Author: Curt Mekemson

One Million Lives and 86 Billion Dollars Saved… California’s Proposition 99

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In the late 80s the tobacco industry mounted an "unprecedented campaign," to defeat California's Proposition 99, an initiative designed to increase the California tax on cigarettes by $.25 and devote a substantial portion of the funds to discouraging tobacco use. The Tobacco Institute recognized that the initiative posed one of the greatest threats to tobacco consumption it had ever encountered.

My friend Ken Lake sent me an article from the Sacramento Bee a few weeks ago. It reported on the latest results from California’s Proposition 99, a massive tobacco use prevention effort kicked off by a tobacco tax initiative passed by California voters in the late 80s.

According to the California Department of Health Services, an estimated one million lives and 86 billion dollars in health care costs have been saved because of prevention programs funded by the tax. California now has the second lowest incidence of tobacco use in the nation and the state is virtually smoke-free. It has the lowest incidence of cancer for 6 of the 9 cancers caused by tobacco use. Fewer teens smoke in California than any other state.

These figures are remarkable. How many times in history has a single act saved one million lives? How often do health care costs go down instead of up? And there is more, much more.

Tobacco use is the single most preventable cause of death and disease in America and a major factor in preventable death and disease worldwide. The revolution in disease prevention that took place in California is a revolution that has reverberated throughout the United States and around the world, a fact recognized by both the National Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the World Health Organization.

As a result, the million lives and billions of dollars saved in California can be multiplied several times over on a national and global basis. Prevention works.

Credit for the success of Proposition 99 in the quarter of century since its inception goes to a cast of hundreds, if not thousands. Certainly the Tobacco Control Section of the California Department of Health Services and its dedicated staff have been critical but dozens of organizations, hundreds of staff people and thousands of volunteers have also played key roles.

In the beginning, however, in the very, very beginning, it was a handful of people in Sacramento who put the effort together and made the critical decisions that would allow Proposition 99 to become the revolution in prevention it has become.

I was privileged to be one of those people.

Over the next two months I will do a series of blogs that provide an inside look at what happened during Prop 99’s first critical months starting in September of 1986. It’s a story of how and why a small group of friends decided to take on one of the worlds most powerful, amoral industries in the cause of preventing the death and crippling disease caused by tobacco use.

It’s a good story, worth telling on its own merits. Greed, power politics, human emotion and sacrifice are all included. There’s even some humor. But I also want to make the point that a few dedicated and knowledgeable individuals can make a significant difference. It’s an important message for today’s world where ideology, ambition and greed triumph over working together in the common interest.

In my next blog I will tell the story  of Prop 99’s beginning and how I became involved. Believe me, I did not start out to become an anti-tobacco warrior.

My Eyes, Ears, Nose and Mouth Are Clogged with Dust and 5000 People Don’t Have a Clue Where Camp Is… Surviving Burning Man

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Radical Self-Reliance is the primary catch phrase at Burning Man. This is my "Bring on the dust storm" outfit. A painter's mask works better but when your Burning Man name is Outlaw...

Surprise! The Black Rock Desert is a desert. Temperatures climb to over 100 degrees in the day and massive dust storms create zero visibility. It is all part of the experience of Burning Man. Veteran Burners call it ‘fun.’ They whine when it doesn’t happen.

After six years I still have doubts. But I guarantee it will be more ‘fun’ if you are adequately prepared

Last year I failed to take my advice. It was a beautiful evening for Burning Man. Temperatures were moderate, the sky was clear and a beautiful sunset bathed the surrounding mountains. A major event was scheduled on the far side of the Playa. The umpteen thousand square foot MEGATROPOLIS was to be burned

I joined fellow members of the Horse-Bone Tribe and a long line of Burners as we trekked across the Playa to the site. There were great fireworks, an impressive fire and all of the other hoopla that goes along with a Burning Man event.

My wife Peggy, our friend Beth and I had just started back when the massive dust storm hit. Everything disappeared.

“Which way do we go?” Peggy asked.

Unfortunately, I had left my goggles, my dust mask and my sense of direction back at camp. I didn’t have a clue. All we had going for us were 5000 other people caught in the same storm.

Someone in a large mutant vehicle filled with madly gyrating dancers yelled, “Center Camp is that way!” and we started trudging in the suggested direction, all of us, lemmings marching to the outer edge. What followed was weird, a Hieronymus Bosch scene scripted by Edgar Allen Poe and directed by Salvador Dali.

Sixty mile an hour winds battered us with dust. Visibility climbed from zero to a hundred feet and back to zero. Other Burners and mutant vehicles became ghostly reminders that we weren’t alone. The three of us held on to each other; being lost together was better than being lost alone.

