The road to Vegas. Part one.
Wagons roll. Eastwards we truck. Onwards and over there. Advancing forth, beginning the long inward peregrination towards the mighty Yosemite and the lighty Las Vegas. A particularly palpable excitement is present as we drive with giddy grins on our faces. It’s a very worked up childlike feeling, like a juiced up electric coil has been wound up tight in my stomach. Fully charged and almost hyperactive we know that big bright, grown up fun land is only a matter of hours away. The route to Sin city takes us over the border of the neighbouring states of California and Nevada with a near six hundred miles of Tarmac to put behind us.
After a couple of hours of drive-time we reach the outskirts of the splendid Yosemite national park. Not too far from the entrance, our route is diverted by an epic rockfall landslide which has swallowed the road in front of us. Remnants of the upper mountain cascade greedily downwards, reclaiming the ground as its own.
Mine.
We follow our diversion and arrive at the mammoth spectacle of Yosemite. As you would imagine, the route flaunts a significant proportion of ‘EPIC’ with most corners revealing more spectacular rock formations and water carved valleys. The winding roads propel us deeper into the rugged beauty as the lofty vistas deliver a never ending assault of visual splendour. Permanent signs mandate the need for snow chains in the winter months but we are on the right side of November to shrug this off.
Yosemite is massive, making us feel exceptionally scant indeed. The peaks are imposing and cast long cold shadows onto the valley floor, making midday exploring a necessity to sun hungry tourists like us. There are multiple hikes through the immense park and we decide to take one of the shorter ones to Mirror lake. Fate dictates there will be absolutely no reflectioning of any kind today or tomorrow. The lake has long dried up due to a stifling drought meddling with this (usually) routinely ravishing tourist spot. Slow seeping waterfalls trickle like half-arsed tears, reducing the potential drama of the mountain location. Disappointed, but with chins skywards we take in the spectacular arches section of Yosemite. Everything feels a bit massive and is difficult to take in from our low perspective. We suspect a ride in a helicopter would be the best way to see the place, but stinge out due to an already overspent budget. We also know which wallet worrying destination is coming next.
Next stop Vegas.
Due to the time of year, the road to Death Valley is closed and we are frustratingly stopped in our tracks, forced to skirt around the scary titled mountain range. This route to Vegas spans a near four hundred mile journey of exceptionally straight desert roads. Of pure rubber on Tarmac, there is seven more hours of driving to do.
We watch an epic sunset do its business and after a relatively enjoyable slog we arrive at Circus Circus at the north end of the Las Vegas strip. A huge neon clown welcomes us and directs us to the car park. We get lost in the befuddling labyrinth of valet/RV/short stay/long stay/tower/low rise routes, but eventually find our way, park up and locate the entrance to the hotel lobby.
The neon of Las Vegas sizzles under the Nevadan skies. Emitting a hum from the spectacular bustle it generates, the mega city is crawling with life. A never ending sprawling mass circumnavigates the city, equal parts nocturnal and diurnal pound pathways. Wide oversized pavements channel foot traffic directly into the hotels and unless you want to contend with oncoming traffic (you really don’t) you are manoeuvred into the shopping mall sections of the hotels. Armani, Prada, Givenchy, and Chanel (to name a tiny few) jostle for the attention of your dollars. Lavish shop fronts dazzle with ornate window design. Expensive suits cater to the couture look. Like a David Copperfield illusion, money levitates magically towards the casinos, commerce and culture of the bright light city (New York, New York was reported to make twenty six million dollars in its first twelve hours of opening its casino doors).
Las Vegas hotels aren’t like any other hotels in the world. Due to the oversized scale involved, your frame of reference is way off meaning that a hotel which appears nearby and a short walk is actually a hefty distance away. Hotels connect to each other via foot bridges and monorails, and buses run constantly north and southwards in a bumper to bumper fashion. The city has an in flux population of over a million people every day (not including those who live there permanently). We are talking really REALLY big numbers here.
