The Archive

Got my kicks

Decisions, decisions.

Do I a) stay in Prescott with the lovely (really, quite gorgeous. evidence to follow when I get home) women and hang out or b) get back on the road.

Now, at first glance, it's obviously a). But the truth is, I really believe all that was going to happen if I did that was that I'd make an embarrassing pass at one, two or all of the girls and they'd be embarrassed, disgusted or just disappointed.

So, rather than let what was a quite wonderful night end in shame, I hit the road.

Specifically, I managed to get on to Route 66.

Most of you probably know that Route 66 is 'historic' by which it means, nowadays basically dead, with a few crappy souvenir shops where towns used to thrive.

So I got on to Route 66, looked around, felt a bit sad and then got off it again. I'm not even sure I was on it long enough to get kicks plural. Probably I got my kick, on Route 66.

Actually, that said, I did find myself back on it a few times, as it does famously pass through Kingman, Barstow and San Bernadino, as does Interstate 15, which I was on. So whenever I came off the highway to get petrol, I generally found myself once again on the historic road.

So I guess I got my petrol, on Route 66.

Anyway, I was considering stopping for a night in Kingman in order to break up the trip to Las Vegas. I mentioned this to two people and they said (in this order)...


"No. Don't." (with not the slightest hesistation.)

and

"Don't stay there. Don't even stop there. Stop for gas on the outskirst of town and keep going."

Apparently there's really nothing there, so I kept on keeping on until I got to Vegas.

Viva Las Vegas.

I found myself a motel right on the edge of the strip, just where it stops being glamorous hotels and casinos and where the truth starts to emerge in the form of 'cheques cashed' and pawn shops every 10 yards.

Then I went in to town, ready to party.

And here's the thing. It really didn't work out. I stopped off in one bar where, admittedly, the barmaid was a) astonishingly attractive (Dean - she looked very, very similar to Brainiac's Professor My An Lee) and b) was wearing an outfit that consisted of little more than a corset and a bra. So very much aimed at pleasing me, I'd say.

And no, I didn't talk to her, as she didn't show me even the slightest sign of interest, for which I can hardly blame her.

Anyway, I stopped off for some dinner, where I chatted to two nice ladies, one of whom was a Las Vegas correctional officer in a women's prison (ie screw, although she assured me it was nothing like Cell Block H, or the other movies I like to watch).

She and her friend advised me to stay on the strip, as just a block or so back it gets quite dodgy apparently, as well as confirming that my motel was on the very brink of acceptability. The prison guard also added, on hearing that I was basically right next to Circus Circus, "That's ok, just don't go to the back of Circus Circus. There's drugs, hustlers, even prostitutes."

Guess where I went at the end of the night.

Correct. And yet I found none of the above. Mind you, it was only a brief foray and without real intent, so it seem likely I just got lucky, or unlucky, depending on one's perspective.

Ah, but to skip back in time for a bit, I basically wandered around the strip, drinking in various bars, when I came across the Venetian.

For those of you who don't know it, it's a plastic, but very decent, version of Venice, complete with canals. So far, so mundane. But what was amazing is they have lit the corridors with daylight light bulbs, so when I walked in at midnight, suddenly it was transformed into the middle of the day.

It plays havoc with your jet lag I can assure you. "Ha!" says your body, "I told you it was about noon."

Anyway, I was planning to stay a few nights in Vegas, but it turns out it's a great place to go as a group or a couple, but on your own, it really feels quite desperate.

And for the desperate, lonely traveller, there are plenty of options. But none of them are going to make you feel any better in the morning.

So no, I didn't, thank you for asking.

I did, on the other hand, consider going to a brothel. Prostitution is legal in Nevada, but only in out of town brothels and I thought it might be interesting to go and see one.

But then, as I was headed out of town, I realised that although I'd like to see one, I didn't really want to experience it. I'd seen it on Louis Theroux and it was all kind of sad.

So, in another move that will surprise many of you, I just forgot about it and drove on West.

And on. And on.

My original intention was to go to a town a couple of hours out of Vegas. But I got there and there was really nothing there, outside of a few stores and a Casino.

Repeat for the next town (bearing in mind even 'the next town' is a good hour and a half away'.

And the next town.

And the next town, except now we're in California, so no casino.

And as I kept going I realised that what I was craving was a little familiarity. So, with 5 solid hours biking (jesus my neck hurts now) I returned to Palm Springs.

So here I am.

I'm glad to be here, but on reflection I really, really should have stayed that extra night in Prescott.

Thanks for everything Desert Rose.

posted by Peter The Great @ 1:03 AM