The Dream Defined

It occurs to me I haven't yet articulated the dream! So without further ado...

Penthouse suite, floor to ceiling windows, going to bed at breakfast, waking in the afternoon, exercising, sushi lunch, then recording/practising/writing (songs/code/poetry/novels) before either playing in the poker room or in the lounge until the crowd goes, then watching the sunrise from the spa tub before doing it all over again. Charity on Sundays, followed or preceeded by brunch and shopping - but not for accummulation, for replacement; what gets replaced goes to friends, family, and charity.

Of course, everyone will want to come visit so I'll have to adjust for going to cabaret, hanging out with the cast, and after-show parties, not to mention all the travel required from playing the professional tournament circuit, book tours, music excursions, and charity events. I wonder where I'll find someone who'll want to come with and see one by one, the major European cities?

So that's the dream... we're not there yet, but we're close enough to smell the caviar!

Spanish Palms, where I stayed before, is IMHO, the nicest off-strip place to be in Vegas, full stop. Perfect location, in Las Vegas, but not far from the strip. It's like an Oasis in the desert, with lots of trees, shade, grass, and water.
http://lasvegas.craigslist.org/search/hhh?query=spanish%20palms

Cheaper than Indiana too! $950 for a 3BDR! In Castleton 2BDR (smaller, not as nice) was $1250.

Where I'm at now is similar, but with fewer trees, bushes and grass. Still nice though.

But of course, if you're going to live on the strip, there's a few key residences:

Panorama Towers
http://www.panoramatowers.com/

and

Sky Las Vegas
http://www.skylasvegas.com/

Mostly high-rollers, strippers & escorts live there. No kidding, that's what the doormen tell me! But both pale in comparison to what is currently being built/furnished, which is a massive tower complex on the strip, in the middle... grocery store, everything INSIDE... the idea being you never have to leave the tower complex. It trumps the other two mainly because it's right there in the heart of the strip that's most like Europe... lots of little shops/bars and all foot traffic.

Here's a blurb about it:
http://www.lasvegas-highrises.info/High_Rises_on_the_Las_Vegas.html
at the bottom - it's Cosmopolitan... once finished, there simply will be no better address on the strip. THAT is where Clio will be living. (She'll also be driving an Infinity G37 for trips out to the desert to stargaze.)

But it's like the Vancouver dream... there one finds a few perfect high-rise condos on the edge of Stanley park... if you're going to do that kind of living, those are the places with the most pros and fewest cons.) If you're going to do it in Vegas... Cosmopolitan and Veer towers.

But could I really make enough money playing poker? Pay for housing, what-not?

Yes! I've spoken to what names I know out there (to help with/confirm strategies, but more on that later). There are two main approaches here, but the bread and butter is pretty much what I described to you:
1) go to the "tourist" casinos (Mandalay, MGM, Bally's)
(preferably, wide-awake, sober, late in the night)
2) buy for the max amount in the low-limit game
3) wait, be patient, only play premium hands
3.1) when get one, make my play for max $
3.2) only very occasionally, when the situation
is perfect (ask me), and only if I think it will
succeed, do I ever bluff.

That is basically the approach the local Vegas pros use. They obviously avoid each other because they know they won't get any money from each other if they "chase" a hand. In other words, they don't make long-odds plays against fellow locals because if they make it, they won't get long-odds winnings from it- that requires a tourist in love with his/her hand. I'll spot the locals quickly, and I'll be perennially playing the role of the bubbly tourist "looking for some late-night (poker) action". My "boyfriend" will probably be an unnamed pro playing somewhere else and I'm just bored being left alone. In fact, thinking up/rehearsing the role/background was fun and helped kill time while driving out there.

Anyway, the pros look to make around $80/hr this way. It's probably the closest to a "sure thing" in the long run because you are minimizing risk. However, it can be a tad dull. I hope to liven it up by playing my role as social lubricant (thereby enhancing my "looking for action" image) and perhaps by blogging about it - just for you - in a format that maybe you might want to eventually do something with. Music will help, and I might even get into books on mp3 once I get into a groove. Just so long as I'm able to achieve maximum focus with minimum fatigue.

