The first thing I saw when I unzipped my tent on Friday morning at Alienstock was a woman sitting in the driver’s seat of her Subaru, door open, staring at our campsite as if she’d been waiting for me and my videographer, Liz, to wake up.
“Hi neighbor,” she said, pushing up her Naruto headband.
She introduced herself with one name, but told us to call her Ninja, and then forbade us from telling anyone her real name. Ninja had never camped before and was determined to spend the weekend surviving off a massive bag of trail mix. We ended up giving her a ride to the back gate of Area 51 that morning because she didn’t fuel up before arriving in Rachel, where one of three competing music festivals took place, and the nearest gas station was a 45-minute drive down the road known as Extraterrestrial Highway. Read more...
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