[Continuing Jon's story from part 2...]
Many naturists equate being nude with being in tune with nature. Try being nude during a desert dust storm of whiteout proportions. It's nature at its wildest. The storms develop suddenly and last only a short time. All you can do is turn your back to the wind and cover your face and nose. When it's over you're coated with a fine white powdered dust. At least I didn't have to wash it out of my clothes.
After living nude and seeing a lot of surrounding casual nudity, it was humorous to one day watch a lone textile, wearing white briefs, struggle to bathe in an outdoor shower. You have to wonder how he ever worked up the courage to even be seen in public in his underwear.
We can all look back on our youth and remember the excitement generated by the ice cream truck when it visited the neighborhood. Similar scenes were abundant at the festival when the water truck sprinkling the dusty streets passed your campsite. People of all ages immediately stripped nude to chase the truck and briefly enjoy the cool spray and a chance to rinse off the dust.
All too soon it was time to leave. After loading the van, I drove off, still nude. Volunteers stationed at the exit, reminded folks they were returning to the real world and to drive carefully because local authorities loved the money traffic violations produced. The volunteer suggested I put something on in case I was stopped. I complied by donning a pair of cotton shorts for the short drive to nearby Gerlach. I was headed northwest for Oregon through a lonely stretch of desert terrain. After passing Gerlach, the shorts came off and I drove nude for the next hour and a half. At one point I took a long break to refill my water bottle and walked up the road for a hundred yards surveying the empty landscape. It was quite amazing to stand nude in the middle of a highway and see nothing but miles of sagebrush and the distant hills.
Signs of civilization appeared as I approached Eagleville, California, the first outpost of civilization, 69 miles from Gerlach. Spotting an attractive local café reminded me it was lunchtime. I parked across the road to put on my shorts. As I entered the café I hadn't quite started to button my shirt when a waitress, obviously alarmed by my exposed chest and abdomen, quickly approached and insisted I button the shirt completely before entering! Welcome back to the world of prudish textiles. I wonder what she would say if she knew I had been nude for the past four days and was naked only two minutes before meeting her?
Burning Man was such a delightful and positive experience in living the nude life, I'm already making plans to attend [another] festival to enjoy all eight days of it.
[If you have any comments, questions, or similar stories, be sure to post them below.]