As we started down the runway accelerating to take off speed, a mist surrounded us. We left the ground and as soon as we rose 10 feet, were covered in a dense fog. Rising, rising and visibility was zilch. The pilot, of course, was on instruments, just like in Airplane. We could hear the music even way back in our seats. Still rising, zero visibility. It was definitely a weird feeling. Then finally we rise above the fog. The sky is clear, blue and beautiful. The ground looks, sniff, like the biggest pile of white powdery stuff you can, sniff, imagine. Oh wow, sniff, sniff. From horizon to horizon. Endless, white. For the first hour it didn't change. Good thing I gave up the blow during my misspent youth before it damaged my brain, unlike some (Dubya).

     I'd opted for the headset. I need tunes when I travel. That's why all the tapes and CD's in my carry on. We'll be driving a bunch and you can't trust local radio. The headset didn't work. It had only one plug. I rang the stewardess and got another one with two plugs, but then my outlet didn't work. Marylou didn't get the earphones so I had to use her outlet. Good tunes too. I usually don't get into the old stuff but I listened to prog rock from the 70's and 80's that was different than the usual stuff you hear on the radio. Mostly King Crimson, Yes, Gentle Giant, Peter Gabriel, and Frank Zappa. Far out, man. We both had books to pass the time as well. I can't do anything that requires waiting without something to read these days. Marylou was reading Hunting Badger by Tony Hillerman while I had The Shaman's Game by James D. Doss.  Hers about the Navahos, mine the Utes, both set in the desert Southwest. A little mood reading to get us ready for the dry hot place we were headed. If you've ever read Hillerman and liked it, you should try Doss. The first in the series concentrated mostly on the Whites but the subsequent books focus mostly on the Indians, er, Native Americans.

     After the first hour the ground became sporadically visible. We were still pretty much in the east. When I travel across the country I mark progress by the visible landscape. The east is green and random, the midwest (it should be called mideast) is green and boxed into almost perfect squares (Squareville), the west (the real midwest) turns the squares to circles and gradually turns from green to brown (Roundville), finally the mountains mark the transition to the real west. Anyhow, from Squareville on the sky was clear both above and below. I'm switching from the Rock to Jazz now as they serve breakfast, blueberry pancakes rather than the powdered eggs. Not bad for airline food. So it's Zoot Sims, Dave Brubeck, Oscar Peterson, McCoy Tyner, Miles, and Bird. Damn, no Trane.

     As we hit Roundville, barump, we started flying over speed bumps, you know, what they call turbulence. The pilot, ahead of schedule and concerned for the comfort of his passengers found a route that would minimize the discomfort. Luckily it also took us over some nice scenery. First we passed Shiprock, a large rock resembling a sail jutting out of the ground. Then Monument Valley, where all the new car commercials are shot. The pilot was now acting as a tour guide as he pointed out what to see and where to see it. Next up, the Grand Canyon. We could see the very beginning of it as the level of the ground rose higher and higher from the level of the meandering Colorado river. Pretty soon we were nearing our destination.

     Lake Mead came into view as we were descending for our approach. It was the bluest water I have ever seen. I don't know if it was because everything around it was red or brown but to call it just blue is understating its blueness. Are you blueish? You don't look blueish. The landing at McCarran field was the smoothest I have ever experienced. You couldn't tell when the transition from flying to rolling took place it was that smooth. I complimented the pilot as we deplaned, disembarked, deboarded, whatever. Deplane, deplane, boss!

     First thing you notice inside the terminal is all the slot machines. The airport is a casino! Wow! First thing you notice outside after you walk the mile from the gate to the door is the desert air. Dry, dry dry, man. It's so dry you don't sweat, you just evaporate moisture from your pores. We made our way over to Alamo Rent-A-Car after picking up our luggage, went inside and saw the longest line I have ever seen outside of Disney World, (AKA Lineland). I took us about an hour to reach a representative who spoke broken English, was thoroughly unhelpful, curt, brusk and rude. But we got a good price on a charp cheby, a Cavalier, actually. The time wasted in line and the unfriendly clerk were a tradeoff for the good price. So, your pay for everything really, one way or the other. We got the car, checked it for damage, it looked clean, and were delighted to see it had a CD player as well as a radio. Our helpless clerk tried to get us to take a major upgrade, at a substantial price hike to get a tape player when I inquired about a sound system, insisting that our cheap compact only came with a radio. Who can you trust these days? Whew!

     We got directions to the Strip, put in a CD, the Brand New Heavies Brother, Sister and went to cruise the Strip. Hello, hello.

Lake Mead

Southern end of the Strip