Trip Trans America — Part Three
As I progressed towards El Paso it got less and less green and more and more sandy. Often I came upon green apparently growing out of sand or rock — rock carved for the birth of road.
Made it to my first charge in Junction TX pretty quickly. Heard a bunch of birds chirping in the trees behind the charger; maybe they’re Grackles! As I’m walking across the street for McDonald’s breakfast, a man waves to me from a gas pump. “Hey, I was wondering, how long does that thing take to charge?” “About 45 minutes” “That for the 80% or the 100%?” “I’d say the 80%, though it varies based on the charger” “Where are you from?” “.…...” “Well I’m from Houston.” As I walk away, he and his friend wave me a farewell.
Virtually the moment I leave Junction, the speed limit hits 80 for the first time. This normally would make me excited, but this time I worry a bit, as speeds over 70 exact extra mileage from the Tesla.
Signs of the road: Gusty Winds Area, We Sell Deer Corn, With God All Things Are Possible, Watch For Blowing Dust.
To the side of the road: roadkill including deer raccoon and coyote, a burning fire, the hulk of a car’s front trunk, many many tires.
I felt that I’d left Texas and entered the in-between, the perpetual waystation,
The Borderlands
Many times crossing this terrain I thought of its landscape as a prelude to the Grand Canyon, the Buttes, the Rockies. As if, if you amplified parts of this terrain, made them more dramatic, you’d end up with those three.
Passed through Balmorhea, its colorful mountains in the distance. It felt like passing through the Red Mountains of Dorne, themselves a borderland, or some bizarro version of the purple mountains of Williamstown.
I shared the charging stop at Van Horn with three red Teslas. One was from South Carolina, a second was packed to the brim, and the third had my same Michelin tires.
Despite this day’s trek taking 9 hours, I got far less tired than on my long drive to Florence. Perhaps I’d gotten more used to them.
As I cross into El Paso proper, all I can see is the massive border fence. And the hordes of houses packed onto the other side.
Exploring the town after checking into my airbnb, I immediately felt deja vu of Greenville — another ghost town. The wind whipped up a bunch of sand and trash, such that I wore sunglasses to protect my eyes and all I could hear was the clatter and rustle of garbage traversing the city. Like the raccoons in Greenville, garbage seemed this city’s only residents.
Rejected by a brewery for my lack of mask, I went towards downtown and found a place that looked open. Turns out it was part of the Plaza Hotel. I took a seat at the bar. Thankfully, similar to the bar in Greenville, it felt like a normal restaurant with normal people:
A guy across the bar looked like my uncle — he drank a martini while his son drank a beer. The guy to my right looked a bit nerdy, though I guessed from the waiter’s salutation (“good to see you again!”), the copious notes he took on diner bill paper, and his detailed conversation about the place’s food & drink (before he got moved to the dining room), that he’s something of a food critic. The couple to my left seemed to be enjoying a secret rendezvous, she traveling on business and he ostensibly local.
I wonder if anyone drinks this bar’s top shelf liquors; would be a hike for the bartender. I got a couple tacos: baja fish, flavorful cauliflower, and thick bacon with pineapple.
Walked back out into a dust bowl. The sudden sound of flying trash made me flinch once or twice. Turning onto my street I could see down the bridge into Mexico.
The next morning I woke to my car coated in dust, and took off for New Mexico.
Not long after crossing the border into the Land of Enchantment, I wondered why the cars ahead of me were slowing down before some type of gazebo. Turns out to be a US border checkpoint. I roll down my window. “American citizen?” “Yep” “Thank you sir”
On the side of the road reads a sign: Beyond Reasonable Doubt // Jesus is Alive.
I started losing mileage faster than expected. Was going the speed limit of 80, so I expected to lose some, but it was draining way too fast to be comfortable. I started sweating, slowed down to 65, and camped in the right lane while car after car zoomed by. This tactic worked though, and I made it to Albuquerque.
Pulled in to a fully-booked charging station, the first time all trip I had to wait. It didn’t end up being too long. After plugging in I got a burrito, where instead of rice or beans they stuffed it with potato, which was actually pretty good, though it woulda been better with rice & beans added too.
