FAR OUT OF THE OFFICE: Burning Man Reflections

Mark Taylor, MD

La Contessa, Burning Man (2002)

My first trip to Black Rock City—aka Burning Man—came in 2002. The theme that year was “The Floating World.” Since 1996 themes at Burning Man have inspired art, costume and design while allowing participants to role-play and explore.

I will never forget my astonishment at seeing La Contessa drift across the playa as if she were afloat when in reality she was a faux Spanish galleon riding atop a school bus. Some aboard were dressed in complete swashbuckling regalia. Others flashed Hawaiian shirts and bikinis. La Contessa was spectacular—on par with any float I have witnessed at the Rose Bowl Parade or Rio’s Carnival (on TV). But this mutant vehicle was open to the public. Anyone could hop a ride, not just the anointed entertainers, dancers or beauty queens. La Contessa was our float, a float for the people, a float for participants, a float for “burners.” And best of all she was not alone. Hundreds, if not thousands, of other mutant vehicles or “art cars” shared the playa on the dry bed of Lake Lahontan.

I have now attended 12 Burns in 13 years, and my astonishment never abates. I believe the element of surprise is what keeps me returning  despite the difficulty of negotiating time off from work and family as well as risking the ridicule of other professionals who may see me as just seeking out a “big party in the desert.” While there certainly is a party, that is not what keeps most participants returning year after year. For me it is the “fascinoma,” for the same reason that fascinomas are what make medicine most interesting. The practice of a hospitalist is relatively routine. It’s the unexpected outcomes and discoveries that are most engaging. When physicians write case reports, most, in my experience, tend away from bread-and-butter issues unless they go strangely awry. We almost always choose to share a “zebra” over a “horse.”

Burning Man produces “zebras” aplenty as well as some very large “horses.” The 28-ton Black Rock Horse of 2011 (see below) stood 52 feet tall on four giant wooden wheels and contained a hidden door in its hind leg with stairs to its hindquarter, belly, “oracle room” and headquarter. Throughout the week participants could climb into its body, where they might find a “Trojan” princess and/or warrior sipping absinthe in its Green Belly Lounge. At night, red electroluminescent (“el”) wire outlined its frame, creating a 5-story landmark. Then at week’s end, hundreds of volunteers ceremoniously rolled this breathtaking performance art piece to its final stand before it was burned to the ground in a prelude to the next night’s “Burn of The Man.”

Black Rock Horse, Burning Man (2011)

Over the past decade I have experienced hundreds of awe-inspiring art pieces mixed with performance. There is so much to see and do that even a week is not enough since many pieces undergo transformation from day to night. I experienced a sympathetic surge of goose bumps upon first viewing Marco Cochrane’s Bliss Dance. This 40-foot sculpture of a dancing female—made of geodesic struts with a skin of steel mesh and filled with multicolored LEDs—seemed every bit as powerful as Michelangelo’s David. Furthermore, I was able to view her, unlike David, throughout the week both day and night, sunrise and sunset, with LED cycles of color and reflections of sun and moon continually transforming her strength and beauty.

Burning Man provides art you can see, touch, hear, smell and even taste. You can dance, climb and drum on many pieces. Opportunities like that do not exist at the Met, MOMA or Guggenheim. From the sky above Burning Man, the Black Rock Desert seemingly frames a flat, off-white canvas painted and textured, a collage of humanity. Though it’s a barren, ancient wasteland too alkaline to sustain life, the playa serves as a canvas for art that is alive. Transformed by creativity, it can intoxicate even the most sober, rational physician.

Bliss Dance, Burning Man (2010)

Burning Man’s origins in chaos are legendary. The first burn—on San Francisco’s Baker Beach in 1986—was the unsanctioned ignition of an effigy created by Burn founder Larry Harvey, a self-portrayed unemployed bike messenger, and his friends. Soon the event, replete with members of the Cacophony Society, was kicked off the beach, taking a year to find a new home in Nevada (1990) where pyrotechnics met no law enforcement interference. Very few rules existed on the playa in those days. Locals commonly used the area to drive “like a bat out of hell,” shoot guns and blow things up. This tradition was not lost on early burners, many of whom were known to enjoy the hijinks of a virtual Wild West. One lasting tale is of a drive-by shooting range where participants on any form of wheels were challenged to shoot live ammunition into tumbleweed and other random targets. I recently watched a video of a young man on a bicycle rattling off lead from an old-style six-shooter. There was certainly something very renegade and outlaw about those early Burns, which succeeded only because of their participants’ radical self-reliance.

