We orbited the city to take pictures. KBRC is not a real airport and is completely uncontrolled, but it has a list of procedures that must be followed for safety--otherwise the FAA will impose their own set of rules, which spoils it for everyone. There is a clockwise traffic pattern around the city itself (which makes it easy for passengers to take pictures), and you must announce your position to others in the pattern by reference to "The Man"--the wooden effigy that is the center of the city: "Blue and white twin Piper, three o'clock to The Man, six thousand five hundred."

We orbited the city and took pictures, but we listened to all of the other planes entering the traffic pattern to land at KBRC itself.

I have never landed on anything but concrete or asphalt before. I know the procedures for soft-field takeoffs and landings and have practiced them for the private pilot's flight test, but I've never done it for real. So what got it in my head to actually LAND at KBRC?

It had to be the vibrations from that place, the lure of an exotic destination, the pull of thousands of souls in the wilderness communing with themselves. Heck, I don't know. But now I knew I was going to put it down. I descended, entered the traffic pattern, and announced that I was going to land.

Of course, just as I turn final, a parachutist jump plane pulls out ahead of me and starts his takeoff roll. JERK! What I probably should have done was do a three-sixty and come around for another try. But what I did was slow it down and kept on coming down.

But now I'm landing in the desert, not at a real airport...and that departing jump plane has left a cloud of dust in his wake, and because there's no wind (unusual for Burning Man), the cloud isn't blowing away. I get over the end of the runway, flare to land...and I'm suddenly in zero-zero visibility for about two hundred feet.

I pop out of the dust just as the wheels hit the playa. I'm down safely.

I roll out pretty far down the runway because I don't know what braking will be like on this sand-gravel-dirt surface, and when I turn off the runway I'm in two inches of hard-baked desert dirt. It takes twice the power to taxi through this stuff until I reach the graded taxiway.

I'm talking to "The Interceptor," the volunteer assigned to help park visitors. Since I'm not staying, I'm told to park away from the other planes so I don't scatter dust on the campers or their planes.

The "control tower" is a 2x4 stand about twenty feet high, manned by guys with portable radios. "Customs" is a woman in a tie-dyed nightie who blocks the door to the city unless you have a wristband, signifying that you've paid the $300 admission fee. The Phoenix Bar is an area with benches and a few hammocks, but that's inside the city so it's off-limits to Ken and I.

So our experience at Burning Man was walking up and down the "trash line" which is the city limits, peering at the city residents like they're zoo animals. We see every conceivable kind of vehicle, bicycle, tent, RV, camper, and human. Most have clothes on; a few somehow have forgotten. A truck with parachute wings shuttles residents to KBRC; another truck with a big party platform on top is announcing a party somewhere.

After about 45 minutes gawking at the residents and talking with the "staff," it was time to leave. I had to use anti-vapor lock procedures to get the engines started in the hot dry air, but I finally get them started, and we blast off. The flight back to civilization was uneventful.

I'm not a superstitious or cosmic guy, but visiting Burning Man did have an effect on me. It really was an experience, and I was on the outside looking in--close enough to feel whatever energy or vibrations were emanating from that place.

Someday, when Hunter is grown, I'll probably take Diane back to Burning Man. And yes, I'll definitely fly in. That was the best part of the experience for me.

SPOT satellite track of Burning Man flight

Download a PDF of the map created of Ken and my flight yesterday to the Burning Man festival in the Black Rock Desert northeast of Reno, NV.

The waypoints you see are generated by a SPOT satellite tracking device I carry in the plane that periodically sends out a position signal to a service via satellite. Lake Tahoe is on the bottom left; Pyramid Lake is in the center; northeast of Pyramid Lake is the "Black Rock City International Spaceport" that is created in the desert by volunteers during the festival.

The SPOT transmitter is a small inexpensive handheld device that can send out an "I'm OK" or "Send help" message to selected e-mail or phone recipients, or it can send a "911" message to search and rescue. It works anywhere in the world except for the extreme north or south latitudes, and all it needs is an annual subscription, charged AA lithium batteries, and a clear view of the sky.

In 2009 the FAA is discontinuing VHF and UHF monitoring of aircraft emergency locator beacons, in favor of higher-frequency satellite monitoring. The new emergency beacons are very expensive. Devices like SPOT can deliver a similar service not only for aircraft but for any travel or excursion you might take that's outside of cellular phone coverage, and do it for a whole lot less money-perfect for outdoorsmen, campers, hikers, offshore boaters, back-country skiers, RVers, and those who travel to out-of-the-way destinations.

SPOT won't automatically activate itself in case of a crash like current emergency locator beacons will, but I'm sure that's in the works. I wouldn't fly a plane without it.

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