I Came Upon a Child of Oz

A couple hours outside Eugene, on the eastern side of the Cascades, coming up on the little town of Chemult which sits along both sides of the road enticing travelers with amenities for a temporary stop.

"I can't believe we aren't even half way there yet," Red laments. We have reservations in Reno for that evening. We have many hours yet to go.

"How about I take over driving?" I ask Red. She agrees. She's driven all the way from Portland and I can tell she needs a break.

I point to a ramshackle old cafe and convenience store ahead on our right. "Let's stop there," I said. "I could use a cup of coffee."

Improbably the sign on the exterior of the burger joint offers espresso. Inside I immediately regret my decision to stop here. The place looks vintage mid Twentieth Century. Often I like this kind of place, just for the atmosphere, but wanting coffee, I am dubious about the quality. I can see the stale pot of afternoon coffee on the machine. I'm hoping they can come through on the espresso, because no way I'm drinking a cup of the stuff I see.

Most of the store is empty. We head over to the window of the little grill inside the restaurant. Red heads off to use to restroom, which later turn out to be filthy, as she reports. Not promising.

An older middle aged couple is tending the grill. I order an americano. Red gets a milk shake. The folks behind the counter take their time making it, but we are patient.

In the meantime, as we wait, a group of young folks come into the store, two young men and two young women. They are in their early twenties, lithe and tan, as if they have spent much time in the outdoors. They have loose and little clothing on.

We had been wondering when we might see our first Burners, heading towards the same location as us. We had passed a few vehicles outside Eugene that might have contained fellow participants, but it was hard to tell if they were Burners. Now it seemed we had certainly found our first true candidates.

From their accents, I can discern they are Australian (one of the young women actually looks part aboriginal, with her curly hair) but when they order, I get the impression that they are trying to hide their accents. They are trying to sound American. When one of the young women orders, she mentions she is a vegetarian. I look at Red and she snickers a little, without being observed by the Australians.

We take our beverages and head back to the car, passing the large old van that the Australian kids are traveling in. It has British Columbia license plates. On the exterior is graffiti and on the top are affixed bicycles. Yup, Burners for sure, I think to myself.

I get behind the wheel of the car and we start to drive away, passing behind the Australian's van. I take one last look and notice the hand-lettered cardboard sign: "Burning Man. Got a ticket? We need one."

I immediately pressed the brake and stop the car. One of the Australian guys is standing beside the van. I motion for Red to roll down the window. I call out to the guy by the van.

"You looking for a ticket?"  I ask him.

"Yeah," he laments. "One of our group doesn't have one yet.  We went last year but this year we didn't get enough tickets. We're desperate."

"Wel,l I've got an extra one to sell," I say matter-of-factly.

His face breaks out in a huge smile. He seems incredulous. I assure him that I am not kidding. He hurriedly tells his friends and all four of them come over the car. He ask me how much the ticket is, and I tell him face value---380 bucks.

It turns on the guy who needs the ticket doesn't have the cash, but he runs over to the gas station to find an ATM. In the meantime we chat with the other Australians. By now the facade of the non-accent is vanished. We exchange names and hugs with all of them, as if we are already on the playa.

The other guy comes running back with his money. He counts out the twenties and hands them to me. I give him the spare ticket in my possession.

They can't believe their luck. All of them are overjoyed that they can all go this year.

"Well, now I get to cross off something from my to-do list in Reno, " I tell them.

They tell me their camp location, using the Burning Man city coordinates. I tell them I will look for them on the playa, since I know what their van looks like. I tell them to look for our Icelandic flag. They don't know what it looks like, so I take it out of the car to show them.

We drive away, leaving them very happy. t's as if Burning Man has just started this year, improbably in Chemult. I had been wondering who that extra ticket would go to. Now I know.