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Burning Man’s trash fence captures strange garbage and stranger people · Best of: Features

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  Burning man Trash Fence captures strange, garbage And stranger people. This
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  article is being read by an automated voice generated by Everlett. The
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  first naked man could have been a fluke. But the came another,
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  and another, and another. Each was in the vicinity of a solitary
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  tent pitched on the outskirts of Black Rock City, in Burning Man's
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  open camping area out by the trash fence. The trash fence: a
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  four foot high, nine dot two dash mile dash long orange plastic
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  barrier, marks the boundary of, the event, but also blocks an abundance
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  of garbage from blowing out of they week long pop up city
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  and into Nevada's pristine black rock desert. Naked men are nothing new
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  at Burning Man, where freedom of personal expression reigns. But this was
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  my sixth time attending the event, and I had never encounter the
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  in this context, all by themselves, basking quietly in the desert sun.
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  It was strange, and it was exactly why I had chosen to
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  hike the trash fence
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  to see what oddities I might encounter. The Trash Fence is an
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  element of Black Rock City that every burner is aware of and
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  some even make pilgrimages to parts of it over the course of.
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  The event, whether it's to escape the hectic City’s center, think about
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  life, watch a sunrise or sunset, or attempt to catch a
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  Daft Punk show, which they never will, because telling new burners that
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  Daft Punk is playing at the trash fence is a long running
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  prank. Few burners think to explore the trash fence in its entirety,
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  however. When I
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  set out to do that on Thursday morning, I knew I'd come
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  across bizarre pieces of art and surreal desert scenery, and suspected I'd
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  encounter a handful of burners who had a similar fascination with the
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  events farthest flung corners. That I
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  didn't expect was to met someone who would forever transform my understanding
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  of Burning Man and its history, or that he'd be one of
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  those naked men. Where to start with the trash fence? If you're
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  at Burning Man and wanting to get to
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  the trash fence in the shortest amount of time, the directions are
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  easy. Face directly away from the one hundred foot effigy of the
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  man at Then center of the city, and head out. In my
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  case, because I was camped near the intersection of four hundred thirty
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  and H Streets, the closest region of the trash fence bordered Black
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  Rock City's municipal airport, which high rolling burners and celebrities fly in
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  and out of. I biked out there to use it as a
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  starting point, and also as a place to check on the weather.
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  Black Rock City's airport workers are by necessity very informed on wind
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  conditions and the chance of rain. Just ask Diplo. When I arrived,
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  a line of burners intent on scoring scenic flights, which, like nearly
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  everything else in Black Rock City, area free of changed naked
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  out of the open air departure lounge. I took one of those
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  flights in twenty twenty three, just before the
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  rain hit, and it was one of the best experiences I've had
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  at Burning Man. Was happy to see that there was still a
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  cute little coffee stand, and a
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  viewing deck where burners could watch the small planes kicking up dust
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  during lift offs and landings. I parked my bike and wandered around
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  until I found a nice volunteer, play a name, mister Awesome, who
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  told me chat.
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  The wind, AKA the dust, was likely to kick up in a
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  few hours, and that there was a significant chance of rain later
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  in the day. When I told him my plans to like
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  the entire trash fence, he perked up. I did that at night
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  one time, mister Awesome said. It was
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  incredible. I was taken aback that the first burner I met along
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  my journey had already completed my challenge, so much for being original.
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  But I was also eager to get some advice at the start
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  of the journey. Mister Awesome told me I might be approached by
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  perimeter rangers who guard the city from interlopers, and that they might
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  ask what I was doing. I
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  shouldn't worry about it, he said, because burners are within their rights
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  to go on trash fence adventures. If the weather turned, he advised
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  breaking up The
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  journey into pieces, and possibly doing a leg of it at night,
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  because looking back at the LEDs and lasers from various points along
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  the
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  trash fence was mesmerizing. The boundary of the event is a pentagon
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  shape, he explained, with five equally spaced points. The he pointed up
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  at a tall sign in the distance which read point five. Mister
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  Awesome recommended going counterclockwise, to point four and then point three at
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  the top of the Pentagon, where burners typically go to watch sunrise
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  and sunset and take photos. He also thought I should walk with
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  my bike just in case the weather turned. I thanked mister Awesome
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  profusely, feeling an instant bond with a fellow trash fence explorer, and
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  headed out into nowhere. His is the sacred place for me. Trudging
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  northeast from point five to point four, it was remarkable how little
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  trash could be seen along the orange plastic fence. Two items I
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  noticed, one can of modello, one back dust mask, and the mask
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  was actually on the far side of the fence. Just when I
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  began to wonder if some of this journey might be pretty dull,
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  a small tent appeared on the horizon, And as I got closer
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  I saw that a man was sprawled out beside it. I started
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  to move toward him, interested to hear what inspired a burner to
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  opt for the open camping are so far from the rest of
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  the event. But when I saw he was totally naked, I changed
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  my mind and kept moving along the fence. Soon another pair of
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  naked men came into view. They appeared to be doing some sort
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  of calisthenics or maybe partner yoga. My interest in these nudist isolationists
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  was growing, but I felt hesitant to approach. People who ventured all
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  the
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  way out here didn't seem likely to want company. When I saw
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  the fourth naked man standing beside his grey tent, I
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  thought I might bypass him too. But then, he looked over, there
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  was an openness to his expression, and I decided to approach. It
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  was perhaps the best decision I
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  made at this year's Burning Man. As I got closer the man
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  donned a tan, floor length robe, and he smiled. I told him
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  I was hiking the whole trash fence and interviewing people I
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  met along the way for a story. He invited me to come
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  sit beneath his teal colored shade structure, out of the wind, were
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  we could chat. I'm Junbug, he said, once we where settled, offering
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  his playa name, He had come from Tokyo for Burning Man for
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  the fifteenth time, he said, but in the last four or five
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  years Junebug had been doing Burning Man a little differently, to say
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  the least. I started out just like everybody, he said, gesturing toward
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  the city. I started there, enjoying the man, dancing, drinking, going crazy.
