Roughing it is traveling without my hair dryer, so the thought of spending four days on horseback in the Superstition Mountains, sleeping on the ground and keeping a vigil for rattlesnakes in the Arizona desert was not approached with the same enthusiasm as trekking through the wilds of Margaux in Bordeaux. When the confirmation arrived, some of my fears subsided. There would be hot showers, gourmet meals and a fully set-up campsite would be waiting for us after each day's ride. This all sounded fairly civilized, but I knew that each morning I'd have to turn my boots upside down to wake any scorpions that considered them a Hilton. I felt like Billy Crystal in City Slickers; a nice New York Jewish boy, picture Woody Allen in a bola tie, chaps and a cowboy hat. The tour operators had a suggested packing list, but it didn't include an espresso machine. Will the heat taint the bouquet of the Margaux? I found it difficult to face these profound dilemmas! My dear friends pointed out every newspaper article about the peaking of rattlesnake season. I was to be at the stable at 8 AM on Wednesday morning. The supreme irony was driving at the peak of rush hour traffic to begin a trip into consummate desolation 30 miles from Phoenix, Arizona. This is the land where the 'Lost Dutchman Mine' exists. The verifiable stories about the Superstition Mountains and the 'mine' are more frightening than any fiction: torture, murder, deceit, fabulous riches and greed are as common to this area as cacti. The group was eclectic; a florist, psychologist, retired CIA analyst, high school teacher, copier company owner, social worker and her son; in addition three journalists and four wranglers. Most of the group had been on trips before and were fairly adept riders. As photo workshop, the group was also heavily armed with Nikons and Canons. Our horses were assigned according to our ability, weight and height. We checked our cinches, mounted our steeds, adjusted our stirrups and were off. Although I am not a tyro equestrian, my last serious riding was during the Reagan administration. This is not a lazy Sunday afternoon canter through the English countryside; this is seven hours of barren, rocky, hot Arizona desert and mountains. It was exhilarating. Having a well-trained cowpony under you that responds to the slightest touch fulfills every Western fantasy imaginable. After the first hour a relationship develops between you and your horse. "Louis (actually my horse's name was Joker), I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." During the four days we explored ancient ruins, trails carved out by the Spanish conquistadors and had intense dawn and dusk photographic seminars. The running joke for the trip's duration was the head wrangler asking us if any of our cameras worked between nine and four. He did not understand that midday sun in the desert makes harsh shadows. The greatest discovery on this trip were the culinary delights of our chef. I was expecting chuck wagon grub, what was served were fresh cinnamon buns every morning baked in cast iron, six hour roasted pork tenderloin, two inch thick Steak Bearnaise, fresh broccoli, Strawberry Shortcake and Eggs Benedict. The chef studied at the Culinary Institute and merged classic European cuisine with open-fire outdoor Southwest boldness. These were gourmet meals: the Margaux went exquisitely with the Steak Bearnaise. Our camp consisted of two person tents, cots with sheets and pillows, solar showers and a covered dining area to protect us from the Arizona sun. It reminded me of the elegant travelers on safari in the 1890s. It wasn't that plush, but compared to what I had conjured this was the George V in Paris. In some ways it was more spectacular, a few of slept under the stars. Anything I could cite about the midnight desert sky would be a cliché. These four days gave me a new respect for the desert and those who settled this land. With all the comforts we had, 7 hours in the saddle everyday in this harsh environment barely suggests what it must have been like spending months looking for a new home in the frontier.