Chattering teeth in the desert and more hilarious mutant vehicles at Burning Man

Burning Man, the festival in the Nevada desert, is full of unusual things, which may be an understatement.

Among them is mutant vehicles. Here is the second installment on the movers and shakers at Black Rock City's Burning Man and the people behind them.

The festival wraps up Monday.

Chatterbox

There’s something oddly comforting, and deeply silly, about seeing one of your childhood wind-up toys grinding its way across the playa.

Since it first appeared at Burning Man in 2011, Chatterbox has been one of my favorites: a simple concept, perfectly executed.

“We were looking for something we hadn’t yet seen on the playa,” said co-creator Doug Facer, who works in surgical support in Salt Lake City.

“Of course, I had a pair as a kid. Everyone loves chattering teeth.”

Do they actually chatter? “No,” Facer said, sadly.

“It’s a safety issue. We thought about making them chatter, but too many people just walk up and stick their head in between the teeth.”

There are no false teeth in Chatterbox, but “we do have a gold tooth we stick in once in a while,” he said.

“We’ve also had suggestions for a tooth with a diamond implant – someone ever suggested braces. But I don’t think so.”

When I asked how people generally respond to his mutant vehicle, Facer acknowledged there were two questions he gets all the time.

“The first one is, ‘Are you a dentist?’ I’m not. The other one is, ‘Have you flossed today?’”

The natural followup question: “Have you?”

“Yep, just this morning. With a cloth and a bottle of cleaner.”

Inktvis

There are the mutant vehicles that amaze, there are the mutant vehicles that amuse, and there are the ones that give me a lift when I stick my thumb out on the playa.

The smaller mutant vehicles are often full, so I was surprised when the fuzzy green four-seater with long purple tentacles stopped for me.

“Inktvis” means “squid” in Dutch; builder Josh Bishop, from Nashville, named it so as an homage to his Dutch wife.

“It was inspired by a pirate ship I saw at the regional burn in Tennessee,” Bishop says, referring to one of the scores of lesser Burning Man events that happen, all year, in every U.S. state and in 30-odd countries around the world.

“I loved the ship—but I also realized that such a ship needed an enemy; a worthy predator. I wanted them to know that no ship can be safe in the waters of Tennessee.”

“But there’s no ocean bordering Tennessee,” I noted.

He replied: “That’s right. We’re landlocked.”

First appearing on the Black Rock Playa in 2012, the Inktvis has a few notable superpowers. “It can hug you,” Bishop said gleefully, showing me the toggle to operate the tentacles.

On cue, two burners in scant attire ran from their camp and directly into the arms of the stopped squid, which embraced them. They giggled; then quickly shrieked.

“What happened?” I asked

“It’s a squid,” Bishop replied. “It just squirted them with ink.”

He caught my expression. “Don’t worry!” he said. “It’s only water.”

Beamer Steamer

What happens when you give a retired aerospace mechanic—and a lifelong science fiction fan, raised on Ray Bradbury, William Gibson and Steampunk—a bunch of crazy hardware and the frame of a 1973 Super Beetle?

Though it’s assembled from antiques and cast-offs, Bob and Karen Thompson’s “Beamer Steamer” is anything but creaky. It’s an exercise in finish fetish.

At first glance, it looks like every piece was hand-tooled, machined for this vehicle alone. On closer inspection, though, the beauty emerges in the details: Garbage can lids; milk cans; part of a satellite dish; glass fuses; cornucopias artfully arranged on the front grill.

The builders, from south Oregon, tried to define the hybrid for me.

--Like Mad Max meets Willie Wonka.

--Or Willie Wonka meets Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

--Or The Little Engine That Could meets the Batmobile.

The Thompsons are lifelong tinkerers, but had previously limited their vehicles to the non-motorized species.

For 23 years, they built exotic moving contraptions for – as Bob reverently pronounced – “The Great Arcata to Ferndale World Championship Kinetic Sculpture Race” (now known as the Kinetic Grand Championship) a 42-mile rally that began in 1969. That race uses exclusively human-powered machines.

The Beamer Steamer was conceived in 2011, when Bob “got tired of pedaling.” It turned out to be more of a project than either Thompson anticipated.

“It was like a classic kitchen remodel,” Bob said. “‘Hey, honey,’ I can get this done in three months!’’

The cost? “I don’t know,” said Bob. “Thousands of dollars.” He shook his head. “But that’s not counting the hours – and there were thousands of them too.”

The Monaco

“We sail a ship that doesn’t float on a lake that isn’t here.”

Capt. Greg Barron was referring, of course, to Lake Lahontan, the ancient and dried-up alkaline sea that, 35,000 years ago, covered what is now the Black Rock Playa.

The “ship” referred to the Monaco, a faithful half-scale replica of the U.S. frigate Raleigh, commissioned as a Man o’ War in 1775, then captured by the British during the American Revolution.

It’s a beautiful vessel, a vision in the dust, her mutant masts rising up to 46’ high, its top “sailing” speed a brisk 17 knots.

Barron built the Monaco from the chassis up, using as his base a 1983 GM Monaco camper, which is 35 feet long.

“Picking a name was interesting,” said Barron, who lives in Alameda. “I had a whole list of possibilities – taken from old myths and seafaring tales – when my partner at the time suggested the name on the back of the camper.”

It was a proud ship even before its radical conversion. The Monaco RV coach, 32 years ago, sold for about $200,000.

Unlike many mutant vehicle captains, Barron has a day job that's as unique as his role at Burning Man. He is a real-life captain, conducting sailing tours to the Farallon Islands off the San Francisco peninsula.

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FOR THE RECORD

Sept. 8, 2:17 p.m.: An earlier version of this article included information on the author's accommodations during Burning Man in a JUCY vehicle.

He originally accepted a discount for use of the vehicle, which is a violation of The Times' policy for travel articles. That section has been removed. The author has since paid the full amount.

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