Monday was bump-out. A hard work day of taking down the dome and packing up the tents, breaking down the camp in general. It was also a day of rising tempers as campmates and freeloaders didn’t pull their weight, as people’s lifts left without them, as others didn’t pack up swiftly enough for their friends.
It was, in other words, typical of any day after a festival has ended, anywhere in the world.
Catherine, Brad’s partner, had told me there was a chance I’d hear pigs flying overhead around 7am, shortly followed by their RV pulling up. Just in case, I was up early. As it turned out, they were waiting for another traveler and then a storm hit around 3pm.
In between trying to breathe, I kept helping with the bump-out as much as I could. Finally, around 7pm, I thought I’d give up and see if I could find them instead. Just as I did, they drove out of the blinding wind. I flagged them down and we got my stuff on board.
What followed was the worst Exodus storm in a decade, according to people I’ve spoken with. We could see about a foot in front of our faces, if that. Catherine and I were telling Brad when we could see the fences to either side and when we lost sight of them, we knew he was veering out of the lane. We couldn’t see the vehicle in front of us, that was certain.
Pure exhaustion after all that meant I slept most of the way to Reno.
We stayed in a very tacky hotel filled with slot machines on the bottom floor. I felt like I was in an episode of CSI.
One very amusing moment was when I noticed the National School Scrabble Championship on the television screens along with many sports. I wonder if people were betting on that too.