Thinking about my battery I had a thought and googled my elevation; sure enough i’d gained three-thousand feet and hadn’t noticed. That explains that. Now I recall how my friends Will & Brigid had referred to New Mexico as a mountain state — they sure weren’t joking. That also explains why when I’d charged that morning, the car’s computer hadn’t cleared me as “Ready to Continue Trip” despite having enough mileage to make it. That would be the last time I unplugged before the Tesla ready signal.
Well fed, I headed up Interstate 25 to
Santa Fe
As I approached, I was surprised to see nothing resembling a skyline. Just a bunch of adobe homes. Was similarly surprised to learn their population is less than a hundred thousand, versus Albuquerque at around 560k. Combine them and they’re still smaller than El Paso!
One of the first things one notices driving into any state is its license plates. In New Mexico I saw fairly even distribution between a yellow one, a teal one, and a black one (feat. chiles). Suppose I liked the teal one most, for I took the most pictures of it.
The Hotel St. Francis staff accompanied my entrance to their lobby with a cover of the Game of Thrones theme. George RR Martin does live in Santa Fe after all. After settling into my room I walked around a bit, past the Jean Cocteau Cinema which remains closed post-covid. I then headed off to a timed entry at Meow Wolf’s House of Eternal Return.
There I faced the first mask requirement since Delaware. New Mexico is pretty blue after all; Biden won the state by over a 10% margin and Santa Fe County by 54%. That didn’t prevent them from packing the exhibit; I was the last to enter of the 4pm entry’s group of maybe thirty people, with a 4:15pm group right behind.
Nearly the entire place was coated in ultraviolet lighting. Kids ran around everywhere. Most of the exhibit was interactive — and really, why play a piano when you could play lasers or mammoth ribs? The whole place was a big maze; walk into a refrigerator or a fireplace of an old house and you’d end up in a room that looks as if it were in a spaceship. I soaked in the figures, the murals, the ideas.
I forwent the cocktails in their bar area, instead trying a rooftop bar near my hotel, Coyote Cantina. Despite the long line, they were able to squeeze me into a section looking out onto the street. Pays to be a party of one. I got a couple martinis and watched the people walk by, watched two pigeons fly in parabola, the only two in the deep blue sky.
At about 6pm I called Cafe Pasqual’s to check their dinner avails. No answer, so I settled up and walked across the street to inquire in-person. Having seen online that they close at 9:30, I was surprised to hear the host say “we’re completely booked until 9:30, but can seat you then. Is that ok?” I was in no rush and liked the look of the place, and so assented. I later learned the reason they remained open late is to accommodate the high demand.
Time on my hands, I strolled around town. Noticed it’s much colder when I’m out of the sun, even while 85 degrees out. Must be the thin mountain air! At just over 7000 feet, Santa Fe is higher even than the Mile High City of Denver.
Walked past tons of art galleries. They looked so modest until you walk in and notice the prices. Later I walked around with the intent to buy something within my price range, but couldn’t find the energy to do so. It felt a little too mainstream, too expected of me, the polar opposite of Florence Alabama.
After the sun went down it got pretty freezing. At least to me, who’d spent the past two weeks in the south. For the first time all trip I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and headed down to dinner.
Pasqual’s proved a much-needed introduction to New Mexican cuisine. They served me orange cheese bites crusted with sesame seeds in lieu of bread, and I ordered a bottle of Barbera to go with. For starter I went with the Napo’s Pupusa, stuffed corn cakes served with pickled vegetables. I then ordered the Cochinita Pibil, a pork dish. They brought out a massive leaf wrapped up like a knapsack, bordered by rice, tortillas, pickled onions, sour cream, and tostones. I untied the leaf and out popped a fragrant mix of pork and veggies and sauce. Stuffed, I opted for the fruit plate for dessert. Eating strawberries and pineapples in the same bite, I thought this must be how the first person came up with the idea for smoothies, as the two flavors came flawlessly together to create a new one of their own. Unlike the orange pineapple ice cream I’d eaten in Florence, where the orange and pineapple tastes remained as separate as church and state.
For entertainment, I observed the wait staff. They worked as a true team, hodgepodging my service from one person to the next, not a moment wasted. Already open after hours, one can appreciate their desire to get home and rest. From one waiter I overheard that the chef is the owner, has been there over 42 years, and also owns the art gallery upstairs. Towards the end of my night, the cashier gasped loudly, as if in recognition, as she looked down at what must have been a check. She glanced around to see if anyone noticed, and our eyes met, but neither of us said a word.