Burning Man today has structure and rules of conduct. Guns are no longer permitted, nor are pets, personal fireworks and/or defecating on the playa. Port-o-potties number over a thousand. Once you park your car you may no longer drive unless you are leaving. Mutant vehicles are the exception, but only if driven no more than five miles an hour and neither entered nor exited while moving. To receive a sticker authorizing day and/or night travel, they must also pass DMV (Department of Mutant Vehicles) inspection for safety and art-worthiness. Drivers may not be under the influence of drugs or alcohol or within reach of an open container.

This is not to say that art cars may not dispense alcohol. Many are bars on wheels, complete with deejay, band and dance floor. One of my many memories of the playa includes a wedding reception on the Black Light Lounge, a converted Muni bus without windows or roof sporting a deejay station on a bare metal frame above the driver with a bar abutting its left side, dance floor on right and lounge in back. We started the evening listing one foot to port thanks to the mass of 1.75-liter bottles of gin, rum, tequila, vodka and whiskey. By sunrise, the bacchanal was over and the “lounge” was again riding flat.

People of all ages attend Burning Man. Consequently those who run a bar on the playa today must check IDs. Law enforcement abounds and is not above enlisting attractive underage burners to ask for a drink. Theme camps have been shut down and individuals fined for serving a charming minor. While drugs are present, even medical marijuana is illegal at Burning Man since it takes place on federal land. There is a famous story, whether true or not I do not know, of the arrest of an unsuspecting “chronic” by a naked yet “undercover” DEA agent who had asked to be “gifted” some bud. The generous pot-head ended up with a hefty fine for possession and was left cannabis-free for the rest of the week. Despite Burning Man’s image as a drug fest, alcohol remains the most-abused substance on the playa. This is not to say that narcotics and psychedelics are not present. Those who use them can always find company.

One of my most distressing memories is of taking a tour of Rampart, Burning Man’s central emergency services installation, which provides free health care including lab, x-ray, and a limited pharmacy staffed by Nevada-licensed physicians. As I entered the structure (think MASH unit) I witnessed a young man unconscious with doctor and staff attempting intubation. Later I heard he had died of an unintentional overdose. Fortunately, despite a population of 70,000, death is rare at Burning Man. Fatalities over the years have come from a plane that crashed after stalling over the Black Rock City landing strip, “suicide by hanging mistaken as performance art,” and a bus striking a 29-year-old gallery manager. On the other hand, every year thousands are treated for mild to moderate injury or illness at no cost to patient either at Rampart or two other emergency services installations that provide basic first aid and hydration. The seriously ill are transported by ambulance to Reno, 120 miles away. Sadly, as might be expected in a city of 70,000, sexual assault has been a problem and is likely underreported. Further confounding accurate documentation is the fact that evidentiary exams must be conducted in Reno and many victims choose not to leave the playa for evaluation.

While I do not work in an official medical capacity on the playa, I do serve as my camp’s medic. However, even in a camp of over a hundred people, rarely do I get called into action. Most of my consults are for minor injury first aid and some chronic ailments. Many are just a primary-care second opinion: “I have this (fill in the blank); what do you think?” Rarely have I had to send camp members to emergency services, and fortunately those I have were easily treated. For instance, I transported a camp member on the Boss Hog (our camp’s sheet-metal porcine mutant vehicle borne on a Volvo chassis) to Rampart for splinting of a non-displaced proximal fifth metatarsal “dancer’s fracture” suffered while singing karaoke at Spanky’s Wine Bar the night before.

