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Last year Maggie and I made our first sojourn to the Burning Man at Nevada's remote and spectacular Black Rock Desert. We went because the band Polkacide was playing and she plays the squeeze for them (makes sense, huh?). Well, anyway, we were skeptical to say the least. 4000 people camped on an 80 x 30 mile dry lake bed in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a desert during summer - sounds like a fun holiday, doesn't it? Needless to say, we were ready for the old blow 'n go.

The drive up was a typical I-80 Bay Area to Reno during a major holiday traffic jam. Once outside of Reno, however, the road to Gerlach was carless with one spectacular vista after the next. We were starting to feel the "road trip" taking shape.

The Black Rock Desert is about 100 miles north of Reno. The closest town is Gerlach. It's main industry is Gypsum mining. The people there are a long ways from urban America. Once a year, thousands of city and suburban rats descend upon their little town. Pierced and tatooed, in all shapes and sizes, freaky and trendy, you name it, they all have to pass through Gerlach on their way to the Burning Man Site. No doubt, the local market, restaurant, and bar owner is as happy as a clam.

The site entrance is about 10 miles past Gerlach (it changes from year to year, and you need an official BM map as a guide to keep you out of harms way). Along this stretch of road you get an edge-out perspective of the vastness of "The Playa." Ringed by multicolored desert mountains, the flat, white surface stretches out farther than your imagination wants to let it. This is a big, open space. A huge dust bowl, parched and lifeless.

The first signs of the festival are the rising plumes of dust out on the surface of the alkalai lake bed, kind of like a burning mirage. At the entrance, a couple of very dusty shirtless human beings descend on the vehicle asking for tickets. "We're with Polkacide." "No problem. Just drive straight ahead 4 miles." "Thanks." And off we go.

The direction "straight" turned out to be both literal and practical because we drove blind for about 3 and 1/2 miles through the dusty plumes of the cars ahead of us. Then suddenly it cleared and we could see the encampment. RV's, campers, vans, motorcycles, tents, scaffolding, radio towers, camoflage, and humanity, lots of humanity roaming around on this vast white, alkaline plain. In the center of it all, the man, a towering 40 foot high wooden sculpture. We had arrived...