At Pasqual’s, I started to notice the hearts that adorn many corners of Santa Fe. My cheese-bite plate was in the shape of one, then back at my room at night I noticed one woven into the fabric of my lamp; the next few days I noticed more in a piece of art in the museum, a sign at Tomasita’s, and on the back of a street sign. Another adornment I noticed all around Santa Fe was long strings of dried chili peppers. This one’s clearly a Santa Fe, or even a New Mexico thing.
The next morning I read Proust at Cafe Des Artistes, and then continued the French vibes at Claufoutis for lunch by ordering their Bruschetta Marylou. There I overheard two members of the music industry talking shop: “oh yeah he’s a great drummer, and he makes his own bow & arrow too, like goes out & shoots shit.”
Many of Santa Fe’s local businesses close on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, my only two full days there, including the Georgia O’Keefe museum. I didn’t feel any urge to see a museum other than that, but got bored after a dispirited search for selling galleries, and mosied on in to the New Mexico Museum of Art, awed most by its size & adobe grandeur.
Walked around and saw of course much western art. I liked one of the Santa Fe town square at night, and another of Zozobra. Came across a sculpture depicting border crossing, which mirrored one I’d just seen in the Blanton. Looking at an action-packed painting at the same time as me were a lady with her husband and granddaughter. In what sounded like a British accent, she pointed out the figure of Van Gogh with his bandaged head on the table, the Clintons with Bill enjoying himself. We all had a good laugh.
Before dinner I walked around their railyard district. From around the corner came the smell of popcorn, and with it an open movie theater, the Violet Crown. Continuing down, I saw a couple art galleries that looked like they’d be fun for purely viewing purposes. Passed a mural that said: “Flowers Grow Out of Dark Moments”
I showed up to Tomasita’s to a wait that’s just over an hour, so I nursed a margarita by their tent outside. The only open seat was on a bench at which a grey-haired woman sat far to one end, so I sat down on the other end leaving ample space between. Her husband arrived to sit to her side of the middle and said to me “Hope you don’t mind my squeezing in” “Oh no, I’m vaccinated” “Oh we’re old so we’re vaccinated and all good with that… Now if there’s gonna be a cute lady squeezing in between you and me, then I got the best of both worlds, cute ladies on both sides.” We laugh.
In the bar area while getting my first drink, I’d listened to a guy jamming guitar accompanied by a woman playing violin. Back for my second, the duo had gone, so I wondered if they just bopped around the restaurant. Sure enough, as I returned to my tent-area seat, I found them serenading the outdoor patrons.
My impression that there were many vacationers in Santa Fe started with the volume of out-of-state plates I saw. Massachusetts, Colorado, California. Two groups chatting in the drinks line confirmed my suspicions: “By chance are you guys from the midwest?” “Why yes! We’re from Chicago.” “Ah I knew it! My family is from upstate New York, and while it’s slightly different I can recognize a Great Lakes accent when I hear one.”
The older couple sharing my waiting bench had left but a younger couple with two kids had taken their place, and I ended up talking to them. “My parents bought a place here when I was 14 but I haven’t been since I was 25, and now am nearly 40 but have finally returned... It was a terrible place to stay as a kid. Nothing to do!” “She means nothing for little kids to do. Like go to a huge mall.” “Yeah. Santa Fe’s awesome once you can drink.”
Like the prior night I was in no rush, and that felt pretty nice. Eventually, of course, they did seat me, in the bar room.
After chips & guac I got the stuffed sopaipilla. “Do you still want the regular sopaipilla too? It’s our speciality and we give it to every table” “Yep for sure” “Do you want it with dinner or after?” “Let’s do after, don’t wanna overload myself with all these sopaipillas all at once.” The stuffed one came out doused in chili. Like the prior night’s leaf dish, the goodies popped out once you opened it up. Its roast beef tasted like regular roast beef.
