediately allowed to enter and begin our labor of love. We each were allowed to make 2 pizzas, one for us, the other to be gifted as part of the random pizza experience. Our gift pizzas came back to camp with us and fed all who were present. At that moment we were elevated to the status of heroes within the camp and although we were not hoisted on shoulders, I still was treated as a champion.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent down at the G-Spot where a rapid succession of drinks, photos, face paint, nice folks from Seattle, trampolines and music left me breathless... literally. On a whim, I attempted my first back-flip and although not successful at first, was eventually able to land one... and then another... and then another. I couldn't stop! Night was approaching and the burn was close. We (Tom, Adam and myself) headed back to camp to dress up and make our way down to watch The Man's last stand.

* * * * *

The burn was intense! Fire dancers twirled their molten orbs as 40,000 people watched the man stumble and eventually fall into a blazing heap. I walked the length of the Esplanade: from the Belgian Waffle to the Opulent Temple. I made a few stops along the way, leaving the group behind in an attempt to spend my last night at Burning Man reflecting back on the week and getting myself ready for the long, emotional journey home.

Burning Man: Day 7

Art people

Life masks drowning in the sand

Lo-fi PiP

New friends. As loud as they were, I don't blame them... I blame The Man

Half of this year's theme... Hope.

Sharon from Isreal. He rode up to me and asked if I spoke Hebrew. I said, "Which desert do you think this is??"

Mmmm, toasty

All dressed up and no place to go

Borat says "High five!"

Motorized mini-cakes

A late night is off-set by an equally late morning. I hate sleeping in the heat of mid-day, which crept in earlier than its namesake -- by 10am it was scorching. This contributed to my slow departure from camp, some time just after the noon hour. I have been existing thus far without pain, but I had an initial destination of the Temple of Tears to spend some time with ghosts: past, present and future. It was hot in the temple and an eclectic band played in what appeared to be slow motion; the individual players being crushed by the invisible but omni-oppressive lack of any detectable breeze. I walked between all the little signs, taking with me a little energy and sadness from each. I became lost in my own head, and wandered away from the place of sorrow to be alone. I eventually returned to the temple, but had no life left in me for it, and so moved on.

Back at camp, I gathered Larry and Tom for a pit-stop at center camp, the foot wash place and then The Man for the parade of pasties, the noisy neigborhood of nipples... it was critical tits! It was a total zoo, but after the ladies had left the starting gate, the three of us found a good spot along the flight path to observe the 25 minutes worth of smiling, waving and nervous-but-always-shirtless ladies. There was an after party, but we had our own back at the camp to attend -- margaritas were on the menu and everyone was feeling thirsty in the afternoon heat. The only person to stop by was Steve (from work) but it hardly mattered since we were now a small army of 16 within our own camp.

Night fell with howls from camps far and wide; Tom and I had tried to gain access to the Random Pizza Experience, but failed. We were sent away with promises of "tomorrow, tomorrow" and with empty bellies. We did receive a gift-slice which boosted our spirits and glucose levels. I was eager to get back to camp to gather my cameras and head out for a night of photography. It was rough going with my mini-tripod and woefully inadequate technology... but fun was impossible to avoid, specifically down at the Thunderdome. A drunk Hispanic man borrowed my bike for a bit, which was a little concerning but had a happy ending. I was back at camp not long after midnight -- only Ben was there, nursing his rash, which was nice (the quiet, not his rash). The two of us, acting as our own platoon, held down the proverbial fort as our alter egos (he as the Private, me as the Major) until the wee hours when everyone else returned.