By Frith Breitzer

Visit Nevada's Black Rock Desert at most any time of the year, and you won't find much there — just a barren desert formed by an ancient lake bed. But come around a week before Labor Day, and you're likely to witness a transformation as awe-inspiring as any desert bloom: the creation of Black Rock City, a counterculture metropolis otherwise known as Burning Man.

It's difficult to explain the concept of Burning Man to the uninitiated. Some call it a neo-pagan festival. Others think of it as this generation's Woodstock. In truth, it is neither. Burning Man can really only be defined by experiencing it.

Miles from the nearest town, the thousands of participants must bring everything they will need to survive in the desert. Monetary transactions are not allowed at the festival. The climate is extreme, and creature comforts are minimal — limited to what people can construct in a few days from materials they have brought in themselves. The ticket to Burning Man warns that participants risk serious injury or death by attending the event.

But participants assume the risks for the chance to create something extraordinary — an ideal society that exists according to its utopian vision, if only for one week. The society is defined by the rules that have been established over the years, and by the feeling of community that develops through shared creative efforts.

Many participants form camps grouped around community projects. Each camp has an interactive element, with open invitations to all who wish to participate. Art, costumes, dancing, and music dominate the playa. In recent years, technology has greatly added to the mix, and this year marks the debut of PlayaNet, a wireless high-speed network that will serve as a festival-wide intranet.