Waiter never did end up bringing out my dessert sopaipilla. Probably just forgot, given most tables don’t order the stuffed edition and hence have it brought out with their main course. Suppose we could have miscommunicated though; his English was good but not great. Like many of the other waiters & hosts, he couldn’t have been more than 19. Tired, I adjourned for the night and awoke the next morning for a hearty bowl of oatmeal, featuring almost as much fruit as oats. Walked back to the hotel past a moody mural and headed off to go hike.
Upon arriving at the lower trailhead of Atalaya Mountain, I noticed a piece of paper wedged under my front windshield wiper. It could gotten there anytime the past two days, as I hadn’t really used my car yesterday. The first day there’d only been one spot available in the hotel lot, and it was encroached upon by the car next to it. So I’d barely been able to wedge mine in there, a little off-kilter and on the line, but in there nonetheless. Well, apparently another guest had taken umbrage at my park job, digging at my car’s Caltech bumper sticker (my brother goes there) by writing on the paper: “Park your car like you went to CalTech :(” Just a guess, but I don’t think Driver’s Ed is a prereq for Rocket Science 101.
Sometimes when I hike, such as in the Berkshires this past fall, I’ll listen to music or audiobook. This time I brought my earbuds but went without the whole way; the sounds of nature provided their own soundtrack a la Skyrim Atmospheres: wind blowing, cicadas chirping, birds singing, people stepping and panting and talking.
Starting up, a couple of lizards ran across my path as I passed some cacti. More and more continued to do so over the course of the hike; I even saw what looked like a horned toad. On my way up I noticed a lone hawk gliding across the sky, not unlike Orell’s. At the summit I saw another diving for its prey, and on my way down the shadow of a third crossed over my path. Suppose they could have all been the same one.
Sans audiobook, I had plenty of time to think:
“It’s crazy trees even grow on mountains. Now I know the geological and the biological time scales are so different as to be practically incomparable, but consider the fact that mountains are the product of colliding plates in motion, that trees grow under rocks that are constantly shifting under them, and not just shifting but compressing, squeezing them and pushing them higher and higher. It’s like when you’re a kid, learn how fast the earth spins, and think: why can’t we notice the spinning and why oh why don’t we fly right off?”
I kept a pretty good pace on the way up, taking an hour to go the 3.1 miles and 1700 feet, about the height of the World Trade Center. Would it really be so easy to scale all of that skyscraper’s steps? At one fork in the road they gave an option for the Easier Route vs the Steeper Route, and come on, I’m a competitor, so I took the steeper.
From the top I relaxed and soaked in the view, along with the shade.
On the way back down, I took the Easier Route, as I’m not messing around with my joints. It was a little longer but more scenic. Some of the trees in my path reminded me of those I’d seen the other day.
For lunch I’d intended to go to a fast food place my friend recommended, but really wasn’t feeling it, so went and found a salad. Gotta prepare my body for Vegas. Then I hit the spa. Their communal baths were booked, as were their massages, as they seemed to still be at covid capacities. I got a private bath though, and relaxed to some wordless Japanese music as the wind blew leaves and fuzzy seeds into the water.
Driving back to the hotel, I reflected that it feels as if I’m in Westeros — either Beyond the Wall or in Dorne. In some senses both, but at different moments. I can really feel why George RR Martin would want to live here. Another way of thinking about it is what my friend Will said, that New Mexico feels like a whole other country.
Before dinner that night at the Market Steer, the steakhouse that adjoins my hotel, I stopped at the connecting Secreto Bar. So connecting, in fact, that all bar food comes from Market Steer and all dinner drinks come from Secreto. As the bartender remarked at his full queue: “we got one bartender for eighty people.” I got a gin martini and a shrimp cocktail, the latter of which they served over cool-to-the-touch stones.
Before my 8:30 reservation I took a short walk around town. Oh and there’s the moon! Amidst a sunset to make you stop and stare.
I walked past police cars that had been there for hours, protecting a roped-off section. Earlier I’d wondered what had prompted such attention, and now I considered a robbery might make the most sense. Why else would they be there so long?
Once seated, I received bread warm and wrapped in a napkin. I ate it right away without even noticing the bread plate. The bread was gooey one moment, crusty the next. I watched the waiter at the table across from me get on his knee to take a kid’s order, hopefully helping make that kid’s night. I ate a ribeye, green chile risotto, and sautéed asparagus, washed down by red wine. Afterwards, on my way through the lobby back upstairs, I noted a group of ten or so middle-aged-plus people sitting on the lobby couches, eating lays and drinking from twelve packs.