An incredibly busy journey on the Deuce bus takes over an hour to travel the 4.2 miles from the Stratosphere to the Mandalay bay mega hotels. For maximum appeal, each hotel has a strong exterior theme, from the slightly cheesy Excalibur (Medieval knights and castles) New York, New York (complete with a giant Statue of Liberty statue and other representations of iconic locations of the big apple) Paris (struts of the Eiffel Tower protrude into the casino floor) and the Bellagio (incredibly romantic Italian/French chic decor). Since I came here with my dad (circa 2001) a number of new mega hotels have popped up like The Wynn, Hard Rock Cafe and The Fashion Mall. All massive, all with the potential to bewilderise.
Our hotel is themed around a giant big top circus experience. It’s not the most expensive hotel on the strip (it’s the least expensive hotel on the strip) but has an appeal of its own, if you try not to look too closely at the heavily worn carpets. Throughout the lobbies, corridors and casino floors there is a constant noise of blooping slot machines rotating their drum wheels, flashing their screens and general attention seeking to attempt to corral your cash out of your pockets and into their slots. The absence of windows or clocks hides the time of day to encourage gamblers to keep on spending and by crikey they do. Gambling zombies sit for hours feeding the hungry machines.
As is the theme with our hotel, circus acts perform to the family audience in a special stage built into the centre of the gambling floor. On our first night there, we watch a slack wire performer and an incredibly muscley lady in a rubber skin tight costume (of Batman costume ilk) rolling through the air, somehow avoiding rope burns to the arms and legs. The rest of the entertainment section of our hotel consists of a theme park complete with two roller coasters, a 4D cinema, a bowling alley, carnival games and a giant Ferris wheel. Space is really not at a premium in Vegas.
At this point, Lucy looks a little bewildered by the insanity of Vegas so we take a break and eat at Vince Neill’s (Mötley Crüe vocalist) tatuado restaurant in Circus Circus. The restaurant is covered in memorabilia from Neill’s heady days in the Crüe, but verges on appearing as a teenage superfan’s fondle stash. In line with American appetites, the massive meal portions ensure we don’t go hungry for days.
The morning after we have to say goodbye to the Treehouse van. We return the van to the depot just off the main Vegas strip. In an emotional farewell, a Roxette piano ballad plays alongside a montage of photographs of our time together from LA to Vegas. Slow motion transitions play out scenes from the roads, the cities, the beaches, the petrol stations, cruising the pacific coast highway, camping underneath the stars and urinating out of the sliding doors. As we walk away, I take one last look back at Treehouse, who has a leaking windscreen washer. A soapy water tear trickles down the bonnet. It must have been love indeed.
In those next few days we get into the spirit of Vegas and have a proper go at gambling. We take lessons in blackjack and actually learn the percentages, terms and ways to play the game. Double down on eleven. We are pumped to win. In practicing, we actually see these methods working. Let’s win some money! With the minimum bet of 25 dollars we get a bit too scared to lose and chicken out of table play. We do however become coin slot, gambling zombies and have a successful run at video roulette playing odds or evens, black or red. Lady luck gives us a wink as we win a cool eighty six dollars in the process. That’s over fifty pounds in British sterling. Not bad. Not bad at all. Waitresses bring free drinks to those who gamble, tip well and the waitresses come back often. We order champagne and mimosas, which keep on coming.
Vegas has an individual madness that is all its own. It seems to be where all the crazy ideas go on holiday. You can buy a yard cocktail of piña colada and walk from hotel to hotel, watch a mammoth choreographed water fountain show, then travel around a canal system in a shopping mall, in a working gondola and be sung to by a Italian man wearing a boater and a stripey shirt. You can then watch a free pirate show with fire and explosions in front of Treasure island, an entire hotel themed around a swashbuckling, plank walking, timber shivering experience. Then if you want, you can go to see about a hundred different shows in any genre on any one night.
We get mega discounted tickets for a band called Recycled percussion who were runners up in a series of America’s got talent (they lost to a juggler). They impressively drum their way through their show and seem plucky and likeable sorts. They give the audience a multitude of pots, pans, metallic tubes and a drumstick each to join in with the noise. The wait for the show is agonisingly loud but it pays off when the show starts and you are encouraged to thump away to the beat.
I can’t help but compare Recycled Percussion to the Blue Man Group, who have more originality and a more focused visuality to their show. We still leave happy albeit with our ears ringing all the way back to our hotel room.