The other way to make money - one that I've had mixed success with - is the tournament approach. You've heard my rationale about the WSOP being the only tournament structure that enables solid cash game players to consistently get in to the money (skill over luck), however, Bob, the guy I met (and outlasted) at the local tourney told me he's played 35 tourneys at Ceasers. Each one is like, $75 to enter but pays like $3,000 to the winner. He's won 9 of them and placed in the money 25 times. Obviously, he's on to something and can make a living doing that, but my experience has to date been to win only occasionally, just barely offsetting my not winning frequently. IOW, I've made money with tournaments, but the swings are wider and seem to rely (although not in Bob's case) more on luck.

In my Jargon, I'm a solid cash game player, but so-so in tournaments. If I get into the money, I usually do quite well (from cash game experience) and I have been known to devestate final tables (the key is to be fearless, and when you do play, balls-to-the-wall aggressive), but the trick is getting there, and I could probably gleen that information from an hour's conversation with a local tourney pro if I tried.

In either case, until I get more than a few month's worth of scratch liquid, I'll no doubt be pimping websites or hitting the pavement looking for gigging bands.

If I figure $1200/month living expenses, I'd have to win around $300/week, or alternatively, working full-time at Panera (with no money to play) - basically, what getting a job at Panera in Plainfield would have amounted to).

Let's say I can average $40/hr, that's 10 hours of poker for a month's living expenses, so yeah, that's reasonable, don't ya think? One can win $300 on a good "average" night and lose $300 on an average "bad" night. One can win $1,200 on an average "good" night and lose $100 on a bad "average" night. Does that make sense? That's based on my experiences from last summer anyway. I rarely lost more than $200 and usually won more than $300 - remember the keyboard story?

And now that I've discovered that there are there are theoretical limits to let me know if I'm a winner or loser, stay tuned for more maths! :)

Sarah and Melanie

Went to bed at 1:30 am. I literally could not stay awake any longer. That comes as a surprise to those who know me as a creature of the night. What surprises me is that I haven't seen 3am once all last week! Even if you assume - after three weeks here - that I'm still on EDT, that's still before my normal bedtime. But I have a good reason.

90 million miles away, there's a ginormous ball of fire and right now, we're pointed right at it. Granted, it's not like the top of the world (Alaska) where the sun just spins around in a circle on the horizon and back up again, but when we spin around and face it, there's a lot of energy comes to Earth!

Here, this process starts around 3:46 am, where it's light enough to read outside, and by 6:30am, the sun is over the rooftops and shining directly in my big bedroom window. That's my reason. And the clouds don't help. Because Vegas is in a valley surrounded on all four sides by mountains - okay, foot hills, but they are mountains compared to the Appalachain mountains! Anyway, because of this, the clouds are really, really high (and thin) compared to back east.

The result of this interaction is that if you're used to seeing me pale... well, I still am, but now I look like a Trill from Star Trek; the skin on all the top-most areas of each limb is covered with hundreds of little brown dots. Freckles, they're called, and they're filled with melanin.

No doubt you've heard about Sarah Tonin, and how when she's not around, one tends to get depressed. Well, her sister, Melanie (everyone calls her Mella) lives in your eyes, and yes, in those freckles. When she's around, one tends to be sleepy. Unlike Sarah, who is a foodie and comes out whenever there's food around, Mella (like me) avoids the sun and leaves when your eyes (or freckles) are exposed to the sun.

Did I mention the sun's rays are out at 4am here?

It's a bizarre feeling... to once again be going to bed tired... to once again be asleep within minutes of hitting the sheets... to be asleep by 2am... and then awake by 7am. And the wakey times just keep getting earlier! Today I was up at 6:30! Hardly the crack of dawn, but can one really get all the rest they need in just 5 hours of sleep a day?

A friend from Alaska was telling me about how when you go there in the summer time, for like a week, you go on none or just a few hours sleep a day until you get used to the idea of sleeping during daylight. I feel a power nap in my future... perhaps after the sun rays no longer have line of sight to my window.

Mc Luxury

So I can't help being awake at 7am... why not get some exercise? Hey, I could blade down to McD's and get some bfast too! Feeding two birds with one egg biscuit, as it were.

