The buses finally roll at 9 a.m., churning up a cloud of dust as they turn from the gravel parking lot onto the narrow, two-lane highway that leads to Cimarron. We take a last good look behind us at Urraca Mesa and Tooth Ridge. Now, Villa Philmonte flashes past on the right. And there's the buffalo pasture on the left. Above the grassy plain, we see Cimarroncito. And off in the distance, Baldy is a deep, shadowy blue in the morning sun. It's hard not to look one more time at the landmarks which have guided us for nearly two weeks.

In minutes we have reached Cimarron and turn right onto highway 58. The rangeland on our right is part of the UU Bar Ranch, once part of the Waite Phillips property. Now the ranch and the UU Bar brand are owned by the Faudree family of Texas.

At Left: The Toughest Part of a Philmont Trek - Leaving

Behind us, Philmont's mountains still dominate the horizon but they are growing smaller as the miles pass. We turn our eyes and thoughts to the road ahead, and begin the process of committing Philmont to fond memory.

Soon, we are heading south on Interstate 25, zipping along at a rapid clip parallel to - but 25 miles distant from - the Cimarron Mountains.

One of the groups with us on the bus ride today is Sam Miller's crew from Troop 232 in our own North Atlanta District.

Sam's guys say they are already hungry and launch into some rock songs that have food lyrics in them, stressing the part about food. It is all good natured and the singing is quite good. But they'll have to stay hungry just a little longer. The advisors are under orders from Fred Sidler not to give out lunches until we reach Albuquerque.

Two hours into the bus ride we are on the outskirts of Santa Fe. There is no excitement at the state prison today, in contrast to last year's episode. But within a week, we will be reading news reports of a daring, helicopter-assisted escape attempt here. The attempt fails, but only after police bring in their own helicopters and force the would-be escapees down. Things may be high-tech today, but this is still the wild west!

We pull into Albuquerque a little after 1 p.m. and unload at a city park just a block from Old Town. We pass out the box lunches and instruct everyone to be back at the buses in an hour.

The lunches - chicken nuggets, chips and other goodies - are quickly consumed, and then most everyone wanders down to Old Town.

Old Town is the original center of Albuquerque. It has been restored now and the historic buildings surrounding its tree-lined plaza are occupied by a wonderful variety of shops and vendors and artisans. This is, of course, a must-see attraction for visitors to the city.

We break into groups for this all-too-short visit. Some go in search of Mexican restaurants. Some simply wind through the narrow alleys and streets, window-shopping the wares. T-shirt shops abound. Each block seems to have a candy store.

We don't have enough time here to even consider a stop at the Albuquerque Museum with its displays of ancient Spanish weapons and New Mexican artifacts, or a stop at the New Mexico Museum of Natural History with its dinosaur exhibits. Both are adjacent to Old Town.

Time slips by too quickly. Far too soon it is time to return to the park and board the buses.

When we do so, however, we find the buses aren't there. We sit and wait, wondering what has happened. Then the buses come roaring up and the explanation is at hand. Mr. Sidler has gotten a crew together and taken the buses to the airport to unload all the packs and send them off to the Delta baggage handlers. A superb touch! That will save us considerable time at the airport and make the next leg of our journey a simple process of moving only ourselves - not the baggage - to the appropriate place. Fred gets a well-deserved round of thanks for his thoughtfulness.

And now the buses roll to the airport once more, this time with the full contingent aboard. The trip is short but unloading is a bit slow. Because of the airport construction work, only one bus at a time can pull into the unloading area. Soon, however, the whole contingent finds itself crowded into a waiting room at the Albuquerque airport and there is a lot of excited chatter as we wait for our flight to be announced.

Passengers from several arriving flights pass through the area while we wait. The presence of 150 or so uniformed Scouts prompts many friendly comments.

Shortly after 5 p.m., the flight is called. We make our way across the hot tarmac, climb the roll-away stairs, say hello to the stewardesses and find our way to previously-assigned seats. Once again we are aboard a 727 and Scouts are placed near the windows while advisors are on the aisles.

There is little delay. The stairs are rolled away and before long the 727 is taxiing under its own power to the end of the runway. There is a pause while the pilot waits for clearance. Then the three big jet engines roar to life and the jet rolls down the runway gathering speed. The low oxygen content of the air means the jet must use a considerable amount of runway to reach takeoff speed. At what seems like the last possible moment, the pilot pulls the wheel back and we are rising into the sun, skirting the mesa that walls-in the airport on one side.

There are lots of excited folks on this flight. There is much talking back and forth across the aisles, and a good deal of excited chatter from row to row. A few card games break out. A few Scouts press cameras against the windows to click-off the final frames of film. A few seats slide back into the "snooze" position so Scouts can get a little shut-eye on the flight.

Delta has provided each of us with cardboard Mickey Mouse ears to promote its link with Walt Disney World. At one point, the entire airplane is awash in Mouse ears, and numerous pictures are taken of this unusual event.

The servers offer refreshments and then a nice dinner.

Somewhere over Texas, we encounter towering thunderheads. The pilot tells us over the intercom that he is changing course slightly to avoid even more severe weather. The move pays off. The flight remains smooth and comfortable for the rest of the trip.

Somewhere further east, we break out of the cloud cover and fly into a bright blue, late-afternoon sky. But even as we watch, the blue fades to dusk and then to night, as though we are watching a sequence of time-lapse film.

We have, of course, crossed two time zones and instead of the time being 7 p.m., which our watches show because they are set to New Mexico time, it is actually 9 p.m. We have lost two hours. It should be getting dark.

As we near home and fly over the suburbs, the land below glows with thousands of pinpoints of light. The excitement aboard the plane is palpable.

We sense the aircraft slowing and descending, and hear the whine as the landing wheels are lowered into position. That bump we just felt tells us the wheels are down and locked.

We glide in low over the expressway, able to see the headlights of hundreds of cars rushing beneath us. Then there is the bump of touchdown and the whine of engines being reversed to slow us from the 120-knot landing speed.

We taxi to the gate, the plane comes to a stop and the engines wind down. We are home.

Off the plane we go, a sea of tan-and-green uniforms scurrying down the rampway and into the terminal where hundreds - gosh, it looks like thousands - of parents and friends are waiting to greet us. There are many smiling, happy faces here to greet Scouts and advisors alike.

We find our families and head off individually to the baggage claim area, our grand adventure over. There is no time now for profound words. We are, quite simply, swept up in the process of greeting loved ones, gathering our gear and heading off into the night toward home.

There will be time in the future to talk about our trip; to remember the fun, the hardships, the thrills. Right now, it's just good to be home.