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  And at some point something came into my mind why I'm coming
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  here? In truth, Junebug was bored of the partying, but he still
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  found himself drawn to the Black Rock Desert. He started
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  doing research about how Burning Man ended up being held at this
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  particular location, and
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  what he learned fascinated him. Many people know that Burning Man's originators,
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  Larry Harvey and Jerry James, organized the first event in nineteen eighty
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  six on San Francisco's Baker Beach, and many are aware that by
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  the time police forced Burning Man off that beach in nineteen ninety,
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  A group of Bay Area artists and pranksters called the Cacophony Society
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  had become involved. The group was instrumental in selecting the next location,
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  but exactly how hey, chose the
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  Black Rock Desert rarely comes up, Have you ever heard of A
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  zone trip? Junebug asked me. I hadn't. The concept of a
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  one trip, he explained, originated with the nineteen seventy nine Soviet science
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  fiction film Stalker, in which a guide leads two men into a
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  mysterious, forbidden landscape where usual laws don't apply, And people's deepest desires
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  can be achieved. The Cacophony Society was heavily influenced by Stalker, Junebug
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  said, and frequently embarked on zone trips into unfamiliar places, adapting new
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  sets of rules within the zones. You see that this.
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  Place, this area, is your zone, he said, and
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  there, in the zone you can make a dream come true. Black
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  Rock Desert's Playa was Zone Trip four, Junebug told me. Taking the
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  idea of a zone even further, the Cacophony Society marked off they
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  area with Rebar, he said, and
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  the joined hands and all jumped into the zone at once. That
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  how Burning Man started he said. Sat quietly, feeling the gravity of
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  the moment wash over me. For the first time since I started
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  going to Burning Man in twenty sixteen, I understood why being in
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  this place feels so powerful. It's not an accident that in all
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  ways, Burning Man resembles another universe, with different rules and different values.
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  It was specifically designed this way by people who wanted to live
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  outside of the norm, pursuing their own dreams of how a society
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  could be, if only for a week. And here was Junebug, a
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  fifty five year old computer engineer from Japan, using his vacation time
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  every year to come to Burning Man, camp near the trash fence,
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  and live his dream. He stays here in his tent, recording his
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  thoughts, and eating rahm he carried a mile from where his rental
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  car is parked. Once a day he brings his piss bottle to
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  the nearest portable toilet, and then comes right back to camp. When
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  the wind blows hard, he's in a whiteout, all on his own.
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  When it rains he's isolated until the sun comes out and dries
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  the ancient lake bed. Occasionally, burners and rangers stop by to chat,
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  but mostly it's a couple of blackbirds that keep him company. Junebug
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  isn't religious, but the way he feels when he camps in his
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  zone, well, nothing really compares. And while he's tried finding other zones,
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  attending regional burns in Japan and Israel, they haven't quite measured up
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  to the edge of Black Rock City. It's a long trip. For
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  nothing, right? This is all I have, Junebug said, gesturing at his
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  scant supplies. Other people are going the American way, doing the American
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  dream. They're trying to make a big statue. They burn the big
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  thing. They want a big RV. They came in by a jet.
