Burning Man II

Once we had thrown everything into the back of the rented SUV, we drove at well under the 5 mile-an-hour speed limit to the outer edge of the campsite area.  The wind found another gear and visibility was soon reduced to a few feet beyond the hood of the car.  We were sitting in the front seat looking through the windshield at a total whiteout.

We could no longer see the campsites but they had been there a minute ago so Munson simply aimed the car in the opposite direction.  In so doing, we figured we would minimize the chances of running over people and eventually come up against the perimeter fence.  We were moving slower than if we had been walking and after a long while, the bright orange perimeter fence finally appeared in front of us.  We couldn't see it until we were only a few feet from it with barely enough space for Munson to stop without plowing in to it. 

After reaching the fence, we turned left and drove along side it at the same slow pace, keeping visual contact with the fence, which we kept 2 to 3 feet from the right side of the car.  There were no campsites, buildings or any other obstacles adjacent to the fence that we were aware of and if we kept going it was only logical that we had to eventually come to the exit.  We crawled along craning our necks, looking desperately ahead at nothing and praying it would turn into the right something.  Looking into a white void without a focal point for an extended period can do strange things to your head.  The unrelenting techno pounding was now replaced by constant howling blasts of wind, buffeting against the outside of the car.  A few times we lost sight of the fence briefly which sparked some serious screaming accusations from both of us trying to establish who exactly deserved the blame for this whole affair.

The sound and force of the wind, the constant straining to see something where there was nothing, and having no idea where we were at anytime, all made for an extremely anxious and exhausting 2 hours before we came to the exit.  The exit was situated on the edge of the dry lake and just beyond it was the highway and a terrain that doesn't convert to the inside of a flour sack when the wind blows.  Visibility improved dramatically a hundred yards from the exit gates and we were completely free of the dust cloud even before we made it to the highway.

It was a relief to be able to ride along in the clear desert air and 8 miles later we came to a small town called Gerlach.  Bruno Selmi had moved to this town in 1953 and opened a restaurant named Bruno's.  In the 55 years that followed he added a bar, a hotel and eventually came to own most of the town.  In the 1970s, my uncle Ray lived just outside of Reno and used to often drive 156 miles round trip for  Bruno's raviolis.  I had always wanted to try them so I insisted that Munson pull in so we could go to the restaurant. 

We were fortunate to get in just under the wire as the kitchen closed down rather early.  When you ordered the raviolis you were handed a huge bib instead of a napkin.  You tied the bib around your neck and the rest of it covered your entire upper torso.  The serving size of the raviolis was so large I wondered if they gave us everything that was left since our orders were the last in before the kitchen closed.  The raviolis were as good as my uncle Ray had claimed.

Munson and I finished our meal and went into the bar.  We drank beer and met and talked with some of the locals, many of whom worked at Burning Man.  One fellow we spoke with drove a water truck that sprayed the campsite roads every morning to keep the dust on the ground.  He said, "When the wind gets to blowin' like it did today, there's nothin' that can help."

He pointed out to us that Bruno Selmi was sitting at the other end of the bar.  I went over to Bruno and had a friendly conversation about uncle Ray, the way my family makes raviolis, Northern Italy and the like.  Several minutes later, I said goodnight to Bruno and as I walked back to where Munson was sitting, everybody in the place had their eyes on me.  When I sat down with Munson and the water truck driver, I asked, "What's with the evil eye from everybody?"

The truck driver said, "Well, it's not the evil eye.  They're all in a state of shock."

I asked, "I do something wrong?"

The truck driver said, "Hell no, it's just that everybody was expecting fireworks."

I asked, "I don't understand."

The truck driver said, "It isn't every day Bruno has a conversation with any of us, let alone a complete stranger.  Seeing him sittin' there chattin' away like he was on Good Morning America was rare indeed.  He can be a real cantankerous, vile SOB and most of the time he is.  If you don't mind me askin', what the fuck were you two talkin' about anyhow?"

I said, "Raviolis mostly."

Our conversation was cut short when a party of 5 entered the bar asking to see a menu.  They had come to Burning Man from somewhere in Eastern Europe and had been trapped all day in the whiteout with nothing to eat.  One of the servers who had earlier taken a seat at the bar when the kitchen closed, offered to help them.  The server said, "The kitchen's closed but I could make you some sandwiches if you want."

Bruno came off his stool hollering, "CLOSED MEANS CLOSED, GOD DAMN IT!  DON'T YOU EVER TELL ANYBODY THEY CAN EAT AFTER WE CLOSE!"

The server said, "I just thought on account of them not being from here….."

Bruno yelled, I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF THEY'RE FROM FUCKING JUPITER, WE STOPPED SERVING AN HOUR AGO!

I turned to the truck driver and said, "Point taken."

It was dark by the time we left the bar to drive back to Reno.  We spent a minute looking for our rental car in the parking lot.  It was there but we couldn't see it,  We were looking for the bright red SUV monstrosity that Munson had rented.  Finally we discovered that the SUV was there but had changed to a light tan beneath the parking lot lights.  The dust from the playa had formed a thick uniform layer of silt that completely covered every square inch of the car.  We had to rub the playa off one of the fenders to see the red paint underneath.

Munson said, "Now I get it."

I asked, "Get what?"

Munson said, "Why the rent-a-car place made me sign something saying I wouldn't take the damn car to Burning Man or they'd fine me $500."

Epilogue

In 2013, my uncle Ray passed away and Bruno Selmi decided to retire and put his restaurant and other holdings up for sale.