As Ranger Glen loves to say:
Rule #1: There are no rules.
Or so he would have you believe. Not even counting the No Whining rule, and the slightly more subtle No Silent Whining rule, there are in fact thousands of rules, if you count the unwritten variety.
For your convenience, here is an incomplete compendium of the unwritten rules written down here1. There will be a test, which by definition will include any additional unwritten rules not appearing on this list.
Don't whine about the test, or you won't be invited back.
- When preparing to drive down to the desert, be aware that Jerry's bike will never be ready when Bob shows up at 5AM to caravan down. "Hey Bob, I'm almost ready to start packing. I think my bike needs a piston or something. Gimme a minute..."
- Always perform your desert prep for the trip. If your name is Eric, this entails looking in the garage and making sure that your bike is in the same place you parked it after bringing it home from the last desert trip. If you used to own a 1982 RX-7, this would involve removing the passenger seat to make more space for all the camping crap.
- And speaking of crap, once you get to the desert, be aware that you must crap in a hole in the ground. Don't panic, Bob has prepared a "special shitting surprise". Bob: maybe you could weld on a magazine rack one of these years.
- It's better if you crap in a hole in the ground behind a perfectly selected mesquite bush just as the sun comes up.
- Don't crap in Mary's favorite spot. It annoys her, Glen.
- If a Jeep full of sightseers drives past as you are crapping in a hole in the ground, wave politely.
- After crapping in a hole, bury your turds.
- Burn the toilet paper before you bury your turds because its better for the environment.
- Don't burn the toilet paper, because it's bad for the air.
- Don't crap in a hole in the ground because it's bad for the environment. We need to get a porta-potty.
- Don't come up with crap arguments about why we need a porta-potty after all these years. Indians have been crapping in this desert for millennia.
- Our craps are different than indian craps. It's something to do with food additives.
- Like our craps are radioactive or what? I so doubt it.
- Oh, like you are the Einstein of crapping now.
- Listen: if you want to make an argument, don't give us a smoke screen, give us the real reason. If your wife-of-the-week doesn't want to crap behind a bush, that's fine. We just want to hear you say it.
- No, that's not it, I swear.
- C'mon, say it. Say it!
- That's not it. But we're getting one this year. Don't forget to tip the porta-potty dude so it smells nice on Thanksgiving day.
- Wait until the person using the porta-potty door closes the door before using it for potato cannon target practice.
- If you go into town in the morning, you must bring back enough Egg McMuffins for everyone.
- Make sure to put the magazines back in the library. It's really annoying to finally find that two year old copy of "Double-D Fever" inside someone's toolbox covered with what you can only hope is chain wax.
- Don't let Glen pass out by the fire, for no matter how warm the fire seems to be at the moment, it will get cold later, and apparently Julie has a long memory for such things.
- Don't bring anything to the desert that would cause you to be annoyed if it got utterly destroyed.
- Chairs that you bring to the desert will have a half-life of about 2 years.
- If someone wraps a brick of firecrackers with 50 turns of duct tape and then secretly deposits it into the fire whereupon 10 minutes later all 5000 firecrackers go off in the span of about 10 seconds, close your eyes, point your feet up at the fire to shield your face, and shout "I'm not moving!". Don't forget to cover your drink.
- Fabric chairs have a half-life of one brick of firecrackers. When the half-life of anything has been exceeded, it is your duty to potlatch it on the spot. [Potlatch: v. destruction of a useless article of, uh, anything, esp. by burning with fire. Or gunfire.]
- Desert Veterans who invite rookies to the desert assume all financial responsibility for the rookie.
- Desert Veterans who invite women to the desert assume all financial responsibility for their woman, even if their woman tosses the Z50 down the road so hard that every single part of the front end is destroyed and the solid steel front wheel now looks like some wonky cartoon wobble-wheel.
- The desert is a harsh place. Don't expect your ex-girlfriend to speak to you on the way home, even if it is a ten hour drive, and you are financially responsible for a Z50 front end.
- People who invite rookies that get dis-invited from future desert trips must accept that they will have to endure years of abuse to follow. You know who you are.