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  You know, bigger is better in America. In Japan, it's different. It's
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  not adding, adding, adding. We're trying to minus, minus, minus. Junebug tells
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  me he's glad I came by, that the conversation was special for
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  him, and offers me one of his beers. He likes that I
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  too have been compelled to spend time near the trash fence, and
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  that I've come into his zone. This desert is the sacred place
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  for me, he tells me as I leave, and the sacred place
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  is not the man but this trash fence area. Other wonders of
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  the trash fence. I probably could have headed back to camp then,
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  because my first two hours hiking the trash fence had already provided
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  me with one of the most interesting and impactful conversations I would
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  have at this year's burn. But instead I kept going, and the
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  benefits of hiking the trash fence kept accumulating. As I closed in
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  on point four, the way the light illuminated the mountains of the
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  Selenite range became increasingly pretty, and the trash at the bottom of
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  the fence got progressively weirder. There was a C D with pink
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  wires sticking up through it, some advertisements for becoming a burning man
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  greeter, and an oversized upside down sign that read R V surface.
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  I came upon a set of echozoic composting toilets, which were delightfully
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  clean and odorless thanks to ventilation fans, and several perimeter guards drove
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  by in trucks, though none seemed concerned with my presence. Art pieces
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  started to pop up, many of which were hilarious. A box placed
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  by the Department of Whining and Playa Relations offered unofficial complaint forms
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  where a burner could share their name, then indicate nature of their
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  complaints in checkboxes, for instance, dusty parts or speeding e bikes. Nearby,
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  a small blue box contained tickets to a popular art piece from
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  twenty nineteen called Headmaze. Because the line to get in was long,
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  rumors began circulating that tickets hidden at the trash fence allowed ticket
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  holders to skip the line. In twenty nineteen there were no Head
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  Maze tickets, but there are now, the tickets explained. Enjoy. At an
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  art piece just beyond, a large platform read No jokes allowed, and
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  burners were taking turns, stepping up and telling them. That's where I
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  met Bandip, a seven time burner and Oakland resident with a background
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  in biotech. She overheard me telling someone I was hiking the whole
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  trash fence, and approached to say that she, too, had made a
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  ritual of that. I would break it up into the five quadrants,
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  she said. I think I did it for about four years. She
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  started doing it, she told me, because it feels achievable, but also
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  because she likes the self directed nature of it. There's all these
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  things that you can do and see at Burning Man, and it's
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  like you're doing something someone else arranged. You're seeing someone else's art,
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  you're participating in other people's camps, Beandip said. This feels like my
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  solo adventure that I'm in charge of. I always do it alone,
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  and it's kind of my moment, I think, to just reflect. I
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  like to stop and just stare out into the open desert. BienDip
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  was contemplating doing the trash fence again today, she said, but was
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  slightly concerned about the wind picking up. A few seconds later a
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  light sprinkle began to rain down from the grey sky. I wanted
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  to at least make it to point three, though, so I wished
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  Biendip a good burn, and continued along the fence. To visit the
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  trash fence is to say, hey, I'm still alive. When I reached
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  the most popular pilgrimage spot, point three, the sprinkling had stopped, but
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  the wind had picked up, and dust was starting to churn in
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  the air. A solitary burner in safari esque attire had just parked
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  his bike at the point sign, to which a box full of
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  stickers, pins, and other goodies was affixed. After touching the science pole,
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  he traded a pin he created for a different one from the
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  box, and when asked if he'd be interested in talking about what
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  brought him to the trash fence in a brewing dust storm, he
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  immediately agreed. Known on Playa as Bookie, Pete LaFavre of Redondo Beach
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  considers this particular spot on the Playa a point of contact, he
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  explained, where each year he checks in. And here's why. In twenty
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  twenty I was diagnosed with lymphoma, and I went through the chemo
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  thing and survived, he told me. This to me is a reminder.
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  I can still do stuff like this. I'm still here to be
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  able to. I've got enough energy and desire to be all the
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  way out here in the fricking middle of nowhere to be able
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  to do a simple thing like this. To visit the trash fence
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  for Bookie is to be able to say, Hey, I'm still alive,
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  and he feels honored to have been afforded the opportunity. After the
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  dust kept picking up and Bookie headed back to the city. I
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  was ready to pause my own journey as well, having completed around
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  five of the nine point two miles, when I spotted a patrol
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  vehicle stopped near the fence. When I approached the perimeter rangers inside
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  seemed far from concerned about my presence, and agreed to a short
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  interview on background because they aren't allowed to speak to the media.
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  They were there to protect the city, they told me, and to
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  stop people from sneaking in. When I asked the woman in the
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  passenger seat what she likes most about being out here, she said
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  it's the mountain scenery. I couldn't help but agree that the backdrop
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  is pretty, but as I started back toward my camp through the
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  dust, I knew that what I'd remember most were the humans, mister
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  Awesome, June Bug, Beandip, and Bookie, and the passion we all share
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  for Burning Man's one of a kind trash fence.