My best friend Halcyon runs the Pink Heart Camp at Burning Man where everything is pink and they serve cucumber water which, truth be told, tastes pretty much like plain old water and if he weren’t my best friend I might accuse him of making up the whole cucumber shebang. His big event is his Pink Bicycle Ride, where about a hundred people who have decked out themselves and their bicycles in pink go for a bike ride around the Playa that ends up in Center Camp. I told Jane Doe I had to do the pink ride with my BFF!
On the day of the ride, I wore these pink wrap-around pants that Jane Doe had given me, put a little more pink duct tape on my clownish shoes, created pink duct tape pasties to cover my nipples–proving once and for all that duct tape is only second to a towel as the most valuable thing needed when traveling the universe–and was prepared to ride over to the Pink Heart Camp when Jane Doe pulled something out of her bag of outfits and accessories.
“Here,” she said as she handed me some pink-framed sunglasses, “You can wear these.” I thought that they were not only a great addition to my makeshift pink outfit but also showed that she was very secure in our relationship, supporting me in looking my best as I blew her off to spend time with my new best friend Halcyon. I laughed when someone asked me where I was going and she answered, “He’s going to The Pink Bike Ride with his best friend Halcyon,” feeling threatened only for a split-second that I might not be the funny one in our relationship.
The Pink Bike Ride consisted of meeting at Pink Heart Camp and drinking some “supposedly” cucumber-infused water, listening to a talk given by Halcyon and then having the hundred plus of us Pinkies ride to Center Camp while we told everyone we passed we loved them. I wasn’t really feeling the “I love you”s at this point and mostly rode in silence, focusing more on keeping my ever-loosening pasties firmly on my nipples. I made a mental note for my return home to search LivingSocial for a stripper boot camp so I could focus on my “dance” and not be distracted by any Janet Jackson-like wardrobe malfunctions.
When we got to Center Camp, we formed a big hand-holding circle about a football field in length. One jackass wanted to ride his bicycle through our circle, as we were temporarily taking up a lot of space on the main thoroughfare. I tried to let him know that he was not far from the end of the circle and could easily go around it without being taken too far out of his path. I saw him pretty much tell his friend, “Fuck it,” as he broke into our circle.
What was cool was that infused with more love than cucumber, the Pinkies exhibited no anger but instead cheered him as he rode the length of the circle. I dropped the fist-sized rock I had picked up to throw at his head, realizing that pink in the heart is worth more than a boo and a push, and reclaimed the hand of the person next to me.
Next we spiraled into the middle of Center Camp until we filled its center circle pink. We ended by hugging each other and saying, “I love you.” With my newfound pinkish hue, the words flowed more easily from my mouth. When I spotted Halcyon, I negated the idea of rushing up to him with a hug and an “I love you” for the reason that he was surrounded like a rock star by a pink entourage and I wasn’t about to wait in line to tell my man crush that I loved him. I also have a strict policy not to hug another man while I have an erection.
I kind of wished Jane Doe was there so that I could have told her I loved her and meant it more than just as a fellow sister on the planet Earth. I would have to settle for telling her about the ride like an excited school girl reporting to her best friend that the cute boy in Biology class just asked her out and, for the sake of my simile, let’s say his name happened to be Halcyon and her name happened to be Swami X.