Desert dilemmas

Two weeks ago, Black Rock City, population 30,000, was the fourth largest town in northern Nevada, and was very busy crankin’ out some serious emanations, palpitations and ululations on the playa 10 miles north of Gerlach. Therefore, it’s no surprise that there was plenty of action on the B.R.C. police blotter on any given night.

Of course, the blotter at Burning Man is a wee bit more, uh … colorful than most. Here are some choice snippets, submitted by Officer Fancy Beauregard (his playa name).

Friday, 10:42 p.m.—“A guy came in wearing a shirt covered with blinking lights. In most cities, this outfit alone would constitute a reasonable cause for a search. Complaint: He was out at the Man with his female companion, and while they were headed up the crowded steps to the top of the Man’s pyramid base, he lost her. Looked all over, couldn’t find her. He searched for an hour, went back to their camp, then came here to report. I told him not to worry and to remember that kind of thing happens a lot in this town. A helluva lot. As he left, I couldn’t help but think the odds were pretty good that his little gal pal was out there somewhere dancing her guts out with some joker who had nicer shirt lights.”

11:53 p.m.—“A common complaint: bike bag thievery. Seems this guy stopped off at one of the many techno dance clubs on the Esplanade, leaving his bike and bike bag in the darkness of the playa while he indulged in a few minutes of libidinous spasmodiums. You know, dancing.

When he went back to his bike, the bag was gone. He wandered off to search for it, and when he returned to his bike 10 minutes later, the bag was there. The thief had returned it, mostly intact. The only things lifted were the flashlight and the little tin box with the doobie in it. Only in Black Rock City are thieves this considerate.”

2:02 a.m.—“A woman came in with a complaint of some sort, but by the time she got here, she forgot what it was. She offered me a Burning Man cocktail coaster and hit the playa.”

4:22 a.m.—“A man dressed in a style best described as psychedelic mayhem came in to report that another man glowered menacingly at him for anywhere from a few to several seconds while their eyes met in Center Camp, resulting in substantial damage to an otherwise upbeat field of vibrations. I gave him a glass of water and a corn muffin.”

4:55 a.m.—“A woman wearing a black body suit covered in neon petroglyphs says she can’t remember if camp is on Real, Revered, Revealed, Received or Reality street. She knew it was one of them. I advise her to go to Center Camp, crash on a cushion, and figure it out when the sun comes up.”

8:03 a.m.—“The folks from Willy Wonka’s Wanker Camp came in to complain that five bottles of their mango ginger habanero chutney had been stolen.”