Go West, Young Man!

Just Remember To Come Back East When You're Done...

Last night I was reading a book about the area around Lake Mead & Lake Mojave, and it got me thinking back to a road trip I took years ago.

A friend of mine was turning 30, and to celebrate "the death of her youth", wanted a Las Vegas blowout.

OK, I'm hip.  Still, airfare, hotels, gambling, carousing, that costs some serious coin.  How to save a bit and still have fun?

Don't fly! Drive!   I offered to co-pilot with my friend Jennifer Chainsaw in her super-economical Toyota.  We'd tank up on coffee & No-Doz, and power through the trip from Dallas to Vegas in one hop.

It worked, mostly.  Fitting my big ass into that little car was fun, and some serious sleep-deprivation over the 4 days coupled with obscene booze intake while in Vegas took its toll.  I was hallucinating giant winged frogs just outside Amarillo, but we made it back alive.

Anyway, we passed through Kingman, AZ, and instead of turning north for Sin City, we headed for Laughlin and the AZ/Cali border for the express purpose of letting me add another state to my "I've Been There" collection.

So, my one & only time to set foot in California was in the dead of night, exactly here:

I poked around for a rock or something as a souvenir, but aside from the cattleguard and the sign, there was nothing but spiny plants and alkali soil.

I wished I hadn't already drained the lizard back in Kingman.  I would have liked to have left about a quart of my steamy esteem on their Welcome sign...