…and other Burning Myths which might work for and against survival on a Sunday morning,

sun coming up with people still being publicly discouraged from running down the road out of Black Rock City but doing it anyway despite the wet out there where, it turned out, late

afternoon rains found them as they did us 1000 miles to the southwest, most pleasantly in

in our instance, but then again everybody cleared up nicely [if muddily, there]

so we here went up the hill to Bill and Mu’s for fire on the deck

both before and after a most excellent dinner during which we were able to catch up prior to their departure for three weeks on the road to Cali and back.  Deliciously elaborate foods left

me somewhat restlessly dreaming of unmolested lettuce through the night and come morning we had to pack up early to meet Toolie Tim and two helpers in Walsenburg, this though he’d

advised us he’d be an hour late as L. figured there was stuff to do with Corey in the interim and anyway Corey, at the AAA, would be hard to head off.  So as planned we went to Gardner on the

way, a blue heeler puppy, casualty of the Big Weekend, dead in the street [thanks, Tex], then

got gas without too long a Labor Day wait at the Loaf ‘n’ Jug, late season Rocky Ford melons from the back of a pickup across the street from Walsenburg’s other Habib Building and were

at ours just as Corey pulled up, despite the fact that Tim, unable to rouse his helpers, was now

an additional half hour out.  L and C dispensed handily with the prep work they needed to do, I adjourned to the yard to enjoy the breeze beneath the trees and right on twice-revised

schedule Tim and his Omaha crew, Peter and Davíd Manzaneres the magical Mayan*, arrived to begin figuring out the loading. First off the Trailer of Tools had to be emptied before the various

configurations were attempted which was about when the belated thought occurred that

maybe another truck would make it all a lot easier although on Labor Day Monday way down here in southern Colorado, eh, good luck. At that point, despite with so little so far accomplished, L. and I went foraging to the holiday’s packed Subway for nourishments.

Returning some time later with sandwiches for all we found luck had been with them; a U-Haul

was available -miraculously – a mere half an hour away in La Veta.  While waiting on that the rest of us ate and L. and I snuck in our week’s grocery shopping before the truck came, then I again

retired to the yard while Tim disappeared to Pueblo for straps, he said, keeping everyone else busy loading.  Checking in with BMIR it seemed that Exodus [only a five hour wait from Greeters to Gate] had finally begun [not that plenty of people hadn’t bolted already] as well as that the airport was open – disaster averted – but as shadows lengthened and still no Tim

[finishing the loads looking to be hours away] it was decided I should go home for the sake of the dogs and our melting groceries. This I duly did, driving nearly deserted roads across the hot plains in late light to rescue the three creatures who, shut up in the house for eight and a half

hours, were quite relieved to relieve themselves although mystified there was no Linda until Corey deposited her some three hours later, she wanting only a glass of rosé and a shower on her way to bed while I tuned in to an interminably boring lead-up to the Burn as narrated on

the webcast in Radical Banality by the Jackrabbit Lady, also reinforcing yet another BM Principle, Radical Self Congratulation; “We the Community having Survived a two day mud delay, hey, proving, oh just how great and loving and supportive we are of everything, ourselves in particular”, interspersed with ongoing  gushings about the Man and responses to some unseen social media feed…this lack of professionalism could maybe be chalked up to an outlying amateurism were it not that  Jackrabbit Lady embodies, as a fully enrolled member of the Burnocracy’s propaganda division, their A-team.  Phew….

After enduring an endless Foreplay of Fireworks online

[does some billionaire get a tax write-off to fund them?] I eventually bailed, took to my bed,  read a bit of Charles Portis’ “Gringos” and slept.

In the morning The Man was burnt, leaving all quiet on the BRC front as the webcam [another object of frequent Radical Self Congratulation, perhaps because it never shows anything as embarrassing as the airport or the clusterfuck of Exodus**], remaining maddeningly discreet

about whatever chaos lurks behind it, showed and here it was cool and quiet as well as Aggie

happily discovered another fall day; maybe this time the season will stick.

*I say “magical” because within minutes of our meeting he’d fashioned a perfect miniature likeness of my head from plasticene, “Mayan” because, well, he is. On insta @adavei_; check him out.

**For a brief view of the airport, a more positive take of the situation than Nitwit news and jaw- dropping views of the clusterfuck try getting Jordan Graham’s vid to load.  On the other hand to waste up to eight hours stopped in traffic*** just to be able to spend a week or however many days acting aggressively silly [even in the mud] seems really stupid, but I guess if your life in the ‘default world’ is all about staring at a screen, sitting in traffic…or staring at a screen WHILE sitting in traffic, well obviously you’re programmed for it.  Nonetheless I just don’t [and never, happily, did] “Get It”.

***And that, of course, is just to reach the two lane county road; it’s still over eighty miles [and four tiny towns] between there and the interstate on the way out; coming in, rife with anticipation, the same in reverse.