Went to bed just after 10pm, in other words right after dinner, and woke up while it was still dark out. Honestly didn’t feel that tired, and knew it’d take me at least 30 minutes to fall back asleep. The drive for Vegas being a long one, I’d set my first alarm for 5am. So I figured if it’s 4 or later I’ll definitely just get up and head out, but will still go so long as it’s after 3am. It was 2:24. I decided to leave anyways. Suppose it was fitting: screwing up my body clock just in time for Vegas.
Outside it was still pitch black, but you could tell it was overcast thanks to the lack of stars and the covering of raindrops on my car. It hadn’t rained my whole time there, or shown any signs that it would, so this felt foreboding.
On the road before 3am, I watched the sun rise.
My right foot started to get exceeding numb and sore from all the driving, especially the heel which, given I drive shoeless, had pressed to the floor for more hours than I’d rather count. So I drove much of this day left footed, until my left foot too got numb. I wondered how I would make it all the remaining way, driving feeling so miserable on my feet. Then I realized there has to be a way at least to do cruise control, and sure enough, all I needed to do is press down on the right stick — and I could even adjust the speed with a dial on the right of the steering wheel. Given the LHS dial is for music, I felt like a DJ for the rest of the drive, adjusting volume & speed alternately.
At Flagstaff I saw the first sign for Los Angeles. See you in August. I crossed the Hoover Dam and recalled the last time I went to Vegas, when my brother Johnny and I stayed at the Mandalay Bay one night, just playing a few slots, then stopped at the Hoover Dam en route to camping in the Grand Canyon. That’d been my only time gambling at all in Vegas — how lame compared to what’s to come, with Johnny back in tow starting tomorrow night. As I emerged from the hills of the Arizona border and started winding down, I spied the desert city of
Las Vegas
With my destination the Wynn on the north end of the strip, my map took me up the highway rather than Las Vegas Blvd. That’s no good. So before finishing my drive I turned right to get a little taste. What would taking the scenic route have added, five minutes?
As to my initial observations though. Allegiant Stadium sure deserves its Death Star tag. Wooooow Caesar’s Palace is massive, hotel area truly looking like a palace from the outside. There’s New York, and Paris, and Venice. And the Wynn and Encore so pretty, their bronze reflecting light.
It’s drizzling on-and-off as I pull into the Wynn valet, with a flash or two of lighting in the distance. “Isn’t this so cool!” my valet attendant exclaims “This never happens in Vegas! Must be good luck for you, arriving at such a time!”
I step into my room on the 55th floor, hit the “all on” button, and the shades part before my eyes.
Thanks to my 2am wakeup I’d arrived early. While still in the car I’d felt pretty tired, daydreaming of getting room service and writing a bit and generally living it up without moving an inch. But from the moment I drove the strip I felt this pulsing energy, and knew I had to clean right up and head right out. I went to get a lay of the land, to walk the course, to observe the people, to stake out the poker rooms.
Got as far down as MGM & NY NY, then lazed into the Bellagio, Caesar’s Palace, the Venetian. And finally back into the Wynn. Each is a self-contained biosphere: a casino, a spa, restaurants, galleries, shops, shows, and more. Each is easy to get lost in: in Caesar’s Palace I wandered into the Forum Shops and couldn’t figure my way out. Each contained some measure of striking beauty, not without tack, though Vegas invented tacky as cool.
Back at they Wynn I notice tons of people wearing lanyards. I read once that Vegas actually brings in more money from conferences than from pure gambling. On some attendees’ lanyards I noticed the “Dr.” prefix. What on earth type of conference could that be?
On my way to Sinatra in the Encore, I spied the Vegas Golden Knights on TV, about to commence their elimination game in Montreal. They lost, not that I noticed before the end of the night. The Wynn poker room had perhaps 20 tables going, complete with massage therapists giving treatment to players as they continued to sit at their seats and play.
I met Marc and Lisa in line for our 5:30 seating. They are my parents’ friends from grad school, or you could say my aunt & uncle, or my New York surrogate parents. They fit right into Vegas, or rather vacation, tan and content and sporting white.