Time slowed down, almost seeming to stop. At one point a cyclist zipped past going in the opposite direction. “Center Camp is that way,” he said, pointing in the direction we had come from. I was prepared to believe him. Up was down, north was south and east was west.

A thick coating of dust covered my glasses and trickled into my eyes. It clogged my nose, coated my mouth and stuffed my ears. Our clothes and skin became a muted Playa Gray. A full day of hiking and biking collaborated with my 67 years and began to sap my energy. Walking became work. I was not having ‘fun.’

Then, for a brief second, the wind shifted. I caught a glimpse of Black Rock City’s most prominent landmark, the Man. He was exactly the opposite of where I expected him to be and we were further from camp than when we started. But I was ecstatic.  Now I could orient myself and get us back to our camp.

Eventually we made it home, two hours after we left the burn. A box of baby wipes, several sneezes, eyewash, ear swabs and a cold beer repaired most of the damage. Exhausted, I fell in to a restless sleep. Giant dust devils pursued me through the night.

Under any circumstances, our trek through the dust storm would have been challenging. I could have done without dust in my eyes, nose and mouth, however. I now carry my goggles and dust mask whenever I leave camp. Lesson learned.

Radical self-reliance is the primary catch phrase of Burning Man. You are expected to take care of yourself. That means we bring our own food, our own water, our own shelter and all of the necessities required to survive for a week in a harsh desert environment.

Niceties matter as well. You can choose to shower by running along naked behind the water truck or you can choose to clean up in a more private manner.

Burning Man provides an excellent list of what to bring. Newbies and veterans alike will benefit from visiting. I return to it each year.

http://www.burningman.com/preparation/event_survival/radical_self_reliance.html

Being seen at night is one of the most important survival tools at Burning Man. We invited our grandkids to decorate us for this blog with glow sticks. Mom, they decided, needed spiky hair.

Here's how Tasha looked when she and the kids finished. Note how easy she is to see in the dark.

Our grandkids somehow thought I would look good as a chained man with cat whiskers.

While it's impossible to persuade six and three year olds to hold still for night time photos, I liked the sense of movement that Peggy caught.

The Great Tree Race

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My grandson demonstrates his tree climbing skills on a large madrone.

“I can climb that tree, Grandpa,” my six-year old grandson announced proudly to me yesterday. It’s a refrain I’ve heard frequently over the past week from the visiting six-year old. His three-year old brother has similar ambitions, if not abilities. Their father is building them a tree house in Tennessee. It’s the ultimate dream of all impassioned tree climbers.

I remember when my dad (Pop) built a tree house for my older brother Marshall and me in the graveyard next to our house.

I’ve posted earlier blogs about the graveyard’s jungle-like nature. It’s potential as a playground was impossible to ignore. Young Heavenly Trees made great spears for throwing at each other.

That game ended when we impaled Lee Kinser’s hand. Neither Lee nor his parents were happy about this development and our efforts to master spear throwing were brought to an immediate halt. But a greater challenge remained.

Two incense cedars dominated the Graveyard. From an under five-foot perspective, they were gigantic, stretching some 75 feet skyward. The limbs of the largest tree started 20 feet up and provided scant hope for climbing. As usual, Marshall found a risky way around the problem.

Several of the huge limbs came tantalizingly close to the ground at their tips and one could be reached by standing on a convenient tombstone. Only Marshall could reach it; I was frustratingly short by several inches.

Marsh would make a leap, grab the limb and shimmy up it hanging butt-down until the limb became large enough for him to work his way around to the top. Then he would shimmy up to the tree trunk, four to five Curtis lengths off the ground. After that he would climb to wonderfully mysterious heights I could only dream about.

Eventually I grew tall enough to make my first triumphant journey up the limb. Then, very carefully, I climbed to the heart-stopping top, limb by limb. All of Diamond Springs spread out before me. I could see the school, and the mill, and the woods, and the hill with a Cross where I had shivered my way through an Easter Sunrise Service. I could see the whole world.

Except for a slight wind that made the tree sway and stirred my imagination about the far away ground, I figured I was as close to Heaven as I would ever get

By the time I finally made it to the top, Marshall had more grandiose plans for the tree. We would build a tree house in the upper branches. Off we went to the Mill to liberate some two by fours. Then we raided Pop’s tool shed for a hammer, nails, and rope.

My job was to be the ground man while Marshall climbed up to the top. He would then lower the rope and I would tie on a board that he would hoist up and nail in. It was a good plan, or so we thought.

Along about the third board, Pop showed up. It wasn’t so much that we wanted to build a tree house in the Graveyard that bothered him, or even that we had borrowed his tools without asking. He even seemed to ignore the liberated lumber.

His concern was that we were building our house too close to the top of the tree on thin limbs that would easily break with nails that barely reached through the boards. After he graphically described the potential results, even Marshall had second thoughts.