There are three Mc'Ds equidistant from me. One is to the right, about a mile down, on is a few blocks past Oren's (right turn, right turn), and still another is also a mile away, but straight to the left. All three are unlike any McD's I've ever seen. The Camby location was pretty nice, and even had free WiFi, but these... are like restaurants. Warm dark hues have replaced the kiddy yellow, soft, abstract paintings cover the walls, slow curves replaced the straight lines, little barriers with glass windows that rise near to the ceiling help to really add a sense of separate rooms with awesome fung-shuai, and soft, plush seats have replaced the hard plastic. Here's some more images:



It's not your childhood McDonald's... it's grown up... like me. Or not, since I'm the only one I've ever seen in McD's rolling around on inline skates, posing as the spitting image of the girl in blades who used to adorn their cups. Maybe there is something to that advertising thing...

Anyway, figuring that the left McD's keeps me on the sidewalks the whole way there, I go with that option.

Lots of people have wondered what death looks like. I was holding hands with him the entire time on the way there. Death looks like pretty, shiny metal boxes cruising along an 8-lane road (sometimes a 4-lane each way boulavard) at 50+ miles an hour. Vegas was never about being for the faint-hearted. One small trip on the sidewalk could send me toppling into oncomming traffic.

These thoughts are in my mind as I'm working my way to McD's, but fear not gentle reader, for I'm quite comfortable on wheels. I can even do like, tricks and stuff. So don't worry. I'll drive everywhere once the car is back from the shop.

Did I mention Vegas is flat? The roads are laid out mostly in a grid system, meaning that if you stand in the middle of one, you can see all the way to mountains on each side. In all directions if you stand in the middle of an intersection (which I don't advise, but instead, swing your head round 360 while in the passenger seat)!

But... I'm working harder than I expected; about a quarter mile in, I'm wondering why it's so hard? I feel like I'm going uphill; I can't get any momentum going. I look behind me: flat. I look in front of me: flat. Hmm... maybe my wheels are gunked up? I keep going. I figure it's for the best, as this is new terrain and although Vegas is reknown (to me) for having rollerblade-able sidewalks with no bumps, one can never be too careful!

Half-way in... I'm breathing harder and in danger of breaking a sweat. I look behind me again: flat. I study in front again: flat. I press on.

Finally I arrive at McD's breathing as if I had just jaunted up 4 flights of stairs. Not panting, but unable to keep a conversation going with occasional gasps for air. Just in time too; I could feel moisture on my skin evaporating (cause it's cold - the body's natural cooling system works in spades here). I didn't expect to sweat for moving so slowly. I look behind one more time: flat as a pancake.

Inside I get my food and notice a newspaper lying on a table. Awesome! When I pick it up, it feels like there's something heavy inside. It's a magazine titled, "Luxury Las Vegas" and has a photo of a personal jet by Icon, about the size of a Geo Metro on the front, laid out in grays and blacks. A boy-toy mag, I figure, but what the hey, let's see what's inside.

Inside was ... luxury. (online version) Multi-million dollar homes, expensive jewelery, and sexy cars adorn every page. And then... there's an interview with Annie Duke. A role-model for the poker world if there ever was one. She's a pretty amazing woman and I can't help but feel a connection with her, as if she was a sister living out my dream, challenging me to rise up and inspire even more.

She's raised millions for aid to Africa. I just donated $0.19 to the Ronald McDonald house. Hmm...

Her biggest regret is leaving school just before getting her PhD, mine was coming back (from a year of playing poker) and finishing. Hmm...

She's one of the most well-known, respected, and professional players in the world. I'm one of the most unknown. Hmm...

Her two weaknesses are having an overdeveloped sense of fairness and suffering fools poorly. She's working on both these things late in life. Well, at least we have that in common!

Oh, and she teaches too! We both thought we'd be college professors by now. LOL!

Her commitment to charity is quite inspiring, and I have only dreamed of being able to do the kind of work she does, both in life and in poker.