In line the hostess walked up to confirm our reservation. And to clear me up as to the appropriateness of my plain t-shirt and chinos: “we’re going to give you a sport coat to put on the back of the chair; gotta conform with our dress code.” As long as I don’t have to wear it. We are shown to our table by another host, who, familiar with the procedure goes “I’ll be right back with your jacket.”
After sipping my martini and munching on a few varieties of bread, we enjoyed polpettine, clams, and prosciutto with melon. For the entrees I considered at least four or five, but ended on the vegan agnolotti. Marc & Lisa’s son Daniel came down for dessert, fresh off a bout of remote learning. After eating some chocolate mousse, Dan & I strolled to the Venetian.
I wanted to play poker. He said he didn’t know how to play, and didn’t like gambling at all for that matter, but was in every mood to make the walk with me. Upon arrival there surprisingly was zero waitlist for my table, so I got chips and sat while Dan went to wander around and do some peoplewatching.
The session didn’t get off to too eventful a start. During one hand the dealer accidentally took my cards thinking I folded, then gave the right ones back to me, and my opponent was so offput that he misplayed his superior hand and I ended up winning.
Dan came back after about an hour with a grin on his face. “Uhh so I just won $60 in slots” “I thought you didn’t gamble” “Yeah…” “I’m gonna keep playing for a bit, you good?” “Yeah just gonna keep wandering around”
A trio of friends sat down at our table, two guys and a girl. One was there to talk and gamble, betting on even his mediocre hands. The other two played it closer to the chest, but all three drank pretty heavily, soaking in the entertainment value.
Dan wandered back again. “How’s it going?” “I just drank one of those big daquiris, played some electronic blackjack, and won a couple bucks.” I’d been playing poker for just over two hours and was a couple bucks over breakeven. Why not go for the more fast & loose variety of fun? This was my first time in Vegas, after all. So I quit poker for the night, in search of daquiris.
The world was my oyster as I mixed Fat Tuesday’s electric lemonade & bellini flavors, tossing a shot of Hennessy on top. The prospective clubbers in line at Tao next to us looked a resigned sort of excited. Dan and I went back downstairs to play electronic blackjack and baccarat. Somehow I won great odds on the latter, calling a tie on my final hand.
Dan had seen from his window at the Encore that they’re opening a new casino resort across the street: Resorts World. So we decided to give it a try.
Stopped along the way at CVS for some tallboys. A magician approached us in the checkout line, offering to perform some tricks. He marked an x on a guy’s closed hand, identified the card I picked out of the deck, made a card disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. Even in a grocery line, the Vegas entertainment seems to seek you out rather than the other way around.
Speaking of lines, the one at Resorts World went way out the door, so we popped in to Circus Circus next door — popped in to, literally, a casino within a circus tent, complete with paraphernalia like stuffed bears & clown costumes. This felt more like the original Vegas though: the slot machines operated only with real tokens, and some of the blackjack tables conversed in Spanish rather than English.
Dan knew the basics of blackjack from playing on the electric machines. We felt a little skittish to sit down at first, the min buyin being 3x higher than the machines. Besides, blackjack hands go so fast, you could blow through $100 by losing just four to six hands in a row. Additionally, it can sometimes feel intimidating to sit down at a table of regulars, who know the game through-and-through while you know very little. But we hadn’t come to Vegas to watch, and I found an open seat and put my money on the table.
The guy to my right offered advice on my very first hand. “That’s a hold. Dealer’s gonna bust.” Sure enough he was right. Along with the guy to my left, he was evidently counting as many cards as possible. And it showed in the results — nearly an hour later, while I’d been down to my last chip a couple times, I still hadn’t busted thanks to their advice. Dan joined in around this time and got the same coaching I did, our card counter thankfully accommodating our lack of Spanish-speaking skills by communicating in English.
Our card counter clearly was a regular. He chatted familiarly with the other players, the dealer, and even the floor manager. “Been here all day?” “Only 6 hours” “Oh really? I’m sure...” When he finally decided to cash out, wary that the dealer had started to sour towards his success, we shortly followed. I put my remaining money on one final hand and got blackjacked by the dealer, but Dan, playing more conservatively, made out alright.