Pop had a solution though. He would build us a proper tree house on the massive limbs that were only 20 feet off the ground. He would also add a ladder so we could avoid our tombstone-shimmy-up-the-limb route.

And he did. It was a magnificent open tree house of Swiss Family Robinson proportions that easily accommodated our buddies and us with room to spare. Hidden in the tree and hidden in the middle of the Graveyard, it became our special hangout where we could escape everything except the call to dinner. It became my center for daydreaming and Marshall’s center for mischief planning. He, along with our friends Allen and Lee, would plan our forays into Diamond designed to terrorize the local populace.

It also became the starting point for the Great Tree Race. We would scramble to the top and back down in one on one competition as quickly as we could. Slips were a common hazard. Unfortunately, the other boys always beat me; they were two to three years older and I was the one most susceptible to slipping. My steady diet of Tarzan comic books sustained me though and I refused to give up.  Eventually, several years later, I would triumph.

Marshall was taking a teenage time-out with our grandparents who had moved to Watsonville down on the Central Coast of California. Each day I went to the Graveyard and took several practice runs up the tree. I became half ape. Each limb was memorized and an optimum route chosen. Tree climbing muscles bulged; my grip became iron and my nerves steel.

Finally, Marshall came home. He was every bit the big brother who had been away at high school while little brother stayed at home and finished grade school. He talked of cars and girls and wild parties and of his friend Dwight who could knock people out with one punch.

I casually mentioned the possibility of a race to the top of the Tree. What a set up. Two pack-a-day sixteen-year old cigarette smokers aren’t into tree climbing but how can you resist a challenge from your little brother.

Off we went. Marsh didn’t stand a chance. It was payback time for a million big brother abuses. I flew up and down the tree. I hardly touched the limbs. Slip? So what, I would catch the next limb. Marsh was about half way up the tree when I passed him on my way down. I showed no mercy and greeted him with a grin when he arrived, huffing and puffing, back at the tree house.

His sense of humor was minimal but I considered the results a fitting end to The Great Tree Race and my years of close association with the Grave Yard.

Quirky Burning Man

/ Curt Mekemson / 4 Comments

This strange 20-foot tall Alice in Wonderland type rabbit is a great introduction to the quirkiness of Burning Man. Photo by Tom Lovering

Burning Man is wonderfully quirky. Want proof? Walk 50 yards down any road.

I love it. Where else can you get a cold brew from a beer tap drilled in to the side of a coffin or discover an army of Barbie Dolls in their birthday suits.

Walking down one of Black Rock City's many roads, I came upon an army of Barbie Dolls in their birthday suits. Who knows what they were up to...

People wear quirky clothes, drive quirky vehicles and create quirky art. Check out the expressions on the fish below and on the Pitch Fork Man. Or what about the Cat Car? Or how about, uh, twin cats???

Murals are common at Burning Man. I love the expression on the striped fish and how the octopus is hitching a ride on the whale.

Pitch Fork Man is the very definition of quirky.

The Cat Car has always been one of my favorite mutant vehicles.

Here kitty kitty.

Naturally, Bone fits right into the environment. Grown men riding around on stick horsies also qualify. We are, after all the Horse-Bone Tribe.

Burning Man is a Bone kind of event. He is definitely quirky. Here, he plays unicorn on a horse's nose.

Grown men playing cowboys on toy horses also qualify as strange.

Here are a few more of my favorite examples of Burning Man quirkiness.

A tree made completely of bones.

The Suave Sphinx.

Desert mirage... a bar with its own outhouse being pulled by a tractor through the remote playa . We climbed on board and took advantage. Photo by Tom Lovering.

Man crashing bike into empty boxes. The boxes were set up specifically for that purpose.

Couch Car.

See through goat with shadow. Note garbage in stomach.

One Tribe focuses on capturing images of Burning Man and then putting them together in photo collages. I thought this collage did an excellent job of capturing the quirkiness of Burning Man.

And of course there is nothing quirky about me. I am the one on the left.

The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and Robert Burton: Gurus of a Different Ilk

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The country surrounding Antelope Oregon is as beautiful as it is remote.

We stopped in the Oregon community of Antelope last week and my thoughts turned to the Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh. The town is located in a remote region of eastern Oregon. It’s a cowboy and sagebrush kind of place. Belonging means you display an American Flag out front and a horse out back.

It's a cowboy and sagebrush type of place where water in precious.

The small community is not where you would expect to find people wearing saffron-colored robes and practicing meditation at the feet of a guru from India who specialized in owning Rolls Royce cars and dispensing enlightenment.

But that is exactly what happened in the early 80s when the Bhagwan appeared with his legion of devotees and bought the sprawling 60,000-acre Big Muddy Ranch, soon to be renamed Rajneeshpuram. As might be expected, the two dramatically different cultures immediately clashed with each other.

Not surprisingly, the rural nature of the small community of Antelope as represented by the town's only Cafe and the culture represented by the saffron robed members of the Bhagwan's commune were bound to clash.

The utopian dream of the Rajneeshans ended abruptly in 1985 with the arrest of the Bhagwan, the sale of Rajneeshpuram and the scattering of the flock. Bad things had happened including food poisoning attempts at local restaurants and internal wiretapping of commune residents.

Regardless of the scandals, many of the people who came to Rajneeshpuram to find enlightenment still swear by their experience 25 years later. The dark side of what happened is blamed on overzealous staff, not the Bhagwan.

I have a friend who went off to Rajneeshpuram in the 80s and still retains her commune name and connections today. Her mother and father were initially distraught by their daughter’s decision and shared their anguish with me.  They had pursued their own radical paths as young people, however, and eventually came to accept their daughter’s decision.

Having your own Guru in the 70s and 80s was an in-thing that the rich and famous, young people, and mystically inclined signed up for in droves. Another friend of mind tried to recruit me to the secret world of George Gurdjieff and Peter Ouspensky.

I took her backpacking down into the Grand Canyon once and was eager to share the beauty and isolation of the numerous side canyons. We took a short hike and soon found ourselves in the midst of towering, awe-inspiring cliffs.

M’s reaction was much different than I expected. Dangerous spirits inhabited the area and we were disturbing them. We needed to leave quickly.

On one level, I could understand her unease. In our twenties, we had both been influenced by Carlos Castaneda’s journeys through the Sonoran Desert. Don Juan had taught his young apprentice that mysterious and powerful beings from different realms inhabit remote regions. Some of these beings were really bad dudes, prepared to pounce on the unwary.

Given my African introduction to pantheism, it wasn’t hard to populate the Canyon with spirits. But I had spent years wandering in isolated wilderness areas and had yet to meet a spirit that had caused me any damage, or for that matter, even stopped to chat.

It wasn't hard to imagine the beautiful and remote canyons of the Grand Canyon being inhabited by ancient spirits.

I shared my perspective and was met with a rather cool response. Apparently I lacked the necessary perception to understand the danger. I had the irreverent thought of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ but kept it to myself.

M was serious. After her bout with Castaneda, she had moved from Iowa to Texas where she was introduced to the work of George Gurdjieff and his pupil, Peter Ouspensky.

Gurdjieff was an early 20th Century mystic who taught that the vast majority of humanity is asleep, little more than robots. Given proper training, however, individuals can awaken and reach higher levels of consciousness. I assumed that it was at these higher levels that one became aware of the malevolent spirits.

Gurdjieff called his training the Fourth Way. He, Ouspensky, and other followers set up esoteric schools to teach people the path to awakening.

One such follower was Robert Burton. Burton was working as an elementary school teacher in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 60s when he became captivated by Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. In 1970 he persuaded a number of his acquaintances that he was a person of higher conscious, the stuff that gurus are made of.

By 1973 he and his group had purchased property near the small town of Oregon House in the Sierra Nevada Foothills and were clearing land to establish a Fellowship to propagate Gurdjieff’s teaching and grow wine grapes. M and her husband moved from Texas to California to join Burton in his efforts.

By the time I met M in the late 70s, she had left her husband and Oregon House but was still an avid follower of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. I suspect she was continuing to financially support and participate in the Fellowship. When she learned of my fascination with Castaneda, she gave me a couple of books on the Fourth Way and suggested that there was a local discussion group I might enjoy joining.

In some ways, I was a good candidate for what Burton was offering. Eastern traditions, especially Zen Buddhism, had a strong appeal. Meditation gave me the same sense of wholeness and connection that wandering in the woods did.

I wanted to believe that humans were capable of reaching higher levels of consciousness, of becoming more civilized in the broadest sense of the word. Self-actualization, to utilize Maslow’s term, seemed like a highly desirable goal and I always had myself on some self-improvement plan or the other. I need lots.

Burton had drawn a number of bright, well-educated and accomplished individuals around him. In ways, his success at recruiting followers was quite similar to that of the Bhagwan. Both had strong appeal to individuals who were seeking meaning in life that they weren’t finding in post Vietnam, post Watergate, super-materialistic America. The acceptance of a Teacher or Guru for help in finding the way was a legitimate and time-honored tradition in many Eastern oriented practices.

Ultimately, I lack the capacity of becoming a true believer, however. Regardless of the appeal, I am not willing to commit the trust required to place myself in another person’s hands. This means I can never quite understand the value that people derive from joining someone like Burton or the Bhagwan.

You have to go there to get it and I won’t make the trip.

Anyone interested in gaining significant control over my mind frightens me, regardless of his or her motivation or whatever benefits will supposedly accrue. The best of folks, from my personal experience and historical reading, have flaws.

Giving someone god-like status hides these flaws… both from the giver and the getter. Rational justification of action is not required. God or Whatever wills it. A multitude of bad things can hide out under this umbrella. Every day brings new examples.

So I had passed on M’s original suggestion to join a discussion group on Gurdjieff and Ouspensky and now found myself unable to recognize dangerous spirits from another realm. I honored M’s concerns, though, and we returned to camp. We spent our afternoon painting watercolors of the Canyon and hiked out the next day.

No bad spirits captured my soul, at least as far as I know.

Is the World’s Best Basic Hamburger to Be Found at Hudson’s Hamburgers in Coeur d’Alene Idaho?

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A hamburger can't get much more basic.

We ate at Hudson’s Hamburgers in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho yesterday. Sunset Magazine recommended it as being one of the top five hamburger joints in the West. Turns out it has also been recognized in the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Gourmet Magazine.

Coeur d'Alene Idaho is a delightful town to visit.

What make a hamburger so good it is recognized as one of the best in the nation? We decided to find out.

The answer, at least for Hudson’s, is buried in the past. Hudson’s has been in existence since 1907 and apparently its approach to hamburger making hasn’t changed since.

An early view of Hudson's Hamburgers. Note the prices!

A small counter with 13 seats greeted us when we walked in the door. There were no tables. People stood patiently waiting for counter seats.

A view of the limited counter space. What you see is what is available.

How much more old-fashioned can you get?

We lucked out. Two seats on the far end of the counter opened up almost immediately. They provided an excellent view of the action. Staff consisted of three people. Two worked as waiters… taking orders, delivering food, preparing take out orders and serving as cashiers. No credit cards were accepted.

The single cook was a master of efficiency. She created her works of art directly in front of us. There was no separate kitchen. It was public performance without a net.

A large pan of raw hamburger was on her left. She wore a plastic glove on her right hand and held a spatula in her left. She would reach into the pan and grab a handful of hamburger, slap it onto the table, squish it flat with the spatula and flip it onto the grill.

The chef made cooking hamburgers look easy, and made it look like fun.

Options included single hamburgers with or without cheese or double hamburger with or without cheese, pickles and onions. There were no tomatoes and no lettuce much less any of the other numerous additions from guacamole to bacon and bleu cheese we have come to associate with gourmet burgers.

Buns, cheese, pickles and onions appeared precisely when needed. Pickles and onions were cut up almost as fast as the eye could watch… zip, zip, zip, zip. Each hamburger received four pickle slices and one onion slice… assuming that is what you ordered. Which is what we did.

“We’ll have two single cheese burgers with pickles and onions and two glasses of ice tea,” I told the waiter.  He had appeared as soon as we sat down. Later we added a piece of coconut cream pie.

Our cheeseburgers appeared with the speed that would have shamed McDonald’s, but that’s where any similarity with America’s ubiquitous fast food joints ended. We added the three condiments provided (mustard, ketchup and Hudson’s own concoction) and took our first bite.

And then our second and third. I was left with only one question. How could something so simple taste so good? Our total cost for the two of us: $11.03.

Peggy stands outside of Hudson's Hamburgers. Just beneath the restaurant name is the announcement that no credit cards are excepted. Hudson's wants old-fashion money for their excellent old-fashioned hamburgers.

A Touch of the Sacred: The Temples of Burning Man

/ Curt Mekemson / 3 Comments

Each year a temple is built at Burning Man where people go to leave messages honoring loved ones. The temples are burned down on Sunday night releasing the messages to the sky.

The reasons for visiting Burning Man are as numerous and complex as the people who go. For many, a sacred element is involved. One aspect of this is a visit to the Temple.

The Temple is where people go to leave messages for loved ones who have passed on and to give thanks for blessings received. It is also a place for love letters, philosophical observations and whimsical statements. Literally thousands of people participate annually.

The Temple is also a labor of love and one of the most beautiful and unique buildings put up each year at Burning Man. It is burned on Sunday night when the thousands of messages are released into the sky.

I make a point each year of visiting the Temple to read and honor the messages that have been left behind. But I also visit to pay homage to the volunteers who donate thousands of hours and tens of thousands of dollars necessary to build the structure.

The following photos are designed to capture the uniqueness of the temples and the diversity of the messages.

Panels like these covered the temple shown above and demonstrate the care put into building each years structure.

2010's temple resembled a huge sand dune. People gather here to read and leave messages.

The temple from 2006.

This provides an idea of the number and types of messages left at the temple.

Another example of the variety of messages left and how the surfaces of the temple are used.

The following messages I found particularly touching or humorous.

