Packing our UHaul trailer heading to Burning Man was a bit of a challenge. Three of us drove up from Los Angeles, arriving in San Francisco around 2:30 Monday morning. We then tried to pack 80 gallons of water, six bikes, and many large plastic tubs of food, clothing, etc, into the Uhaul. It was not all going to fit.

The only solution was to pop the front wheels off our bikes, making them a little bit more compact. I was not a part of this process, but was happy when everything did indeed manage to fit, and we hit the road to Reno.

Upon arrival at Burning Man, we unpacked the Uhaul and started putting the pieces together. A shade structure was built from PVC and blue tarps by two Koreans and a white guy. The bikes were put back together, but with one sad exception:

I was missing one of my nuts.

Whoever had removed my front wheel had either failed to put the nut back on the wheel, or else the nut had wandered off during the drive into the desert.

Regardless, I was nutless.

Since Burning Man spreads across five square miles, it’s a pain to be without a bike. And without a nut to hold my front wheel on, things were looking dire.

No matter: first things first, I headed to bike camp. Sadly, I arrived to find a group of dudes sitting around behind a sign that read, “We are SO closed today.” I entreated them with pleas of “…but I’m missing my right nut!” They refused to acknowledge my existence, probably because the joke got old after they’d heard it the 400th time. I learned later that the bike camp guys are notorious for being grumpy, overworked, bitter pricks. So it goes, I s’pose.

Luckily for me, recycling camp was located directly next door. A fantastic woman, who was introduced to me as “Fluffy Bunny” or “Pleasure Rabbit” or something like that,* helped me scrounge through dozens of dismembered bikes until we found a nut that fit.

Nut in hand, I was a much happier camper.

*I admit to not quite understanding Burning Man names. Perhaps, as Amy Leblanc pointed out, it’s because I already have a slightly unusual name, but last time I was at Burning Man (2000), I don’t remember people introducing themselves to me with special names. This year I met a woman who, while quite delightful, made things extra confusing by calling herself “Daydreamer” during daylight hours, and “Jupiter” at night. I think I’m just jaded from my raver days, when I met people who introduced themselves with straight faces with names like “Boogie,” “Grooveling,” and “Bassben,” but I sometimes have trouble with self-chosen names. I think that makes me an intolerant bitch. Sorry about that.