The Impossible Tahoe Turn and Burn, Day 6
The Impossible
Tahoe Turn & Burn is an 8 part series,
so be sure to start with
Day 1
After the shenanigans of night 5, we definitely woke up with a bit of crudo.
I was parched before I even tried to open my eyes through the crusties, reached for my water but grabbed only a half-full beer from last night. Neither of us tie one on very often anymore, but we figured that the situation the night before warranted a bit of celebration, maybe even a tad bit of excess.
When I did open my eyes, wiping the sleep away, all I saw was gear all over hotel room. Apparently I had, during the revelry, been looking for something and thought it had to be in the bottom of one bag, then another. Not sure what it was or if I found it. Once we got everything back together and back to the truck, we realized that on one of several beer runs to the cooler in the truck bed, we'd left the doors unlocked. Thankfully, all was well.
We filled up, out of necessity as we led out of town, paying the most per gallon of the entire trip so far: $5.29.
Along the long roads between Tahoe and Vegas, we stopped often but moved along more than anything. Some of the sights from the window were striking: more scars from recent wildfires, dust devils in the distance, greater Joshua Tree sightings,
wide open skies cut only by layer upon layer of mountains.
We were definitely back in the high desert, and even though it's not the same as the one Josh and I have both come to know and love so much, The Chihuahuan Desert, it's a familiar place nonetheless and it makes my soul smile to look at it, to just be in it and breathe it.
In the vast expanses of nothing, the US military has untold amounts of secret bunkers and bases and ammunition, the largest ammo depot on the damn planet, in fact.
It was eerie looking across the valley and seeing nothing but ammo bunkers all the way up into the surrounding mountains, on both sides of the highway. I thought a lot about all this and will write more about it at some point later.
Though we’d boasted before we left that we would stay a night at where most people only take selfies with the sign at the world famous Clown Motel in Tonopah, we didn't. It didn't really fit into the overall logistics of the operation we were on, it was quite expensive and also didn't seem like it was going to be worth it, anyway. We did stop and take some fotos (no selfies though!) and tried to hit up the free clown museum and gift shop but there was a note on the door saying they were out, so we kept moving. As ever.
Our next stop was the abandoned ruins of a motel that is now a veritable open air art gallery in the middle of nowhere. Graffiti covered practically every inch of every wall still standing, and the shooting was great, perfect light with dramatic snowy mountains in the background.
One of the highlights was the tattered remains of an installation by artist
Eddie Colla - check him out.
Then onto Rhyolite, the abandoned ruins of an old mining boom town of the early 1900s. We'd meant to go all the way to Stovepipe Wells to drop off a 12 pack of Shiner we brought for a friend, but were running short on time to get into Vegas before sunset. So we ended up stashing the beer in a secret location that we sent to them, and made dust as we hastened southward.
We did make it into Vegas right before sunset, drove the Strip down and back so I could shoot some fotos, then checked into the room at Treasure Island. Rooms were cheap since the National Finals Rodeo had just ended and people were clearing out. Josh talked them into a free upgrade, so we got a fine room on the 32nd and top floor with a great view of the Strip.
We walked around for a while, drank daiquiris, watched the madness swirling, a never ending river of people flowing and frothing and eddying around in side pools, rolling in and out of every casino we passed like the rhythm of the waves on the shore of the ocean. A stark contrast to the nothingness we'd been enjoying practically this entire time.
After some time doing that, we took a ride over to the Freemont Street Experience. It was a wild Saturday night on the historic strip with several stages throughout, each with some looking-the-part cover band competing for your attention. The entire ceiling is a TV screen and people are zip lining above the crowd, every one with the wildest look on their face, like pre-superheroes who just realized they could fly for the first time.
We bought beers to-go from a bodega and while in line, I almost dropped mine, went to catch it, somehow (still unsure) poked a hole in the side of the can and it sprayed IPA everywhere, but mostly right into Josh's back,
dripping down into his shoes even. I was surprised by this and it took me a second to contain the spray. By that time it was all over his back, the floor, the counter, the Covid screen, everything. And the woman behind the counter was very unamused. Good times.
We hadn't eaten in a while, and although we'd been proud of ourselves for not having eaten fast food this entire trip, we broke down for a trip to White Castle, sure to soak up the beer and make a quick exodus. If I never do that again, I will still be glad for this choice encounter, for it served the only purpose we needed it to. RIP, my guts.
This city may never sleep, but I sure did. While the malady of my neck and shoulders had improved quite a bit, after a long day in the truck then a lot of walking around, I was spent and in pain on my feet. That bed felt so good, I fell asleep almost immediately, damn the neon glowing and buzz of the Strip, 32 floors below.
