This is my sixth Burning Man. Just when I think I've seen all the blinding dust storms, psychedelic misadventures, and porta-potty horrors that are humanly possible, the most unimaginable thing happens. On Friday evening, the skies open and dump torrential rains, transforming the dry alkaline lake bed—where the event is traditionally held—into a muddy hellscape, where it's impossible to walk more than a few hundred feet, let alone ride a bike or drive a motor vehicle. I confer with my campmates. Eventually, we decide to shelter in place. |
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