:: My cell phone rings while Ivan and I are packing for Burning Man. Caller ID "unavailable." Out of curiosity, I pick it up. A mysterious voice identifies himself as a member of the avant-garde performance art group known as the Neo-Variety Troupe. Without prompting, he explains that we must pick up a “very important package” en route to Black Rock City. He instructs us to meet him at the Beau Club, a semi-prominent dive bar in Ashland at midnight, and hangs up.

"It's a matter of national security," he says. “Don’t be late" .... click.

It takes three attempts for us figure out how to get all our gear inside Subby Roo—Ivan’s faithful four-wheeled steed. We leave my house at 4:20 on Sunday with a week’s worth of camping supplies, 30 gallons of water, two mountain bikes, enough cord to jump a 300 foot bridge, and nothing but open road in front of us.

After dropping the bikes and cords at a friend’s garage in Ashland, we make our way down to the Beau Club. Five minutes after midnight a thin man wearing a hat and dark glasses enters the bar, walks toward us without hesitation, and slides smoothly into the booth next to Ivan.

He orders a drink and waits for the waitress to leave before speaking to us directly.

"Thanks for coming. Obviously, you understand the importance of the mission."

We nod as if we know what the hell he’s talking about.

He produces a little yellow rubber ducky from his pocket and sets it on the table.

"Gentleman … it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Ducky 103."

According to the Neo-Varietarians, the biggest problem plaguing modern society today is a lack of fun.

"Enjoying life and experiencing adventure are art forms that require cultivation, discipline, and focus,” he explains. “A lot of people take fun for granted. They forget how to dance, laugh, take risks, travel, be impulsive. They lament the passing of their youth and tell stories about the days when they *used* to have fun. A person can’t spend 40 hours a week working and expect to simply turn the fun on when Friday comes. It’s no wonder society is falling apart."

In order to fight the insideous forces of boredom and mediocrity, the Neo-Varietarians released a flock of 200 rubber duckies into the world--an army of little floating fun embassadors. People who accompany these ducks are instructed to send stories and photos back to the Neo-Variety Web site detailing their exploits. According to Thin Man, for some reason, this little ducky wants to go to Burning Man.

Ivan empties the rest of his glass in one long pull, sets it down on the table, and picks up 103 with a squeak. "Have no worries Thin Man. We're trained professionals."

Over the course of a single beer we are transformed from a pair of above-average gravity fiends on their way to BRC, into Duck Brigade 103 … professional postmodern fun operatives; universal defenders of derelict behavior. In a drunken early morning raid, Ivan commandeers a green and white pennant flag from an apartment complex and adorns it with the outline of a two-dimensional water fowl. We approach the gates of Black Rock City proudly flying the banner of DB103. The Greeter says, "Welcome Home."

"Our little yellow friend gives a squeak and I reply: "Greetings ….. We’re with the duck."

"EXCELLENT!!!! Hey guys, they brought the duck!!!" He shouts, prompting loud cheers from the other greeters.

Our Burning Man experience is a haze of sand, wind, sun, art, wild people, cool neighbors (Melrose Place Rocks!), capricious bike gods, drinking, smoking, wandering in the night air, talking, laughing, and dancing until dawn. In the middle of the week we discover why 103 has brought us to the edge of pagan civilization: Devil Duck Camp. They have a large glowing demon rubber ducky and a few dozen hot little bathtub-babes with sharp red horns and cute yellow tail feathers.

Before Ivan can say: “where’s the duck?” … 103 has vanished into the devil dome.

The following morning we find that we are out of coffee, mate’, bagels, and beer.

There is not a single orifice not crusted with playa dust. 103 is passed out on the ground with a fresh tatt on his little rubber ass and a ducky-ate-the-canary-smile on his beak.

We make our escape from BRC in the sunrise and drive to the ***** Reservoir where we spend an hour rigging a King Swing jump to the bottom of the bridge. Ducky’s first flight is 220-feet of gravitational bliss. He rockets through the air at the end of a bright orange lifeline giving out involuntary squeaks of joy as he flies across the surface of the lake, upside down, at terminal velocity.

As I write this, it’s 4:20-am on the pacific coast. I'm still buzzing from the rush of the jump. The city is resting quietly outside while I tap away in the glow of my laptop. Monday is my first real dose of reality. Needless to say, it will be a little harsh. There’s no shortage of work and stress waiting to consume my time. But tonight I will sleep soundly knowing that Ivan and 103 are out there somewhere in the desert with a beautiful girl on their way to Vegas.

Stay tuned for more updates from Duck Brigade 103, where having fun is serious business.