They say Alaska is only 25 minutes' drive from Anchorage. That may be true. But drive 25 minutes in the right direction and you'll encounter scenes straight out of Mad Max and Tank Girl.

he first lushly green spring weekend has proven a poor indication of the conditions awaiting us in the Knik River Valley. Most of the vehicles here far exceed the capabilities of our VW bus, but by and large the dirt road is doable without causing major damage.

Buried in a 1200-foot high dust cloud, we push our wimpy vehicle past garbage dumps littered with rusted-through, bullet-riddled hulks that must have once been cars and around ruts in the road certain to destroy our vehicle with the slightest miscalculation.

Monster trucks and ATVs are the dominant form of life in this region. Their trails blanket the forest for miles around; their noise is as omnipresent as the sound of screaming revelers. Many of these people are obviously unconcerned about the amount of trash they leave behind — the side of the road is littered with beer containers.

Thunderdome, a leveled hump about 25 feet higher than the surrounding earth and maybe an acre square, looms gigantic in the pall of dust. Trails come off every side, and a regular traffic stream pours up and down the sides, revving engines high, catching air, above all trying to keep from spilling beers under the strain.

We park in the middle of a trail, think better of it, and park on the river side of the Thunderdome. Camping on the Thunderdome itself is a frightening prospect — riotous neighbors and ground covered with glass guarantee an exciting, but risky, time. Our neighbors warn us: "There's a lot of us and it'll be pretty loud tonight."

We thank them for the thoughtful warning, trust our vehicles to their care, and head out onto the post-apocalyptic riverbed on bikes. I don't think we saw another biker until we reached civilization.

Engines are screaming at maximum output and every caliber of weapon is represented in a constant cacophony of gunfire. Budweiser-filled rednecks' battle cries augment the sound of the wind, blowing columns of dust from the heavy traffic that merge with the airborne pall.