Much of the Sahara Desert we traveled through was made up of hard black sand --miles and miles of it. There are no roads -- only tracks. As our Land Rover reached the crest of a hill, we saw this local bus weaving its way towards us across the desert. The “bus” is actually a large van, its roof overflowing with baggage and bikes. From this distance, it is incongruously diminished in scale by the vast desert it is crossing. I structured the image so that the track in the foreground leads us to a junction. At the junction, one set of tracks moves off the left into the sweeping curve that carries our eyes to the bus, while the other set of tracks veers to the right. Cross the Sahara is often a jouncing, dusty game of “following the track.”