She also thinks poker is a great tool for learning to deal with life. Suddenly I feel vindicated for teaching my discrete math students how to play poker! Even though they got higher grades than any class before I taught it, people still looked at me with that, "what are you doing, teaching kids poker and bookie odds?" look. Now I can say, I was teaching them about the lottery so they could make proper life decisions... just like Annie does!

I keep reading... more stunningly beautiful homes greet my eyes. More pretty cars. I flip back to the front and notice the editor is a woman. Hmm... then I notice on the front cover, at the top, "CAUTION > > > > > THIS ISSUE IS TESTOSTERONE-INJECTED." I nearly snort out my diet coke. One could say that of nearly half the women here, fresh off a Saturday night.

I wonder if I should feel bad for thinking about sex while sitting in the McD's playground area. I notice it has a built in Dance, Dance, Revolution machine. That's awesome! I'd be on it were I not on blades. It also had a pop-a-shot and a few other toys along with a colossally huge (even to an adult) climbing thing with all sorts of tubes, nets, baskets, windows, and perches. My mind temporally overloads. How did I get in the kids section again? Oh yeah, all the old people were looking at me funny in the grown up section, and there weren't any empty booths.

It's time to go, and here's the funny part. From the moment I stepped out of McDs I did not make one stride. My wheels instantly started rolling towards home, sometimes with such velocity I was forced to use the foot brake (something I don't often use). I make it all the way home, right to the steps upstairs, a mile away, without making ONE stride! Hmm...

Look Up

A cosmic smile for a cosmic family. That's Venus (where women are from) on the left and Mars (where men are from) on the right, with the moon (where people like me are from) inbetween them.

You want to be up around 3am-5am, just before sunrise (which is not long after moonrise) this Friday... you'll see all three celestial bodies right next to each other. Totally kewl. It's at times like this when I can really grok what it feels like to be on a molten ball of fire, circling a bigger ball of fire along with spheres of rocks and gasses, all the while spinnin' round, right round like a record baby.

There are stranger places than Vegas we call home!

Home Sweeter Home

It's amazing what $15 and craigslist can do. I found the desk for $5 and a chair for $10 and suddenly, the room is transformed into a music studio, a coding office, and a home theatre. Save the chair, it still all fits comfortably in the Stratosphere. It's not perfect, but it's a good start.

It also got me up into North Las Vegas for only the second time. Not any closer to the mountains, but further up in the valley, I noticed a lot fewer trees around. Still, beautiful views abound. I got the desk where the further car was parked.

The chair took me even further north, to million dollar homes. I feel so exposed up here. It's so far away from Vegas! It seems strange to have such nice houses in suburbia... in a desert.

The rest of the day was spent trying to find a male-male 1/8th inch mini-plug cable. Between Radio Shack wanting $15 for a $2 cable and stores having no clue what I was asking for, I finally found what I was looking for after going to two Radio Shacks, Target, Office Depot, Electronics World (which is more like H.H.Greggs), Home Depot, Family Dollar, and in the end... Walmart had what I was looking for, and it only cost me $4!

Car Pay Diem

$600. That's the total estimate to get the Stratosphere back in working condition. She's intermittently overheating and oozing ounces of coolant in the process. A desert is not the place to have an overheating car; I need to get it fixed.

Oren was pretty cool about the whole thing. I just had a feeling about the place as I drove by. Call it female intuition, or a sign, but I knew this was the place to go. He was high energy, not something you often see in mechanics, and it was obvious he loved running his own shop.

"I don't have $600," I replied, my car still 6 feet in the air.

I want to crawl into a hole as he tells me about "diagnostic fees." He thinks I'm trying to stiff him, or just shopping around for a free diagnostic. Reasonable, given this town. I assure him that I'm sincere about getting the car fixed, I just literally don't have $600. He already knew I just drove across the country, so he pauses at this, and takes me for my word.

As he's typing up the diagnostic report, he asks, "How did you come by my shop?" I told him I follow my intuition, and as I drove by, it made his store shine and that's why I went there. (Hey, it's Vegas, where else is one so justified in following their intuition?) He pauses at this again. I mention that I knew I was in the right place when I saw he was left handed too. (Lefties watch out for each other!) I continued, "After driving by, I looked you up online, got your number, and voila."

