KINDLING THE SPARKS

SAN FRANCISCO – Rachel and I dash around the city, doing all those essential pre-Burn tasks:

• Securing fake fur to clapped-out mountain bikes – check
• Browsing the pirate supply store – check
• Buying lace-up knee-high boots at Goodwill – ka-ching!

We sling all the goodies into the car, crowned by her light-up jellyfish costume, and floor the accelerator towards Nevada.

Burning Man, for the uninitiated, is a week-long art n' anarchy festival. Around 50,000 fantastically costumed people gather in a prehistoric lakebed, forming the temporary, self-policing city of Black Rock. Though camping in harsh conditions – daytime temperatures routinely exceed 100ºF – they strive to leave no trace. Nor should any currency change hands. Instead, participants gift each other with spectacles, experiences and even food. Many projects involve art cars, dancing in the desert and ginormous propane explosions.

Think steam-punk Richard Scarry. Plus whiteout dust storms.

"But what will you do there?" friends and family press.

I really haven't the foggiest.

And that's the appeal.