In a dream about a week ago, someone was insisting I remember something like Tindale Farms, but I googled it on awakening and found nothing interesting. But then the other day, reading The Fourth Turning, I ran across the spelling Tyndale. Got to check that out.
At Juplaya, walking back from Trego with my cracked right heel freshly reopened, Dave Cooper gave me ride back to Lunarville. He said he's the recently retired BLM official who signed this year's Burning Man permit. He said "numbers don't matter" in response to the rumor that camps on the playa had to be below a certain number of people. I'd heard numbers ranging between 20 and 50.
He also told me where Coyote Spring was, in fenced-off dunes on the playa, but said it's just a small spring not a hot spring.
Getting better with my Swedish firesteel. It helps to hold the scraper almost flat against the rod; you get a much better shower of sparks.
Cops ordered us out of our camping space on Lake Tahoe night before last. No signs we saw indicated overnight parking prohibited, but we decided not to tangle with the Sheriff's office. I had had a run-in with an old lady, presumably the owner of the house and wharf next door, over gathering dead branches to cook my steaks, and she's probably the one who complained. Just reinforces my belief that cops are nothing more than the hired guns of the ruling class.
last updated 2010-07-19 11:59:23. served from tektonic.jcomeau.com