By now the line to Resorts World had disappeared, so we just walked on in. It was after 3am, after all. While it wasn’t crowded, it definitely had some energy. Worked out for us as, because we were two of the few at the craps table, the dude working it gave us a 101.
By the time we left, after observing their car display, the 5am sky was starting to get blue from the rising sun. We looked around the Wynn for some food but struggled to find any, so I went to bed.
Woke up just over four hours later, my second full REM cycle in two days. Sorely needed. I made straight for the Wynn pool and ordered a breakfast burrito, sans cheese. While I’m waiting, I overheard the woman to my right talking to the couple to her right, and gathered they’re a part of that same conference, a dentistry conference. So that explains the “Dr.” I’d seen on the lanyards.
The woman on my right, a dental hygienist, got up, and a few minutes later they brought my breakfast burrito. But instead of taking my number, which was pinned to the back of the chair, they take a number that’s sitting on the table between our chairs. “This order’s for me right? That’s not not my 64, mine’s the 228 pinned to the back of my seat” “No, this is for 64” “Breakfast burrito with no cheese?” “Nope just a regular breakfast burrito” I look to the couple to my right “We don’t really know her, just met, so we don’t really know if she ordered that”
I’m starving but leave it sitting on her chair. She returns and immediately says “oh they finally brought my breakfast burrito” and the couple to her right and I explain the near miss. We chat for a bit and shortly thereafter they bring mine. I tell of my travels, completed and planned, she responds “wow, how bohemian” and tells me funny stories of conference attendees at the bar last night. I bring up my struggle finding food in the early AM “Yeah it’s like they don’t want you to eat here!” “Kinda makes sense if you think about it, full people are too lazy to gamble”
Finally full myself, I go to be lazy with the Bivonas at the Encore pool. They’d reserved a cabana, at which I lounge about and enjoy fruit, Perrier, and the sights & scenes around me. I notice my brother Johnny has arrived at the front desk, and go to meet them. I find him and his girlfriend Rae standing masked up in the reception line. “Outside this room you won’t see anyone wearing them, it’s like covid doesn’t exist.” Their room isn’t ready yet, they having driven up early from Pasadena, so they put their stuff in mine and we head to the cabana.
We all wet our beaks with poolside margaritas. Marc reminds us it’s a topless pool, and while most women have their tops on, we do see one or two without.
We discussed family & travel. Johnny (to Bivonas): “What brought you guys to Vegas?” Lisa (looking at me): “Oh, our third” (child, that is, Daniel’s sister Chloe having not made the trip). I also recall discussing reading & writing, as a couple of the other pool guests’ ambience reminded me of Zelda Fitzgerald, or how you’d imagine Nicole Diver looking in Tender is the Night; in other words they were people who brought the French Riviera to the Desert of Nevada.
To quickly rest up for the night, I ate a broccolini salad while staring out my room’s window, ruminating on a question my friend had texted me that day: “What has the trip felt like?” I thought of past and present and future, of New York and being cast adrift and Los Angeles. I heard music playing from the pool and looked out at the life outside: the moving cars, the pool partiers, the golfers.
While Johnny & Rae settled into their room, I locked in two sports bets: Islanders over Lightning in Game 7, and Bucks -8.5 in a revenge game vs Atlanta. I also withdrew some more cash for the night and started to feel nervous.
We decided to start out at the Mirage, it being the place of our dinner reservation. On the way we joked about taking a pic in front of the Eiffel Tower and posting it on Instagram as if in Paris, and we stopped at the Venetian to appreciate beautiful St. Mark’s Square, noting that the windows of the reproduction are actually too aligned to be accurate. I reminded the group of the last time Johnny was in St. Mark’s Square.
Walking up to the Mirage, I wondered after its name, to which Daniel went “it’s like a mirage in the middle of the desert, too good to be true.” That also explains why they have a dolphin exhibit. We got beers and started off with low-stakes electronic blackjack. A woman with grey hair came up to me as I’m playing: “You want a modelo?” “Umm.. yes.” She gives me an unopened tallboy with a little cup to go along. I shrug to Dan.