"What did you think of the site?"

It's pretty slick, but has some glaring HCI issues. "It's very classy, but doesn't have your hours listed anywhere on it." I didn't tell him about the other errors.

"Oh, now that I'm where I am in the Google ranking, I don't dare change it."

An opportunity?

"But you can edit your page to add your hours; that won't affect your ranking. Trust me," I added, "I used to design and build websites back East."

We talk a bit more about websites, and he tells me that he got his present website by bartering with a woman for repairs who like me, didn't have the money. There it is... that's the intuition seeing the opportunity before I was aware of it. Hallelujah!

So... now I go home and build a few websites (so it looks like he is multiple stores) and hopefully tomorrow he'll look at it all and go, "Wow! That's great! Bring in your car and let's get it fixed!"

(fingers crossed)

Home Sweet Home

I had to buy a bed, so I bought a $30 blow-up one from Coleman at Target, just like the one I slept on in New York. And, that rolls up to the size of the box that the computer is sitting on, so I can take it with me. Literally, have car, will travel.

My office is a bit lacking, what with there being no desk or chair, but the wall works and the blanket makes it feel like not so much sitting on the floor as sitting on the floor on a blanket. Playing the piano standing up is trickier, but it should just make my playing sitting down better.

It ain't much, but it's in Vegas, it's quiet, it's got trees and grass outside, and it's close to all kinds of good places. Not sure how long I'll be here, but for now, it's home.

Clio Unclenches

Time was running out. I had less than 12 hours of internet and less than 24 hours to find a new home. Locals calls cost $1/each, so I had to dial wisely. After an hour of searching, emailing, and calling, I only have one appointment, with Paul, for a $475 room that looked like (from the online photos) it would do as a worst case scenario.

Getting there was straightforward, but I realize as I arrive I'm not in a good part of town. Street prostitutes are already out - at noon! Chalet Vegas is a 70's era hotel, with cinder-block construction. It's quite run-down. I make my way up to the second (top) floor and knock on the door. A large black man peers behind the screen.

"You here for Paul?"

"Yes, I'm Clio, here to see the apartment?"

"Yeah, come in!" He opens the door, I walk in, he turns around, shuts the door, and stands in front of it. I don't sense danger, but my spine tingles as I realize this is how women get raped. The flat is disgusting. I would never, ever touch any part of my skin to the carpet or floors. There is an oversized sofa and non-matching recliner which again, would never feel my skin without the introduction of untold chemicals (for the chair or me). There's a mattress on the floor in the bedroom. It's basically a studio apartment, with a little divider between the kitchen and livingroom/bedroom. I peer around to the kitchen and find Paul. He looks like Raymond's brother on Everyone Loves Raymond. Talks like him too. His hands are black with dirt. He does the alpha male thing, sitting down, sprawling out to take up as much space as he can, lights up a cigarette (inside) and uses one of two 32 oz Colt 45 bottles to ash in.

They then go into what I instantly recognizes as a rehearsed routine about how great the place is. I notice there are bars on the doors and windows and ask Ken, who I now know to be the next door neighbor (in a flat also owned by Paul) "is there any crime here?"

His response cracks me up.

"I've never seen a cop here."

Uhhh... okay. I could go on about how disgusting the kitchen area was, how yucky the walls were, the broken door jam where the place was obviously broken into, or the little screens and plastic baggies left behind from the former tenant (for the sheltered reader, those are signs the former resident was addicted to crack), but I think you get the idea. I left as soon as I could, but not before taking a photo of the best part about the flat - the view of UNLV's practice field (now being converted into a rodeo - ew!) and the strip. This photo reminds me of the government housing in London, but with blue paint.

(really big version)

I got into my car and nearly cried. What have I gotten myself into? Seconds after, I banish those thoughts to the curb and head back to the Stratosphere to regroup and continue my search. Clint Eastwood didn't have time to bleed; I didn't have time to cry.