It isn't unusual for people to leave messages about pets.

Or to leave pictures or items such as this guitar.

Fly free, Singer of Songs...

I couldn't resist this message...

A final temple shot. Photo by Ken Lake

Advanced Whip Cracking??? Hey, It’s Burning Man.

/ Curt Mekemson / 9 Comments

There is always something new to experience at Burning Man. Last year, in 2010, this colorful balloon ride was added.

Getting to Black Rock City is always a challenge. First, we have the drive to Burning Man’s remote location in the northern Nevada desert. Upon arrival, we are greeted by a desert traffic jam.

Next, Burning Man makes sure we have paid. A friendly volunteer enters our small RV. Is someone hiding out in the bathroom? Nope. What about under the bed?

At $300 a ticket, give or take fifty dollars, the motivation to cheat is tempting.

But so is the desire to catch cheaters. I can’t help doing the math. Forty five thousand people times $300 equals 13.5 million dollars! That’s a lot of motivation.

While the tickets sound expensive, they aren’t, considering what you get. For me, the price of admission buys a seven-day ringside seat to one of the greatest shows on earth. Others see it as an opportunity to strut their stuff, to live out their fantasies.

Outrageous costumes make people watching at Burning Man a number one activity. The guy ‘looking the wrong way’ helped make this photo. Note the platform shoes on the woman. She wears them well.

A young woman works on mastering the hula hoop while her steed waits patiently. Later she will probably be part of a performance. Participation is highly encouraged at Burning Man.

Go ahead, put on that outrageous costume. People will beg to take your photo. Get out there and prove that hula-hoops are sexy, or that you can twirl fire, or sing, or beat drums, or wear pasties, or whatever.

You may even have an audience. Does it really matter?

Once past the ticket station, we are welcomed to Burning Man. Virgin Burners receive a hug and ring the bell… even in the wee hours. Not being virgins, we get the welcome package: a cheerful greeting, a map of Black Rock City and the Program.

The map is a critical. It shows where the porta potties are. Oh, and it also shows where the major Tribes live, where people can camp, and where Center Camp is located. It’s also the key to finding your friends… or not getting hopelessly lost.

Earlier I blogged about the guy who returned to his camp and found his car, tent and gear had been stolen. He hitched a ride to San Francisco. A week later Burning Man called him. They had found his car, tent and gear… right where he had left them. He’d simply forgotten the location.

Burning Man is that big and that confusing, especially when people steal the street signs for souvenirs, or a dust storm produces zero visibility, or you imbibe a bit too much and it’s 2 o’clock in the morning. Or all three things happen at once.

Dust storms can drastically reduce visibility, not to mention get in your eyes, nose, ears, vehicles, etc. Luna, aka Peggy my wife, bundles up against a dust storm as it roars through Center Camp. Photo by Ken Lake

Having completed our official duties, we zip in to Black Rock City, find a campsite, stake out our territory (literally) and set up camp. It’s time to turn on the walkie-talkies. Other members of the Horse-Bone Tribe will soon be joining us.

Playtime has arrived. If the hour is right, somewhere between 12:01 AM and 11:59 PM, a cold beer is in order. So is figuring out what we want to do. There is a week to plan, or at least the next hour. The options seem limitless.

As I write this blog, I am leafing through 2009’s Program. It is 95 pages long and lists 950 different events participants are invited to attend. They are all free and there is something for everyone.

The breadth of activities is difficult to capture but here are a few examples.

  • Critical Stilts: Stilt walk around the Playa, hitting stilt bars.
  • The Big Bang: The Black Rock City Roller Girls. It’s survival of the fittest on skates.
  • Geology of the Black Rock Desert: Learn about the landforms surrounding the Playa.
  • Lunacy: Honor the full moon by allowing your inner lunatic to emerge.
  • Cat Show and Tell: Share what makes your kitty the most special cat in the Universe.
  • Spudcraft: What will you create: a potato hat or a potato creature? Spuds supplied. (These guys also have a spud cannon.)
  • Rubber Chicken Social: Celebrate the bouncy barnyard fowl. Drink to it.
  • Ask a Physicist: Questions about the nature of reality and modern physics.

If it were possible to choose a scene that represents Burning Man, this might be it: a man on stilts pulls a piano while another guy plays the piano. I forget the song but it may very where have been classical music.

Modern technology, science, and environmental issues are emphasized at Burning Man. One site might feature alternative energy sources while another focuses on cutting edge physics.

Advanced Whip Cracking caught my attention on the Program. I bought a bullwhip once as a joke when I worked in Alaska. I’d break it out on the long dark days of winter to inspire my staff. It amused them. It amused the bank employees across the street even more. Since it was dark, we could see into each other’s offices. The employees would line up at the windows to watch me. Apparently, no one cracked the whip in their office. But back to Burning Man.

