We found the strip, made a right onto it and proceeded to have our little minds completely blown. First we passed that "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign pictured in the last chapter. The showgirls weren't there though. I guess they were off on a coffee break or something. Just beyond the sign, on the left, were the Vandalay properties. I mean Mandalay, sorry George. The Mandalay Bay with its huge triple winged tower all glowing gold in the noonday sun. Followed by the Luxor with its enormous Sphinx, Obelisk and Pyramid Hotel and Casino. Lastly the Excalibur with its Disneyesque castle. All this in just the first block. Sheesh, gambling pays! If you're the house, of course.

     Now we were at the intersection of Tropicana Avenue and the Strip and there was traffic aplenty. The Excalibur was on our near left, the Tropicana on our near right. The far right was occupied by the MGM Grand with New York, New York on the far left blotting out the sun with its skyline of NYC, Statue of Liberty and all. Wow, talk about your wretched excess. I was in the first lane on the right that wasn't a right hand turn lane but soon learned to drive more to the left or wait endlessly for traffic going into and out of the passing casinos. There sure was a lot of it. People just can't throw their money away fast enough as long as there is a slim, slender, remote and tiny chance that beyond the flashing lights and the ringing bells there will be a pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow. HINT. It doesn't rain much in the desert so not many 'bows, huh! OK, enough moralizing. If you earn your money, you should be able to do whatever you want with it, even if its using the kids college fund or your nest egg on a long shot. Hell, the Social Security Administration gambles everyday that you won't live long enough to collect your benefits so why shouldn't you? Uh oh, I feel a flashback coming.

     Our destination for this drive was the Tenaya Creek Restaurant & Brewery.  Gleaned from my well prepared list of local brewpubs and beer bars while waiting back at the Lineland so graciously provided to us by Alamo. While Marylou did the obligatory turns around the barriers, I consulted the map of the area posted on the wall. I wanted to go to Tenaya Creek more than any of the others because it was the only independent one, not affiliated with a large corporation or Casino. No one can take the flavor from a craft beer faster than some corporate puke who thinks that the "product" should be "accessible to the masses". Read as "Our fine hand crafted brews will remind you of the subtle flavors found in such fine products as Budweiser, Coors Light, and Miller." I apologize to those of you who actually enjoy Bud and Miller. I understand that taste, being subjective, varies greatly and American Pale Lager is a legitimate beer style. One of hundreds of styles of beers and ales. Just try a few others. There is a whole undiscovered world of liquid barley treats just awaiting your tongue. To those of you who enjoy Coors Light, switch to wine coolers or something. You really don't like beer. Oooh, I got sidetracked again. Now where was I, yeah, Tenaya Creek. Well, I couldn't find it on the map at Alamo so I called them from the pay phone, got directions, and making a slight adjustment for the trip up the strip, plotted a course. Look out, flash forward.

     The next block took us past some really wonderful examples of late 20th century desert architecture, the Monte Carlo, the brand new Aladdin risen, phoenix like, from the rubble of the old, the stately Bellagio, the Paris, replete with an Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe, and ending with Ballys at the corner of Flamingo Road. By now I was in sensory overload and the plaintive crooning of N'dea Davenport backed by the Heavies R&B funk faded from my consciousness slowly, inexorably replaced by a deeper familiar voice. Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire. Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn, so get those stakes up higher. I shook my head. I don't usually hallucinate without psycotropic help. There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there ... Aaahhh, that's better. Man, even in the daytime, without all the multicolored neon dancing across your optic nerves this place can just sweep you awaaaaay! We proceeded down the next block passing Caesars Palace and the The Flamingo, of course, we just crossed Flamingo Road. Then on the right, Harrah's uh, on the left the Mirage ... and they're all livin' devil may care. And I'm just the devil with love to spare.. Stop it! Stop it! Oh man, I must be freakin' out. As I tried to gather my wits I glanced in the rear view mirror and all instantly became clear. And I'm not making this up. Right behind me, driving an old El Camino sorely in need of some paint, with a pretty gal by his side was the man himself, Elvis, arm out the window, big black shades looking like he was HOME.

Paris in the desert

  THE man, E.A.P.