We had gathered with about 30 other recent friends, strangers and acquaintances on a meticulously chose patch of desert. We were far enough from the 200-foot tall effigy to avoid the crowds – the 30 to 40 thousand crazies seated in concentric circles around The Man, ringed by colourful Mutant Vehicles each demonstrating their own soundtrack for this, the week’s main event. Like an incantation, two dozen performers dance with flaming sticks and poi on chains, as if to summon unholy hellfire to consume this giant unnatural man looming over this temporary city of 70,000.

But we were clear of this madness. Seated comfortably a mile or so back in canvas lawn chairs, passing bottles of Fireball and and the occasional joint. It was early – 930 or so – and there was plenty of time for revelry and possible light burns later. This was, to me at least, the solemn portion of the night, the closing ceremony for a week’s excursion into an alien world. Tomorrow, we would begin the exodus back to our default life. Tonight, we would celebrate with our brothers and sisters in the dusty wonderland of the Black Rock City Dessert. But first, the Man would burn…

Once the flames had engulfed the Plywood Giant, Shiva and I slipped away from our group to inspect the smouldering  wreckage. This had the added advantage of bringing us some warmth on yet another freezing cold night on the playa. We received many hugs and wishes of Happy Burn”, and received a few hand-made gifts. But honestly there was not much draw for us here. The man had fallen, the revels ended, and we were craving mischief.

We got on our bicycles and rode back towards the esplanade, looking for drink and company. We found both at what had become our most favourite neighbourhood watering hole, Sparky’s Saloon. I pushed open the swinging bar doors, as a patron plonked away at the keys of a Honky Tonk Piano in the corner. Somehow, a Wild a west Saloo felt to be the perfect setting for this evening to kick off.