The Program lists a dozen ways to practice yoga and a few hundred ways to party. Or you can attend AA. You can write music, or cite poetry, or attend a film festival. Need a costume. You can pick one up for free. There are dozens of venues to view or practice fire art. Like to dance? There are opportunities ranging from the Tango to the Hokey Pokey. Lessons are provided. Parades go on 24/7. Dress up like a bunny or put on your little red dress and parade away.

There are also the adult only activities. They are carefully marked on the Program to protect the innocent. You can learn the art of sensual massage, get naked, or have your body painted. And that’s only a start. I’m much too young to attend such events.

My preference is to check out the visual art, watch and listen to performing artists, play at photography, and hang out with members of the Horse-Bone Tribe. I am also completely happy wandering around and admiring the multitude of costumes and mutant vehicles.

The 2009 Program listed 184 unique works of art created for Burning Man that year. This giant sculpture of a nude woman was placed on the Playa last year. One of my favorite activities is exploring and photographing the art… sometimes from unique angles.

The performing arts easily match the visual arts in Black Rock City. Impromptu jam sessions can be found at Center Camp almost any hour of the day.

A trapeze artist does her thing. Watch out Ringling Brothers. Circus type performances are common.

I liked the bright colors displayed by this troupe of Belly Dancers. I also felt the age range is indicative of Burning Man. All age groups are represented.

While we scatter during the day and again at night, members of the Horse-Bone Tribe always get together at dinner time. Photo by Ken Lake

Walking around and appreciating costumes can be a full-time occupation. This ape was handing out bananas to Burners, or ‘gifting’ as it is called at Burning Man. Photo by Tom Lovering

Volunteering is big. Become a Ranger and help maintain order. Volunteer to pick up trash, or moop as it is called on the Playa. Help light the hundreds of lanterns each evening.  Work as a coffee barista at Center Camp.

Volunteer Rangers. These guys are available to help when needed and patrol Black Rock City day and night. Photo by Don Green

As the evening approaches, volunteer lamplighters gather to distribute lamps to posts located throughout the Playa.

Fascinating at any time of the day, Burning Man becomes a surrealistic fantasy world at night. Fire breathing dragons and fire spouting art light up the sky. Dozens of creatively lit mutant vehicles cross back and forth across the Playa, as do thousands of light decorated bicycles. The glow stick industry must make a fortune. Even people become walking light shows. Dozens of venues along the Esplanade invite exploration. Watch a circus, see Godspell, climb on a giant teeter-totter, visit a maze or gyrate to music. Join a crowd watching a troupe of fire dancers work its magic on the Playa.

At night, Burning man becomes a kaleidoscope of fire and color… a very different world from what we are used to, almost magic. Photo by Don Green

Burning Man is not for everyone. It’s too big, it’s too dusty, it’s too hot, it’s too noisy, it’s too sexy, it’s too alternative. But if anything I have written has appeal, give this extravaganza in the Black Rock Desert serious consideration. Whatever you come away with, you will never forget the experience.

Tired of looking down? Look up. Something is almost always happening in the skies over Burning Man. Here, a sky writer completes the man. Sky divers are also a common site. There are even occasional military jets that zoom over. Hmmm… wonder if they are lost?

If you enjoyed this post, you might want to check out my five reasons for going to Burning Man in 2014.

When Bears Come to Visit

/ Curt Mekemson / Leave a comment

A local bear has been cruising our area on the Upper Applegate River in Oregon. A neighbor caught this photo of him three weeks ago. He's a big fellow. This week he came to visit us.

A large black bear has been cruising our neighborhood. Monday night he stopped by for a visit and had a wresting match with our garbage can.

The garbage can lost.

I could tell by the garbage strewn around the yard and the claw marks on the side of the can. The can now lives in our shed. I’m hoping the move will solve the problem. So does the can.

Hiding inside doesn’t always work. Kori Titus, a friend out of Sacramento, noted on my Facebook page that a black bear broke down the door of an acquaintance living at Lake Tahoe and entered his kitchen.

The thought of a bear breaking and entering our house makes me think of a thick bear rug to keep my toes warm on cold winter nights.

“Do you have a weapon?” my neighbor Tom asked worriedly. I should warn the bear. This is rural Oregon. The folks around here have guns, lots of guns, lots of big guns.

Have you ever come across a large pile of fresh bear scat. It's enough to make you wish you were elsewhere. Our friend left this behind. Bone provides perspective.

I’ve had numerous encounters with bears. Leading backpack treks in and out of Yosemite National Park for years guaranteed contact. Once I woke up at 4 AM with a bear standing on top of me. His snout was about six inches away from mine. I screamed and vacated the premises. Fortunately, he did too.

