is there such a thing as an extroverted introvert?
Probably the single most enjoyable time I had at Burning Man this year was
on Thursday afternoon. I hopped on my $40-from-Goodwill bicycle and
tooled around by myself, stopping whenever I felt like it and staying as long
(or as short) as I wanted to at each place. I played a quick round of
giant Operation (whereby I removed an "impacted gerbil" without setting off
the buzzer, thankyouverymuch), I watched a talent show at the Alien Love Nest
for a half-hour or so, I spend a few minutes watching a human foosball game.
I loved it that I could see people everywhere, be surrounded by people I
didn't know, who were exotic and individual and stellar and interesting, and
I didn't have to interact with any of them if I didn't want to. Now, often
I *did* want to: I had a wonderful chat with the topless lady who took my
picture at the Operation game; I clapped my hands and sang along with a
musical group at the talent show. But what really made it wonderful was that
I could hop back on my bicycle after a 10-second or 10-minute conversation and
ride back off onto the playa, alone again, and beholden to no one.
If you're a motorcyclist, I don't think I need to explain how that relates to biking. But if not, let me attempt to explain the tie-in, and forgive me if I can't very well. When I'm on my bike, it's just me and it. There's no one else with me; no one else that I have to interact with conversationally. I can go wherever I want and do whatever I want -- if I want to pull over to the side of the road to inspect a pretty tree, I can. If I want to just keep going and get to work on time, I can. Just me and the bike. But...
I want to intensify my motorcycling experience. I want it to be like me and my crappy Goodwill bike on the playa. I want to climb on and ride on; stop and talk to people at gas stations or hotels or nightclubs or even people just walking down the road...but then be able to get back on the bike in the morning or after a conversation and just take off again. I want to ride down a highway that's so empty, so immense, so barren that I'm grateful and excited by the people I'll talk to at the end of the day. I want to scribble down the names of the people I meet on little scraps of paper, and leave them my name, knowing full well that I'll probably never have contact with them again. I want to pull my bike off to the shoulder and take pictures of the landscapes. I want to ride my motorcycle through the desert highways like I took that little bicycle across the playa. I want to meet the exotic and individual and stellar and interesting people again, and I want it on my terms this time.
I want to go to the desert. I want to ride through Nevada and Arizona and New Mexico and Utah. I want to see oranges and yellows and browns and those sporadic wonderful bursts of out-of-place green that just seem to grab you by the throat, they're so pretty. I want to see bushes that are so dry they look dead, and arches of fiery rock. I want to see jackrabbits and tumbleweeds and lizards. And I want to see the people. I want to talk to the people who run the gas stations, the hotels, the bookstores, the tourist traps. I want to talk to them and share my stories and hear theirs, share a cup of coffee and then ride off again.
So, this year, Burning Man might not have given me a wild and crazy party time. It didn't give me drugs, nor really drink, nor brief and unforgettable casual flings. It gave me the beginning of a realization of a dream I've always had, however, and that alone was worth the ticket price and 24 hours in an RV.
speaking of burning man.
So I'm thinking that next year, instead of an RV, I'll take my bike and a
nice compact tent. Sounds kinda nice. I should do a "biker trash" camp.
I'm always feeling pressured into doing something crazy with lights or
electronics, just because that's what the people I go with tend to do; don't
get me wrong, I love electronics and geekery too, but it'd be fun to do
a camp with something I'm passionate about. Y'know, make it *my* camp.
I have subscriptions to 3 bike magazines now; I could save them up for the
next year and bring a bookshelf for a sort of "library," and collect up
spare parts and maybe acquire some new crazy things like old handlebars or
gas tanks or pipes. People could come in if they wanted to, and sit on an
old Corbin seat and talk shop with me, or thumb through a magazine and look
at Ducatis or Harleys or Kawas. Maybe it wouldn't be flashy or pretty
(though it'd be trivial to hook up LEDs to the parts, or even do something
cool with old turn signals/brake lights), but it'd be something *i'd* get
a kick out of, so, who knows.
non-burning man miscellany.
A big thanks to Les and Trev and Steven for writing and saying hi. :) Yay
Nighthawk riders! I love it that people are reading this and like it enough
to waste some packets writing to me. So, if you haven't already,
write and say hi! I'll
even write back! Wow! Hot damn.
Oh, and Peter and I fixed his rear wheel right before Burning Man. I, ahem, took pictures, but they're still on Peter's camera card (or on his computer). I'll link to them and all their fascinating glory as soon as I notice that he's uploaded them. I know you guys survive on these maintenance pics. ;)