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 Viva Lost Wages Early in the morning – well, around 8 a.m., which is early for me – I said goodbye to Troy, Carlye, and the weird golf courses in San Diego, then I got on Interstate 15 and headed east to Las Vegas.
There are more interesting roads to take across the Mojave Desert than Interstate 15, including the old, two-lane U.S. Route 66 used by the fictional Joad family in John Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" (and used by thousands of non-fictional Okies and Arkies immigrating to California during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s). But I was in a hurry to get to Utah. It's about a three-hour drive across the Mojave Desert from L.A. to Las Vegas and, this being a Friday, Interstate 15 was packed with Angelenos heading to "Lost Wages" for a weekend of fun (and, mostly, losing).
The "World's Tallest Thermometer" read 98 degrees as I drove into the dusty town of Baker, halfway to Vegas and in the middle of the Mojave Desert. My truck doesn't have air conditioning, so I stopped at a Union 76 station and got a 44-ounce mug of Diet Pepsi with lots of ice, which I nursed the rest of the way across the desert with the windows rolled down. That's the only way to drive across the desert if your truck doesn't have air conditioning. Actually it was quite pleasant, especially with my truck's 11 speakers blasting out Sheryl Crow's "Leaving Las Vegas." Jeez, I hadn't even arrived yet!
The Mojave Desert gets pretty hot in the summer – and darn cold in the winter. I learned that the hard way back in 1985 when I spent a frosty January night huddled in my down sleeping bag in the back of my Toyota truck while parked in a Rest Area on I-15 near Baker during one of my many cross-country trips. The Mojave is blazing hot in the summer and frigid cold in the winter, but the fall and spring are pretty darn nice.
Above left: The most expensive gas I've seen so far was here in Baker, California in the middle of the Mojave Desert. $2.30 a gallon – ouch! By the way, that's supposedly the World's Tallest Thermometer, at the Bun Boy restaurant in the background. Above right: Joshua Trees were named by the early pioneers because their branches reminded them of the arms of Joshua reaching towards heaven. Joshua, apparently, had many arms. A Career in Blackjack? Don't Bet on It
What I think are the two strangest states in America, Nevada and Utah, are, interestingly, located right next to each other. Utah is the heart of Mormonism, socially conservative, prim and very proper. Nevada, its rowdy next-door neighbor, was for many years the only state in which gambling was legal. Prostitution is also legal in some counties in Nevada (but, of course, I wouldn't know about that). It's regulated pretty stringently, though, from what I hear. But again, I wouldn't know about that.
In the late 1800s, Las Vegas, Nevada was a dust-blown railroad stop in the middle of nowhere with less than 50 residents and about as many saloons. Hoover Dam, a Depression-era works project, was built nearby on the Colorado River in the 1930s and, with this source of electricity and a growing population of Angelenos just a few hours away, casinos began sprouting up in Las Vegas during the 1940s (with the Mafia not far behind). Today, Las Vegas is the fastest-growing city in America with a population approaching a million. Wherever you go in Vegas, you can hear the constant pounding of hammers as new rows of stucco-sided houses sprawl endlessly off into the desert, with little thought towards planning or conservation.
Speaking of gambling, after I graduated from college, I spent five solid months teaching myself to count cards in Blackjack and planned to hit the Nevada casinos to break the bank (hey, what was I supposed to do with a Geography degree?) After teaching myself how to win consistently, I drove to Reno to try out my strategy and rake in the winnings. However, I soon learned a simple fact: casinos don't like it when people win money. I'll describe that episode later, but it was a good lesson in life. After that experience, I decided to get a real job instead of sitting at smoky blackjack tables for the rest of my life, so I joined the engineering consulting firm, Parsons Brinckerhoff.
I've forgotten most of my card-counting strategies, but I still play blackjack in the casinos once in a while, though just for fun now. I can usually stay about even with the casinos, which is better than most players, I suppose. This time, however, I stayed on the Strip and drove by all the blackjack tables because I wanted to spend the night in Utah.
Las Vegas is fascinating but bizarre, like that cross-dressing cousin you try to avoid. I lived here for a few months back in 1999 when my mom was in the ICU in a hospital here and I learned how sleazy the city really is. Nowhere else in America is greed so rampant. After my mom passed away, I flew back home to Portland and, as I walked through the Portland airport, a single thought ran through my mind: "Portland is so... wholesome!" Actually, compared to the craziness called Las Vegas, anyplace is wholesome. Las Vegas is literally the last place I'd ever want to live. That old adage, "You couldn't PAY me to live there" is true. You really couldn't.
Driving down the Las Vegas Strip, though, is usually good for a laugh because you never know what you'll see. As I pulled back onto Interstate 15 after leaving the Strip, I popped my Sheryl Crow CD back in and played "Leaving Las Vegas" once again, this time as I headed out of town. So long, Vegas.
Above left: Interstate 15 and the endless caravan of cars heading from Los Angeles to Las Vegas (right) on a Friday afternoon for a weekend of gambling. A long caravan of losers will be heading in the opposite direction on Sunday afternoon. Above right: Las Vegas is everything I'm not and is the last place I'd ever move to. But it's always a kick to drive on the Strip.
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