My first trip to Sin City, I was helping my nephew move from Michigan to Los Angeles in a bid to bolster his writing career. We chose of course the decrepit but historic Route 66. Instead of barreling in to Barstow and just shy of Kingman, Arizona, the signs haling Las Vegas this-a-way
beckoned. With a glance and a smirk dang it we were off. I've been there some 24 times since. Sure, I was probably wide eyed at first but as they say, the glitter has since worn off, and if it hadn't, I would have scrubbed it off my self. The town doesn't hold much for me but in all fairness, when I'm there I'm there to work and don't venture much beyond a 3 mile radius of the strip. Usually after day one of about 6, I'm ready for the cab ride back to the airport. You might too if you've ever spent any time in the lobby of the Imperial Palace. It's like hanging out at my neighborhood Wal Mart only this location has carpeting, craps and a vague impersonation of Dolly Parton shuckin' cards while belting out a kinda believable take on 9 to 5. Now it looks like Cher steppin' up...oh look, my cabs here. I shouldn't dog Vegas so much, there's actually a few chestnuts strewn around that make it semi tolerable. Like the Pepper Mill for instance is definitly a must see. It has a 1969-ish, grotto like interior, with indoor sunken firepits and alcove style seating. You know its got widespread appeal when you pass a couple members of the Hell's Angels headin' out while you're headin' in. When I have more time and more money, I'm gonna get me a rental cah and make for the hills just outside a town. Sometimes the strip can make a man yearn for the likes of the Nevada Test Site or heck, Death Valley.
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