The Rusted Dawn
The Wasteland Weekend gate at dusk — a metal arch spelling WASTELAND in red over scrap-walled towers, seen from atop a vehicle, with wastelanders walking the dusty road below.
The gates of Wasteland, last light
The WASTELAND gate at dusk with wrecked-car set pieces and quads parked along the scrap walls.
Gate traffic, day one
Three tribe members take a selfie on a dirt road at sunset, the sun blazing low between trailers and RVs lined up behind them.
Convoy in. Sun going down, dust settling.
Daytime group selfie at camp — four wastelanders in distressed gear, goggles, and headwraps grinning under a blue desert sky, canopies and vehicles behind.
Day one, camp standing, morale high
Three members raise metal mugs and a can at night in front of a camp frontage strung with banners, patches, and a DO NOT PASS sign.
Mugs up at the frontage
Grandpa in a red-banded black hat reads The Wastelander newspaper in a plaid armchair inside a draped trading post — the exact scene on his badge.
Grandpa catches up on the news
Grandpa settled deep into the plaid armchair in the trading post, boots crossed, The Wastelander still open.
Slow news week in the wastes
Brisket in spiked pauldron and rusted armor plates lounges on a throne built from a Jeep front grille, baby-doll heads mounted on either side.
Brisket holds court. The throne disagrees quietly.
A wastelander in a brimmed hat and goggles takes the Jeep-grille throne, boot up on the deck plate, doll heads on the armrests.
The throne, under new management
Champ Chicharrón in a torn gold dress, fur mantle, and chainmail face mask stands beside Brisket in a distressed vest, in front of an RV.
Champ Chicharrón & Brisket, RV-side
Sweet Tooth poses in the desert backlit by the sun, holding a tattered parasol, in goggles, fishnets, and armored boots.
Sweet Tooth, parasol diplomacy
Two members in full kit — distressed vest and torn gold dress with a fur mantle — pose at golden hour, the sun setting between camp tents behind them.
Inspection passed at golden hour
Two wastelanders pose back to back in front of an RV — one in a torn white dress holding a tin cup, one in a feathered marching-band shako and cut-off blazer.
Formal wear, wasteland rules
Three members at dusk by the RVs — chainmail mask and gold dress, tongue out in distressed leathers, and a torn white dress with a bone bracer.
Three flavors of trouble
The same trio at dusk, smiling this time, thumbs up in the middle.
The polite take
Three members pose beside an RV at dusk, one peering over the others' shoulders from behind.
The photobomb was planned
Two smiling members take a selfie in the shade beneath a rusted truck bed, blue sky behind.
Shade is wherever you find it
The same two members under the rusted truck, a skull-topped pole in the background.
Same truck, take two
Two members hug for the camera in front of a barter-town stall, chalkboards listing games and trade rules behind.
Barter town regulars
Brisket at night, tongue out and arms spread, holding a battered steel bottle, a barter wheel of fortune behind him.
Brisket consults the wheel
Two members sprawl across cushions in a purple-lit lounge tent, flashing hand signs at the camera.
Diplomacy, lounge division
A member in a brimmed hat lounges sideways across a camp chair in a purple-lit tent, boots over the armrest.
Off duty. Boots stay on.
A fire performer in a horned mask breathes a jet of flame before a night crowd ringed around a sand arena, a geodesic dome glowing behind.
Fire show at the dome
A fire performer spins twin flames at the center of a torch-lit night crowd, stage rigging glowing at the left.
Fire circle, second show
A fire performer kneels in the sand, arms spread, flames blooming from both hands before a night crowd.
Offering accepted
Inside a geodesic dome at night lit blue and orange, spectators climb the struts while fighters square off on the sand floor below.
The dome. Two enter, etc.
The geodesic thunderdome at night washed in blue light, spectators clinging to the struts above the sand floor.
Full house at the dome
Fighters square off on the sand inside the thunderdome while a referee with a feathered staff watches, the crowd pressed against the lattice.
Bout night
A fighter leaps mid-swing inside the thunderdome as the crowd watches from the lattice and the sand.
Physics will sort it out
Three members at night beneath the gate, the WASTELAND letters lit by open flame high above.
Closing time at the gate
Night selfie under the gate, the WASTELAND letters burning with open flame overhead while five tribe members mug for the camera.
Under the burning sign
A blurry night selfie of five grinning members under the burning WASTELAND sign.
Conditions: deteriorating. Morale: high.
Four tribe members in full kit at night — tin mugs in hand, tongues out, every middle finger raised at the camera.
The Elders send their regards
A gold bottlecap printed with a black rooster smoking a cigar against a sunset — Champ Chicharrón's personal mark.
Calling card, Champ Chicharrón edition