Rae seemed to know blackjack pretty well, at least relative to us other three. Her dad had taught her some, and she’d also read a book of odds. We all watched her for a bit, and then met Marc & Lisa, sitting at the bar of Tom Colicchio’s Heritage Steak. “We’re ready for our reservation” “What’s the name?” “Chloe Bivona” *I look at Lisa* “She’s here in spirit”
We cheers to being together, and Lisa toasts to my going away: “I don’t know when we’re going to see Lyle again.” Felt a little wan at that. And felt wan when, later that night, I hugged them a final goodbye, final as a New York resident.
Dinner began with melty biscuits hot off the press. I began with a dirty vodka martini and progressed to red wine. As a table we shared the shellfish platter (the east coast oysters from Wellfleet, the west coast from British Columbia). I crescendoed with the ribeye and truffle fries. Johnny got regular fries and we did a taste test. I preferred mine, he preferred his. What else is new? The Bivonas got the tomahawk steak to share, more tender even than my ribeye.
Chelsea Dagger played over the speakers, I enjoyed some espresso, and we realized it’s just about time for the Volcano. So we walked outside and watched alongside others as fire & drums pierced the sky.
Next we stopped at the Rio for Comedy Cellar. Sadly I’d never been in New York, but did enjoy the western edition, of which many performers were from New York. Especially enjoyed the first two performers and the host, but by the end I was ready to get back to the strip.
All day I’d fixated on going to Caesar’s Palace. Don’t know exactly why, but have a few guesses. We pulled in, got drinks, got a lay of the land, took some pics with their statues. There weren’t a ton of open spots at craps or blackjack, and I saw a lot of higher stakes tables. In general it felt pretty touristy, or rather even more touristy than the rest of Vegas. Overall just didn’t love the vibes and we decided to try another place. But first Johnny said “Come on Lyle you really wanted to gamble here, at least try something.” Ok ok there seemed to be some open space at Roulette. Well I won the first spin, and within a half hour or fourty-five minutes I’d tripled my money.
I brought my chips to the cashier and she said “Oh these are the table chips, which are different than regular chips because in roulette they need to differentiate between players. Don’t worry though haha, people do this all the time.” So I bring them back to the table to exchange and the woman got her manager. “Because you took them off the table, all your $5 chips now count for only $1. But this one time we’ll make an exception.” But I thought the cashier said people make that mistake all the time? Yep, was pretty happy to get out of there.
We took the escalator bridge across the street to the Flamingo. This is what Vegas should feel like. We got a great session in playing craps, Dan and my education continuing from the prior night, Johnny and Rae’s starting afresh. I lost a little bit, but we played pretty well all things considered. Got in the flow where it becomes almost rhythmic, observations translating fluently into actions.
After Johnny and Rae tried their hand at roulette, we encouraged Rae to play table blackjack. “You learn so much more.” “But it’s $25 min! So I could lose $100 in four hands.” “Then buy in for more than $100.” We pooled our money together and she sat down. The woman next to her right took to her immediately, coaching her up as the card counter coached me & Dan the prior night. Even the dealer got into helping Rae; because she (the dealer) is compelled to hit or stay based on the odds, her personal judgment doesn’t factor into her play and she therefore felt free to give advice.
All of a sudden I realized it’s past 2am, and I had a super long drive the next morning to the coast. So I bid them all farewell and headed back. Walking back into the Wynn I remembered my sportsbook tickets; the Bucks one had won. So I went to cash it but they were closed. I tried to wedge it under Johnny’s door and while it’s airtight, I was able to squeeze it under there enough so no one would see it. (he did successfully cash it in)
Showering in the morning I noted how the toiletries feature Chinese characters, and how Lisa said the Wynn & Encore, with their flower carnations and red everywhere, were built to draw Chinese tourists.
In the elevator it was me and one other dude. Looking at my bags, he asked “How was it?” “Oh so amazing” “Stupid question, I suppose” “It was my first time” …. “Have a good trip” “You tooo” and my voice trailed off as I realized he likely wasn’t going on a trip, that what I said was akin to saying “you too” when a waiter says “enjoy your meal” or a concierge says “enjoy your stay”
Driving out, I saw signs to take me to either SLC or LA. Neither today, thank you. But in due time, both. My dad called and we chatted for a bit. Within a minute of hanging up, I cross into Cali.
In Part Four I will heading out to and up the west coast!