When I got back, there was a reply to my post, "Perfect roommate seeking same." It was very terse, but what caught my eye was that the email was composed with a light pink background having darker pink polka-dots. There was no description of the apartment or anything, but I just had a good feeling about it. I set up a time for 6pm with her and 5pm for the musician post that I had seen before moving out here. How cool to live with a singer and songwriter (who just happened to have 5 keyboards!)

... or so I thought! I show up at house after being escorted there, first meeting at Jack in the Box, which, because I never go there, never did, never will, is forever renamed in my mind - against my will - thanks to my former Vegas roomie, B as "Jackoff in my Box". Dammit, B! Anyway, Ken thinks it's too hard for me to find his house, what with it being ONE ROAD off of the major road, Rainbow, so I meet him there and follow him back to the house. He pulls up into the yard between the house and tree and parks. He doesn't wait for me, gets out, and heads inside.

As I walk in, I'm greeted with 4 cats hanging out on the kitchen table. The entry way has an attached living room with an eclectic, but strangely appealing mix of artwork. Beautiful Asian art of pretty rocks sits next to a Renaissance-style Chagall knock-off, which is then next to a neon print of a naked woman, beside a Roman-style bust of some Venus-like woman next to a 60s-era psychedelic tie-dye print. Glancing around the room, I was reminded of how nice Chalet Vegas looked.

He leads me around the house - I don't dare enter the kitchen - and into what he described as "the naked patio" which looks like it would be a super cool place to hang out and do drugs, were it not attached to this particular house. It would seat 20 people easily and another 20 standing before it would feel crowded. Kinda reminded me of Dana Larsen's pad up in Vancouver in that respect, very well designed for partying - apparently, these guys were professionals. It was totally enclosed with high concrete walls and had three (3!) water fountains, each one churning a differently colored green slime. There were three more cats out here and I noticed a litterbox which had more poo in it than an A. A. Milne novel.

We go inside and he shows me what would be my room - for $500/month - an 8x8 foot ick with a tiny bed and more eclectic art. Next to it, is a bathroom - with no bath or shower - adorned with photos of naked women, some quite ... how to say it? ... grotesquely obese.

His room is a converted garage which looked like a pretty cool pad for a band, or a teenager. No windows. At this moment, a guy walks in bearing a striking resemblance to Lionel Richie. "Clio, meet Lionel Richie," Ken says. "Hi, Lionel". Lionel gives a non-committal "ugh". "Is Lionel the singer?" I ask politely, tongue firmly in cheek. Nah, he just lives here. Oh... so it's not just two people in a 5 bedroom house eh? Then another guy walks in. "Is he the singer?" He was not the singer. Turns out there was no singer, just 4 other large dudes living in the house. I then find out I'd be sharing a bathtub with those 4 other guys. That's like, ick^4. As B says, "Sharing a bathroom with someone is like sharing underwear." I get out as soon as I can and head to Monic's, praying she won't have 10 cats, chain smoke, or live in filth.

She's waiting outside for me as I arrive at the gated community, which is good, because she didn't tell me her apartment number. We head upstairs to what appears to be a completely empty apartment. There's no furniture in any room and plain white walls everywhere. Minimalist to the nth degree! E (Monic was her misspelled moniker) turned out to be really cool and we gelled instantly like sisters. She too was impeccably tidy, and quite ambitious. She looked Asian but was really Mexican. We were both pescetarians, similarly dressed, and with similiar hairstyles. We could have been sisters, save me being pale as a ghost. My search was over, the place was clean and we were both helping each other. It was perfect. I gave her $400 for the first month's rent right then and there and headed back to the Stratosphere where for the first time in over a month, I relaxed and slept like a baby.

Fresh Meat

As a woman in Vegas, it can be hard not to feel a little self-conscious. Okay, a LOT self-conscious. From the moment of arrival, visitors (and residents) are bombarded with television, print, marquees and billboards of young, flawlessly beautiful women showing nearly everything in poses that would make Kinsey blush.

All this after my travel diet of fries and fillet-o-fishes (Me: No mayo please. McD's: There's no mayo on it, just tartar sauce.) I'm feeling ... fat. Okay, not fat, but not like the women I've been seeing.

At Panera, I saw no less than two women with shorts so short the fold where the bum meets the leg was clearly visible. Why not? If you're used to having out at the pool, shorts must seem like ample coverage!

