Make Another Day

Reno is Reno. Don’t ever go there.

Too many people. Way too many. Had to get away, maybe not as far away as we got, but it was definitely time to get out of Vegas. North on US 95 to the biggest little city in the world, to prepare for a week in the desert. It was anywhere between a 5 to 14 hour drive depending on who you listened to, the guy at the Jiffy Lube or the surly girl at the gas station, but after the Hoover Dam anything was possible.

As soon as we got out of the city limits, it was too few people. As in none. Some of the most desolate areas I’ve ever seen. I’ve since learned that a large portion of Nevada is owned by the Federal government, some of which is used for military bases, and of course, testing nuclear bombs, the latter might explain some of the people we encountered on our way. Small towns such as Beatty, Tonopah, and Hawthorne, each creepier than the last. In between was nothing. Nothing at all. As it got darker it got scarier. Long stretches of highway with no signs of life except for mice scurrying across the road. No lights, and it was so dark it was impossible to tell if the car was going uphill or down. Supposedly we passed a lake on the way, but all we saw was a guardrail and pitch black. If it wasn’t for the pick-up trucks pulled over every so often we wouldn’t have believed there was anything next to us.

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any more frightening, we reached our destination, Reno. The self proclaimed biggest little city in the world, made famous for the divorces. Vegas’ ugly, inept, immoral sister.    

It’s hard not to feel something about Las Vegas.  There’s so many lights and sounds, so much energy, so many people, that’s it’s impossible to walk away feeling nothing.  I left feeling repulsed and in need of a shower, and it wasn’t just because of the oppressive heat.

There’s an atmosphere of getting away with something.  Everyone is sixteen again.  Sneaking out of bedroom windows, stealing bottles of their parents’ scotch, kissing in corners.  They have all left home to be blinded by the Vegas lights.  They have come to pretend.  To dress in different clothes, eat different food, pretend that they are someone richer, prettier, more fabulous.  Most importantly, they come with the fantasy that one spin of the wheel, one pull of the handle, one perfectly placed bet will catapult them into this pretend life permanently.

I think that’s what made it so hard for me to enjoy myself there; there is too much of a sense of sadness and desperation.  No matter how many lights and dancing girls they try to blind you with, it stays.  I tried to remind myself that this is where people come for fun, but the faces illuminated by the glow of machines late into the night told a different story. 

After almost a week of natural beauty, it was time to see a different America, the neon and concrete America, the America that can rise out of a dessert to sustain a vast city full of people, manicured golf courses, and of course, casinos. That’s right, Las Vegas. Sin City. I was curious from the beginning of our journey to see this place, see the lights rise out of nowhere, and to see what all the hype was about. I’m not the gambling type, but I was sure there would be plenty of other stuff for people like me. Boy was I disappointed. I did get to see the glow of this behemoth, in the middle of nowhere, but the excitement stopped there.

We figured,being on a limited budget, we’d be able to find the cheap food, fun etc. The only restaurants open when we were ready to eat were cheap, but only compared to the overpriced “classy” joints. They also had the worst food. Unfortunately we discovered the players clubs too late and we only signed up for four or five. We got buy one get one free drinks at the Tropicana(in my opinion the best casino we went into, it smelled like old people and it was the only one that had slot machines that took and paid out coins), plus a free deck of cards and a tee shirt. We did go to the Hooters Casino at my request(it sounded so low class, how could I resist?) and were treated pretty well by the waitress. We played penny video poker and she brought us several “free” beers. Overall the whole experience was not worth the time. When it comes right down to it, it sucked. I finally understand the slogan “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”.  Why would you talk about it when it’s so forgettable?

The distance between Flagstaff, Arizona and Sedona, Arizona is about thirty miles.  The trip, however, takes over an hour.  It’s a twisty, turny road with sheer rock face on one side and about a million mile drop off on the other.  I was driving, so I was told that the scenery was beautiful.  I, however, was a bit too concerned about plummeting to our deaths to be entranced by trees and rocks.  They are lovely trees and rocks, but you know, living took priority.

Sedona really is beautiful.  Huge red rocks against one of the most spectacular and indescribably blue skies.  I see the attraction for vacationers.  But, there is an element in Sedona that makes it very unlikely that I will return- the hippies. 

Sedona is famous for its mystical vortexes.  Spots high atop rocks, deep in the desert that contain power and energy.  If there’s anything that hippies love more than patchouli, it’s vortexes.  Vortexes and moderately priced incense.  You can find both in Sedona.  Being a new age hippie is a valid job choice in Sedona, which is great if you’re a new age hippie.  But if you’re me, you find the whole thing a bit false and wonder how much of this is real and how much is a calculated business decision.  But that was part of fun too; trying to figure out who was for for real and who knew exactly what side their bread was buttered on (their organic, gluten free bread spread with freshly churned, raw milk butter).

The Grand Canyon is pretty amazing, well beyond what I am able to express considering my limited vocabulary and my puny brain. The best way is to actually see it in person or if not through pictures:

 What I can talk about are some of the things that I noticed about the people. The amount of laziness on display was staggering. The Grand Canyon is gigantic, miles upon miles of viewing available, but the viewing point closest to the parking lot was the most crowded. It’s even worse considering that there were shuttle buses to bring people to any of the many other places along the south rim. The shuttle buses were another thing all together. All these people running, some for what seemed like the first time in their lives, to catch the shuttle bus, to take them 1000 feet to the next stop. Why, why, why? It confuses me to think about it, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been, miles of uncrowded trails, all with different views, and these people were busy riding on the shuttle buses missing it all. Oh well at least it was less crowded for us.  

I thought I’d given up on believing in beautiful things.  How could I?  The world is full of ugliness and it takes the most beautiful people and things among us and consumes them.  I guess that’s why I was completely shocked that something as beautiful and unspoiled as the Grand Canyon exists.

It is endless, a million areas that your eyes can’t possibly take in at once.  It is so beautiful that it feels at some points, that you can’t take anymore.  How could it all just be here?  This rock carved by water.  The view from the first viewing station was surreal.  It was an image projected onto a screen, some kind of artist’s rendering.  It doesn’t seem that you could actually be looking at something like this:

It’s pretty damned awesome. 

Luckily there is a blog so I am less reliant on my memory, which is questionable at best. According to the blog it was New Mexico, which seems like a long time ago.

We left Albuquerque and headed for Flagstaff, not knowing what to expect, just picking our route from the atlas and choosing Flagstaff because of it’s proximity to the Grand Canyon. Before leaving New Mexico I insisted on going by Isotopes Park, to see the stadium that the baseball team from the Simpsons call home.

 We had noticed on the map that the Petrified Forest National Park was sort of on the way, so if it was close enough to the highway we might as well go. As luck would have it there was an exit specifically for it, and it turned out that Arizona doesn’t follow daylight savings time which gave us an extra hour. We needed that extra hour and then some, because we still didn’t get to see all that we wanted.

The park included the Painted Desert as well as the Petrified Forest, and consisted of close to 30 miles of roads with stops at various viewing points. It’s tough to put into words, it was quite amazing. The idea that all these multicolored rocks used to be trees was all too much. It was enough to make me forget about the rubes from Illinois parking in the middle of the road and walking all over the park behind the barriers.

OK.  So the posting has been rather slow.  The response to comments nonexistent.  That’s just how it is when you’re hobos, man.  You live by the clock of the open road and respond only to the alarm of the sunrise.  Either that, or you’re camping in the remotes of Nevada and have no internet access, take your pick.  We will be filling you all in on our many colored adventures, including my run-in with the polyamorous.  Can you handle it?