802 miles later

Drive south on I-5 out of Seattle and a mere 17 hours or so later you end up at Burning Man. Simple. There is a turnoff from highway 447, the two lane road that has been rolling underneath the car for the past couple of hours. The line of vehicles stretches in a big arc up to the gates. There are signs dotting the landscape which notify drivers that there is an event happening...quite possibly the biggest understatement of a sign ever. I could use a shrub to stand behind to relieve myself but, well, it's the desert and they just don't make many shrubs that grow in desolate arid expanses of salty dirt so I just hope that I don't get too uncomfortable while waiting in line. I am pleasantly surprised to find that the line actually is moving at a pretty decent clip. We're not going to break any land speed records or anything but it isn't stop and go traffic either.

We get passed by a bicyclist who brought all of his gear on the back of his bike. The road we are on is not the most bicycle friendly surface yet he has no problem returning the favor of passing the hundreds of vehicles that must have been passing him all morning.

My first glimpse of the organizers' sense of humor is a mile plus long series of Burma Shave-esque signs lining the access road. The theme of the multi-part message is about how Burning Man is not what it used to be.

This theme echoes throughout many BMan conversations before, during, and after the event.

The line of vehicles marches on and my confidence in the organizers grows. The single line branches into mulitple lanes and there are people directing cars into the various different chutes. I see a sign indicating a separate lane for will call tickets so we pull off to the right and I'm wary since there are not many other cars around us. Where is the huge line for will call tickets? We pull into a sparsely populated parking area. By now the pajama bottoms and long sleeve shirt that I picked up from Goodwill are feeling over dressed for the weather. It is late morning and the mercury has made good headway up the thermometer already. I am about to step out of the car but before I commit my first step to the playa I remember the stern warnings about "playa foot", the painful cracking of skin that has been dried out from extended contact with the alkaline suface of the dried lake bed, so I throw on my socks and hiking boots instead. After detouring to the porta-potty in the parking lot, I figure I can find the will call ticket office by following the long line of people waiting for tickets but once again I am perplexed by the absence of a queue. I literally walk straight up to a window, give them my name and my credit card, and in less than a minute am walking back to the car. Really no waiting so far. Weird. A welcome circumstance but weird just the same.

We pull out of the lot and take a hard right to get into one of the many lanes to gain access to the venue. All lanes have a short line of cars so we arbitrarily pick one. It is clear that there is a protocol at hand because I can see people getting out of their cars, weilding a length of pipe, and striking a bell suspended in a wooden A-frame. Some decide to jump up on the frame as others strike the bell. Some pound the crap out of it. Some barely plink it. I conclude that this must be the deflowering ceremony for Burning Man virgins that I read about. Not nearly the "being pulled from your car and subjected to merciless hazing" exercise that I had feared; nonetheless, I decide that I could do without.

The vehicle in front of us has a clown car full of attendees who each take their turn hitting the bell. The greeter at the gate is taking his own sweet time with this car because all the other lanes in sight have processed at least three cars in the time that it has taken him to take care of the one in front of us. Finally it is our turn and a Ben Kingsley wanna-be pokes his head in and welcomes us to Burning Man. We do the obligatory ticket presentation and he hands us a small tree's worth of information pamphlets including the survival guide which I'd already researched the week before. Not sure what giving someone a survival guide at the entrance is going to do since it is already to late if someone didn't bring enough supplies but I thank him for the pamplets anyway. He reiterates the importance of staying hydrated and asks if this is the first time for us. I immediately reply "it's HER first time" pointing to Violette but before he can get a word out, Violette chimes in that it's my first time also. The greeter has a confused look on his face so I once again make the true though not entirely forthcoming statement that "She's never been here before." But my half-truth doesn't cut the mustard and we are both escorted from the car to ring the bell. A short two notes later and we are back in the car and through the gates.

We are now finally in Black Rock City - Population: thousands...and growing by the minute.