In this town, women are routinely treated as sex objects, and some of the ones who aren't (overtly) are basically grown women being treated as children. On the way in, I tuned into my favourite (broadcast) dance radio station. There was a lady calling in who self-described herself as a homemaker with an allowance. She actually used the word 'allowance'. It's been nearly 30 years since I had an allowance. I couldn't decide whether to pity her or envy her!

At any rate, men are definitely staring at me... funny, because I have nothing cleavage-wise for them to ogle. But, since they are used to a culture of beautiful women on display, they stare anyway. One guy in truck that pulled up beside me at a red light was actually craning his neck to gawk at me. I caught him doing this and gave him a look, but he was completely unaffected by it and kept staring as I returned my gaze to the lights ahead.

When I hear the compliment'ry whistle
That greets my bikini by the sea,
I turn and I glower and I bristle,
But I'm happy to know the whistle's meant for me!
- I Enjoy Being A Girl (Flower Drum Song Soundtrack)

900 More Miles

Morning came too soon, mostly because bed came too late. Got up at 3am, but didn't get on the road what with shower and check-out until 4am. Filled up at a nearby Pilot and shoved down some OJ and an egg biscuit from the adjoining McD's and left OK behind me.

Dawn treated me with a gorgeous surprise. I couldn't help but think of that scene from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, when they stop the bus, awed by the vast expanse of land that lay before (and behind) them. I too, found my jaw dropping at first light, and the fates conspired at that moment to deliver a rest area, so I stopped the car and took this 180-degree panorama.

(really big version)

So much sky... The other half looked the same, but was obstructed by the rest area. What a sunrise!

The drive through New Mexico was uneventful. There were tiny little towns littered throughout the freeway, each one with a major truck stop and fast food restaurant, usually in the same building. Not sure what one would do if one lived in those tiny towns, but there seemed to be some kind of refinery-type stuff going on. Not much to see. The one sign of life was Albuquerque, which seemed a lot like Salt Lake City from the highway. I suppose it would be a nice town to live in if you absolutely had to live in New Mexico, but other than that, it lacked appeal. I drove through as fast as I could. All the chain restaurants from back East were noticeably absent.

Arizona was different still. There weren't many towns in the entire 400 mile stretch of highway with Flagstaff being the notable exception, nestled in the mountains. I forgot how stunningly beautiful Arizona was what with her petrified forests, canyons of mineral-stained rocks, meteor impact sites, Indian reservations and national forests. Not much else though (on this highway). After Flagstaff, if you found yourself anywhere in the last 1/4 of your gas tank and you passed an exit without refueling, you'd run out of gas. For real, like, 84 miles of nothing, no exit, nada. And then, it's some bizarre tourist trap selling just about every imaginable piece of chatchke. One store, I swear, had on it's approach a rapid succession of 24 billboards (each) on both sides of the road (48 in all)! Kinda felt like a video game driving through it all. They sold everything from snakes, rocks, blankets, chess sets, to DQ's menu. Eventually, you hit national forests, and you know it by two things. First, there's no money-grubbing advertising of any kind anywhere. Second, the land changes from tundra-like prairie to jaw-dropping rock formations of all kinds. Again, make sure you have plenty of gas cause there's nothing in those stretches... not one sign of life!

Getting to Nevada was mostly painless, but slow. NV is building a fitting addition to the Hoover Dam. Since it is one of the great engineering feats of America, they are building over the dam the largest suspension bridge I've ever - ever - seen. The bypass is for the AZ-NV traffic (so they don't have to go through the Dam traffic - LOL!) In case you don't know, Hoover Dam is surrounded by very tall mountains and dizzying deep valleys. The suspension bridge makes the Dam (and the mountains) look tiny, but all that's lost in perspective 'cause the bridge is about a mile away from the dam. But don't take my word for it, check it out for yourself!

(really big version)

The bridge will be a welcome addition when finished. Going over it added a good hour to my travel time. All that was left was getting down into the valley, and maybe 20 minutes later I got my first glimpse of my new home.


Watch out Vegas, Clio's arrived! The final stats: