ATMOS BIKE HELMET

Well that's how my facial expression reads to me anyway.

2000, The Year of the Body, and the year of my cancer surgery. I said "I'm not going to wait another year. I'm grabbing life as I can get it." And I made my plans for friends to take my kids for a week while I ran off to my first Burning Man. What a trip.

It was so amazing to visit this other paradigm, a fleeting community of artists, hippies, drunks and dopers, performers and spectators (yes there are!), el-wire creations, discotechs and body paint, giftgiving and bartering, art cars, huge art installations, barebreasted bike riding and absurdity everywhere you look. Oh and of course, fire. A city of 25,000 that grows up and burns in down in one short week. It's beyond remarkable to watch, especially if you go early and stay late. Desert life, hot days, cold nights, sandstorms, playa dust in everything you own, mostly your hair, and music, music, music all night long. How strange it is to live in a mini-society where the mottos are "Leave no trace" and "Piss clear". Reentry...not so easy. Coming back to reality is a little tougher than returning from most vacations.

I loved it so much, that I thought I would go every year, but life threw me a few more curve balls, and I only made it back there the next year. But I did bring with me an art car that was exactly what I had conceived of while there the previous year. It was a big project for me that I'm still proud I completed it and shared with the Black Rock City residents of 2001. With its hot pink lit up el-wire sign atop it, the Karaoke Cab. I painted a little old Toyota Corona hot pink, siliconed cds all over it, decked it out with music memorabilia (band pins, tie-dyed custom seatcovers, and a 6" dia de los muertos Elvis statue in his rotting white suit as my hood ornament), christmas lights inside, a full on karaoke system in the back seat, monitor on top for lyrics, and generator in the trunk. That's right, you want a ride out to the Red Dice Casino or over to Emerald City? You have to sing me a song from the list of 700 songs, microphone included, and a gelled over worklamp for stage lighting. Whoever is walking by as your audience. People gave me necklaces, cd's and beers so they wouldn't have to sing, but could still get a ride to the other side of the playa. Others wouldn't give back the mic, and didn't want a ride anywhere. What a hoot! I had such a good time, meeting all the folks I wouldn't have otherwise met, taking them for a ride, sometimes joining them at their parties. Still friends, but no longer a couple, Dan and I even traded each other in at the Costco Soulmate Trading Outlet, (dems the rules, trade one in/get a potential new soulmate/computerized hookup) as we both went again that year, but this time not together, and each of us was definitely on the prowl for a new soulmate.

5 o'clock and Feet Street, my prized memento from my first BM, stealing it at the very end when street signs no longer seemed to have a purpose. If I start planning now, I'm sure I can figure out how to get my ass there again this year. The scene of the crime.

2009.04.04. Finally back to photograph the freewall. Last time I was here with a camera was 15 September, and about an hour later, I broke my leg---bad. Complete fracture of the left femur, just below the ball end.

How? I was returning home on my bike ride, just perhaps 15 minutes away. At the ramp up from the bikeway to the green bridge near the Point, I slowed and took the 180-degree turn. Real carefully, I thought, since the pavement was wet and gravelly from a recent spurt from the fountain. But I felt my rear wheel slip out from under me, and too late to swivel out of the clip. I fell gently, except that the bike frame and my body weight were too much for the trapped leg. I heard a snap, and knew from the sudden pain that it was really bad.

Two pedestrians were on the bikeway above. One called out, "Are you alright?" as I held my left heel with one hand and pivoted the bike and pedal off me with the other. "No," I said, :"I need some help."

They came down the slope, and I whipped out my cell phone. Called Chuck to say that I wouldn't make it back to fix breakfast for us, since I broke my leg. Then called 911 to get an ambulance.

By then the two pedes were beside me, one took the bike and set it gently off the way, then took my shoes and helmet. By then the pain was strong, and I tried to instruct the other woman how to hold my leg to help ease strain on my hip. I could see a huge protuberance at my hip, and thought it was a dislocation.

In what seemed to be only minutes, Chuck was there, and then the EMT van was backing down the bikeway ramp. As Chuck took my bike and shoes to his car, the EMTs --handsome, helpful men-- wrapped me in a body splint and lifted me onto a gurney. Then they made arrangements with Chuck to meet at Miami Valley Hospital for emergency treatment.

Six weeks after surgery, I was back at work, maneuvering in a wheelchair. After another six weeks, I was starting physical therapy. After yet another six weeks, I was forgetting my cane when I left the house. By February I was itching for good weather for cycling outside, and in March I was commuting occasionally by bike. Now I feel as strong as before, perhaps even stronger, due to my consistent weight training and successful physical therapy.

It's about time that I got to the free wall for a photo session.