The big fellows in Alaska worry me more. A grizzly stalked me when I was leading a backpack trip across the Kenai Peninsula.  I had checked with a friend in the forest service before going. He warned me that a large grizzly was working the area and had treed one of his rangers two weeks earlier. The fall before a black bear had bitten through the sleeping bag of a woman ranger and wounded her leg.

Our group made lots of noise when hiking through the region. A forest service cabin provided shelter that night. There would be no biting through sleeping bags. I figured we were out of the woods, so to speak. But one of my Trekkers wanted to go for a hike the next morning. I offered to keep her company.

We were on our way back when I heard something big moving though the brush on the side of the trail. “What’s that?” my companion gasped. We looked down and saw the distinctive hump on the back of a grizzly. He was moving parallel through the brush, stalking us.

“What do we do now? Run!?”

She was a marathon runner and fast. I wasn’t. I suggested we turn around, walk over a bridge we had just crossed and find a tall tree. If the bear appeared we would climb the tree. Quickly.

An hour later there was still no sign of the bear. We hiked back to camp holding hands. She had an iron grip. A mouse in the brush would have sent us fleeing.

I also had an encounter with an Alaskan Brown Bear. These are the monsters of the bear world that National Geographic likes to feature. I’d flown into Katmai National Park located at the beginning of the Aleutian Peninsula. The area is known for its remoteness, unusual volcanic features, trophy size trout, and Alaskan Brown Bears. The last two go together.

The bears have competition. Fishermen come from all over the world to try their luck. Human-bear encounters are inevitable. A park ranger greeted us upon arrival and explained proper bear etiquette. If you have a trout on your line and a bear shows up, cut your line. If you meet one on the trail, talk to it and slowly back away. “Talk to it???”

I managed to meet my first bear on my first evening. It wasn’t large by Brown Bear standards… only about one and one half times the size of a grizzly. But the trail was narrow. I still remember our conversation.

“Um, good evening Mr. Bear,” I stuttered respectfully. “I am an American, just like you. If you are hungry, I understand there is some great Japanese food on the menu. Or you might want to try the German.”

The bear stared at me for a long two minutes, barked a growl of annoyance and wandered off in the opposite direction. I didn’t hear any Japanese or German fishermen screaming that night. All’s well that ends well.

So I have a fair amount of experience in dealing with bears. Will this help me with our nighttime visitor? Probably not but I’ll keep you posted.

Mm, mm good. Our neighbors with the night camera have a compost box that the bear finds particularly fascinating. Note the metal around the box. He couldn't get in through the sides so he went in through the top.

Burning Man’s Black Rock City: A Remote Desert Becomes a Community of 50,000 for One Week

/ Curt Mekemson / Leave a comment

As we were waiting in a mile long line of vehicles to enter Burning Man, a rainstorm hit. The vehicles were stopped to protect the desert floor and people got out to dance. And then we saw this incredible rainbow. It was a magical moment.

Black Rock Desert is located in the remote northwestern corner of Nevada just a few miles east of the small town of Gerlach. Normally it’s as quiet as a tomcat on a mouse hunt.

But not on the Monday before Labor Day Weekend.

Thousands of cars, trucks, vans and RV’s clog the local roads and create a traffic jam that would make Los Angeles proud. Vehicles are packed to the brim with people, tents, food, water, bikes, costumes, mutant vehicles, cameras, building material, camping gear and things that glow in the dark… everything that is necessary to create a city of 50,000 and survive for a week in the desert.

Burning Man is underway.

For a brief week, Black Rock City becomes the third largest urban area in Nevada. Only Las Vegas and Reno can claim more people. Then it’s over. People break camp, pack their vehicles, and head back to wherever they came from.

The Black Rock Desert returns to the peace and quiet.

The following photos are designed to capture a sense of what Black Rock City and the remote Black Rock Desert look like.

The evening sun bathes the surrounding mountains at Burning Man in soft light...

...And lights up the clouds.

The flat playa that serves as the home to Black Rock City is in stark contrast to the surrounding mountains. This photo features our friends Ken and Leslie Lake along with their shadows. Ken, or Scotty as he is known on the playa, is wearing his kilt.

By Friday, Nevada's third largest city is three days away from disappearing.

Mega dust storms are a common occurrence and can create close to zero visibility. The mutant ship and giant slide seem like a mirage. Photo by Don Green

In 2010, the Man included a high viewing platform. This view is looking out across the playa toward the distant mountains. The temple, built to look like a sand dune, and the 'urban' structures beyond are destined to be burned during the week.

This photo is taken from the platform looking back toward Black Rock City. The dark line on the left is porta potties. They are found throughout Black Rock City in the hundreds.

My telephoto provides a closer perspective.

A final view of 50,000 people camping out together at Burning Man.