Injuries are bound to happen in a city that is constructed, often explored on bike, and then dismantled all in a week’s time. The Burning Man Survival Guide has helped educate burners against previously common injuries such as stepping on uncovered rebar tent stakes or developing “playa foot” from wandering barefoot on ground with a pH of 10. Burning Man’s pioneering daily periodical is named Piss Clear in an effort to remind people to stay hydrated in the desert heat. Center Camp, a giant shade structure built by the Burning Man organization, was conceived and designed with safety and community in mind. Here people may find shelter from days exceeding 100 degrees and nights approaching freezing. Additionally, Center Camp Café sells coffee served by volunteer baristas and nearby Camp Arctica sells crushed and block ice for three dollars a bag. Ice and coffee are the only two commodities for sale on the playa. Everything else consumed at Burning Man is free, gifted between participants. While bringing one’s own food and water for the week is a must, it may also be possible to occasionally sustain oneself via “movable feast.” I recall mornings spent biking from Pancake Camp to Bacon Camp and then to the French Quarter for an espresso. Exchange of money is prohibited and bartering is no longer a norm. Those cooking for and serving participants expect only thanks and an occasional hug and kiss of gratitude.

Some complain that the ticket price of $390 per individual and $40 per car is too high and that the limited number of advance tickets for $800 is outrageous. I believe that the free medical care and port-o-potties alone are well worth the price of admission, as is the employment of a growing cadre of full-time paid professionals for operations, planning, surveying, construction and cleanup of Nevada’s sixth-largest city—for one week a year. In fact, prices would likely be higher if slogans such as “if it didn’t come from your body, don’t put it in the potty” didn’t prevent port-o-potty contractors from repeatedly blowing their pumps. Other fees (2014) include: $4.5 million to the Bureau of Land Management, $1 million for heavy equipment, $300,000 for local agencies and law enforcement, $500,000 for medical services, $1 million in art grants and a million more for taxes and government licensing fees. Ticket prices, we are told, merely keep pace with the inflation of these fixed expenses. The truth is: Burning Man would not exist without volunteers and the generosity of participants. Most art is not fully funded. Theme camps are self-supported. Mutant vehicles are created by garage-tinkering engineers and mechanics. Burning Man is truly of the people, by the people and for the people. Its 10 principles—radical inclusion, gifting, decommodification, radical self-reliance, radical self-expression, communal effort, civic responsibility, leaving no trace, participation and immediacy—make it a one-of-a-kind event and an inspiration for all who dare attendOver the past decade I have taken the 10 principles to heart both on the playa and at home. I have explored my creative side by playing drums and percussion, having been gifted my first set of congas in medical school. On the playa I have performed with fire dancers surrounding The Manon Burn Night. At home, I have played in local bars and restaurants throughout Marin. What started for me as an opportunity to blow off steam “banging a drum” between call nights and daily rounds has evolved into a personal fulfillment of the principles of radical self-expression, immediacy, participation and communal effort. I believe my life is enriched by a Burning Man ethos, which I try to share with those I care for, work with and perform for..

urning Man is what you make of it. First-timers quickly learn that the more they give, the more they receive in return. Participation is a must. Burning Man exists because people share of themselves, explore, create, take chances, try new things and meet new people. Some have referred to Black Rock City as a place where the walls that usually separate us are stripped away. The environment alone pushes many out of their comfort zone. Most quickly learn that they are part of the event, not mere observers. The chance to be periodically awestruck by musical, personal and artistic “fascinomas” keeps me wanting to return for more, despite dust and heat and a drive that can take 12 or more hours from the Bay Area, including 4–6 snail’s-pace hours crossing the last 10 miles on playa in stop-and-go traffic past gate and greeters. Most burners, however, take the trip in stride as “the Burn starts once you leave your front door” in a vehicle buried beneath a week’s worth of food and water, camp necessities of shade and light, chairs and tables, costumes, and the requisite bicycle to cross its seven square miles—in addition to whatever gifts you plan to share with those you meet..

How many days till the next Burn? 

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Dr. Taylor is a hospitalist at Kaiser San Rafael.Dr. Taylor is a hospitalist at Kaiser San Rafael.

Email: mark.r.taylor@kp.org