- If the cops show up within 30 seconds after the nightly acetylene cannon blast has gone off, invite them for a drink. A gracious host always makes a good impression.
- It's easier to burn your clothes in the campfire than to take them home and wash them. Smells better on the way home, too.
- If your name is Kurtis and you get cholla spines stuck in your willy while riding on the trail, don't expect any help from your buddies to get them out. You are so seriously on your own. The pliers are in the tail pack. We'll wait over here. We won't even watch.
- If you are a female desert rookie named Karolyn who happens to be a woman and not looking the least bit like Kurtis and get cholla spines stuck in your thigh, just drop your pants and ask Al for help. Be prepared to wait for a while. Al is thorough, if nothing else.
- If you are a female desert rookie named Karolyn who happens to be a woman and not the least bit like Kurtis and has a brand new truck tent to set up, just clear out of the way because setting up tents is men's work, and they'll prove it if it takes every single one of them. And it does. Don't worry, you can fix it tomorrow.
- Don't mess with the women on Thanksgiving day. If they want a candle light dinner, they shall have one, and you shall agree that it is the best Thanksgiving ever.
- Don't even try to enumerate the rules regarding food preparation on Thanksgiving Day. Your hard drive isn't big enough.
- It is your sacred duty to remind Glen not to overcook the baked potatoes.
- Thanksgiving turkey must be prepared in one of the two traditional methods:
- Buried in a hole in the sand.
- Deep fried (the method favored by the Pilgrims, I think). Which brings up the question: how many men does it take to deep fry a turkey? A: all of them. And a word of advice: don't let your dog eat the peanut oil-soaked sand under the turkey fryer. She will barf up gravel on your nice new truck's leather seats for 10 straight hours, all the way home.
- You can never have enough good beer, especially if Eddy is around.
- Good beer tends not to come in cans.
- Bring your own chairs for the campfire. If you forgot to bring chairs, no whining.
- If you get up from your chair at the campfire to go get a beer, you relinquish all rights both to that spot, and to that chair. While you are up, get Eddy another beer.
- Julie has retired from flashing. Quit asking.
- The food should get stuck in coolers on day one. As food or ice runs out, stick more food or ice in the coolers, as required. Alternately, on all subsequent days, food should be constantly moved and rearranged between coolers for the express purpose of, well, some damn purpose that escapes all of the menfolk. Maybe it's a power thing, knowing exactly where the mustard is. Beats me.
- If someone needs to perform maintenance on anything, crowd around and shout helpful and encouraging advice. Drinking helps keep up the flow of advice. Knowledge of the subject matter is not strictly required, and in fact can be a detriment to the flow of advice.
- As a rule, Jerry's bike will run for exactly 27 minutes during the whole trip. This may be due to piston problems, or maybe because of a wheeling lesson he gave Glen resulting in a raspberry on Jerry's arse the size of Rhode Island. Abuse to follow. For years.
- If your tools aren't manly, leave them hidden in your toolbox. There is nothing worse than having tools that aren't manly enough. Bob has manly tools. In fact, his air compressor is so manly that his generator can't start it. Now, that's manly. Not particularly useful, but manly. On the other hand, John has a pair of 60KW diesel generators. While being the very essence of manhood, it turns out that they are far too heavy to move, much less take to the desert.
- Communal expenses: Everyone pays for everything. If you refuse to pay for your share of the hellaciously expensive fireworks bill and base your claim on the premise that (A) sitting in your truck constitutes non-participation, and (B) that non-participation constitutes not having to pay, expect Glen to aim the fireworks at your truck, at which point you are deemed to be participating. Abuse to follow forever.
- At some point in the trip, Glen will lose patience with setting off fireworks one at a time, and will proceed to throw the entire remaining box of fireworks on the fire. This is natural behavior. For Glen. Make sure to grab your chair as you clear the area.
- Don't mess with the fire ring. Yolanda likes it just like it is. It reminds her of Glen.
1: How often do you get the chance to work two oxymorons into the same sentence? And a miniscule hyperlink?
18 Feb 2007