Down the road with no particular place to go, we wander an old friend of a road, the Blue-Balls Trail headed Stopping every couple of miles to many may seem like you'd never get very far but it's not the quantity, it's the quality of the off-road experience. We bounce along sometimes so hard that my neck gets sore from fighting the side to side motion of the crawling over seemingly endless patches of undulating white sandstone, to my head and the bruise I'm nursing from banging it during a moment of inattention. I've often seen professional rally racing on the tele where the navigator calls off to the driver the turn ahead with the exact distance to the next turn. Here I feel like I should play the same role for Brian but he deftly dodges and serpentines so well on his own, I'm left with little to do but hang on. It's a great ride.

During the day we visited the Spring Canyon area. This narrow, steep and rocky trail winds from the rim of the canyon to the Green River bottom in a series of cliff-hugging switchbacks that deliver the brave to the bottom of the canyon at least 1200 feet below. The reward at the bottom is a small spot of shade against a cut bank near the only water we've seen in days ,the Spring Canyon 'crick'. Traveling farther down the road we come to a wide spot on a delta where the crick empties into the grand Green River.

returning to Frog Hollow, was spent pretty much like so many other nights out here under the stars. An endless parade from the pile to the fire with loads of the dried out Juniper wood and bowling pins. Maple bowling pins mind you. Not these el cheapo plastic look alike's, these are the real thing and they burn for hours!

On our fourth day in the desert was plagued with mechanical trouble of a most mysterious kind. Brian's Landcruiser seemed to be possessed by demons reaffirming it's given name; 'Antichrist' given to' er years ago after seeing the film "The Gods Must Be Crazy". Surely this is not a self fulfilling prophecy, calling it that and then it becomes possessed? Impromptu repair sessions in the sand and even a quick look while stopped for ice at the local gas station never proved helpful. Even with the master mechanics Brian and Junior on the case, the beast would not run right no matter who's wrench was.

applied. No doubt a good dinner and a few drinks will help jog the 'ol mental Chilton Manual.

Now I have eaten lots of stuff in the desert before, and after a long day of eating sand and pulling you shorts outta yer crack, I have never tasted better food that what Brad and Dick whooped up for dinner the fourth

night. Desert Chciken was the dish and no bones to be found. Plump breasts (that'll show up on a Google search eh?), meaty thighs and just the right spices and natural jucies. My mouth's watering right now as I write this! Kudos boys for a fine recipe. After dinner, once again the tunes get cranked, the chairs arrianged. Fire is the lifeblood of any camping trip. I sometimes wonder what it must have been like when the Indians were here around their fires

800 years ago. One thing is for sure, they certainly saw the same amazing sky at night complete with this unfettered view of the Milky Way from horizon to horizon. Granted they didn't have The Doors or Neil Young to listen too or a Budwiser to sip on but they must no doubt have found their own ways of having a good time. Can you say pass the Peyote Buttons?

To be continued...