A Friendly Face

Part of the Las Vegas Strip

A dozen RVs motor by, not even slowing enough to give the impression they are going to pick us up. But this highway isn't exactly made for stopping. Most of it is built above the desert, a long ribbon of burm to even out the ruts and arroyos and to keep it safe from flash floods. All topped off with six inches of asphalt that could bake a ham in the heat of day.

It might just be timing. It seems as though every time we passed by an actual pull off there was no traffic what so ever. Traffic is thick when we are on the two feet of earth to the side of the road before it drops off to the desert floor with no pull-off in sight.
We take the small rise ahead of us and something becomes clear. There, laid out before us, is the town of Ajo.

"That didn't take long." Lou picks up his pace a little.
"Maybe that is why no one offered us a ride... because we were so close."
"Fuckers."

Now the highway opens up, plenty of room to pull several motorhomes off the road, but we are so close to town that it looks like we are just out for a walk. To our left is an open pit copper mine according to the signs. To the right is some type of rail head and more mine.
We walk another ten minutes and are at what looks like the center of town... or what used to be the center of town. There is an old church at one end of a long oval drive loop, an old train station at the other end, and then what looks like a strip mall on either side. There is a market, and what we really had hoped to see... a restaurant, an open restaurant.
"I could eat, how about you?" I point out the coffee shop.
"I could eat the roast beef curtains off of your grandmother."
I begin to wonder if that wrestler knocked something loose.

There are a few people in here. Must be more around the corner near the back. There is a waitress running plates and coffee back and forth. Pretty soon a man in an apron comes out with a couple of ingredients on a plate... not cooked, but part of a recipe. The waitress sees us and brings a couple of menus our way.
"Coffee?"
We both nod and she hurries back to the kitchen.
I look down at my hands. "I'm going to wash up."
"Me too."
We walk toward the back and see the sign for the restroom. We pass the man in the apron, who is talking to someone in the booth.
I splash some of the water on my face and don't stop until my arms and neck are washed off as well.
"I think I have half of the desert on me."
Lou is in one of the stalls.
"I think I have the other half in my pants." He actually has a small pile of sand and dirt that he is dumping out of his clothing.
"I definitely need a shower."
We come out of the restroom and hear a familiar voice.
"What kind of glands you got there, fella? I have never heard of that before."
"It's called chorizo... it is a Mexican sausage. There are all kinds of things in here that you probably would be better off not knowing about."
Mike picks up a pinch of fresh sage. "That is some sweet smelling sage. Fresh, is it?"
"Picked it myself."
Andy tisks and scrapes up a forkful of hashbrowns, then talks through it as he chews.
"Is it possible to eat a meal without you getting every last ingredient?"He flicks the last piece of sausage away from his eggs and what is left of his hashbrowns.
"I'll never eat sausage again thanks to you. And I really enjoyed it... that's the thing."

"HEY."
Andy looks up at me and nods, like he knew we were here or would be coming.
"I told you that was them."
Mike looks up and smiles widely, "Hey, gents, good to see ya."
He turns to Andy, "You was right, Andy, that was them."
"What are you guys doing here?" Lou asks them.
"After we dropped you guys off we headed back to camp. But we'd been fishin' for a while now and we gotta get goin' back to work in another week. So Andy decided we might head up to Vegas for a bit. They got some pretty fine restaurants up there I wouldn't mind trying."
"No shit... Vegas?"
Andy nods, knowing what is coming next. "You boys need a lift I suppose."
"Yep."
“Now won’t that be fun.” Mike says, never letting the smile leave his face.
He scoots over in the booth to make room, so we join them. Lou pulls up a chair on the other side of the table next to Andy.
"That was you boys on the motorbike?"
"Hell, if you knew it was us, why didn't you stop?"
Andy gives Lou a look, "We didn't know for sure. I just thought it looked like the two of you.”
He sips his coffee, “If you want to be recognized you shouldn't be going twice the speed limit. I saw you for a split second as you went by.”
Another sip, “Told Mike here that we would see those two dead if they kept it up. That was before we knew it was you."
"Sorry to disappoint you." Lou takes the cup of coffee that our waitress had transferred from our table.
"Hey, I'm glad you're okay, but don't get pissy because we didn't help you. You were off the road before we realized, and even if we knew for sure it was you we couldn't have stopped in time." He scoops another forkful in his mouth, making sure not to allow the chorizo to touch his precious breakfast.

We have steak and eggs. The steak is a little strip steak that was soaked in a marinade of some kind. Not what I thought we were going to get, but it was mighty tasty. Even though we sat down when the boys were half way through their breakfast, we finish with them... to the forkful.
Lou lets out a long belch and embarrasses the three of us.
"Nice," I tell him.
"Hey, that was a compliment."
We hear the chef say thank you from the back of the kitchen. He wasn't talking to us, but it was timely and pretty damn funny.
We buy them breakfast and we all walk outside. Blue sky as far as the eye can see, seventy something and it is just after eight o'clock. We follow the boys around the back of the mall to where the motorhome is parked with several others.
Andy reaches into his pocket and pushes a button on his keys that has the door opening and the steps extending as we walk up. We all file inside and Andy plops down in the driver’s seat.
“You boys aren’t going to sit on this furniture until you clean up a bit.” I look at Lou, who is already on his way to the mid-cabin bathroom. It has a full shower. “You don’t mind?”
“Do I have a choice?” Andy starts the rig and flips a few switches.

We head out of town, the road fairly straight… speed slow and steady. Lou is out of the shower and in borrowed clothing. The shirt he is wearing reads “Air Force Test Pilot… Grab my stick.”
I hop in and spend the next five minutes in the refreshing and warm shower. I think I would have paid a thousand dollars to get clean right now. I end up in Viking fan wear. We spend the next several miles thanking our hosts.

“Oh, hey, you fellas are always welcome.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Andy says to the windshield.
“Come on, Andy…” Mike leans over to the both of us, “the real reason we headed north is because, well we had to go this way to head home eventually, but Andy there was worried about you two… you’re safety and all.”
“Theo…” Andy calls from the pilot’s seat.

The ride to Vegas is an all day affair. We head northwest as best we can, catching Hwy 10 and eventually end up on Hwy 93. Andy refuses relief at the wheel… pulling off to the side of the road to walk back to the restroom, then getting right back at it. All he wants is coffee and a sandwich when he calls for it. Apparently he doesn’t let Mike drive the land yacht. That is their arrangement on these trips… he drives and Mike does all the cooking.
By the time we see the vast spread of Las Vegas, we have been on the road for about nine hours. We have played cards, watched several movies, eaten some pretty good sandwiches from Mike’s kitchen, and drank most of the beer they have in the fridge.


Vegas is under a bit of a haze today. It’s in the high nineties today with no breeze to sweep the smog away. We decide to try the Bellagio for a suite after remembering it from the Ocean's Eleven movie. Lou and I are more than happy to pay for a room for a couple of nights in appreciation. Andy protests, doubting the luxury suite would offer anything better than he has right here in the motorhome. But Mike convinces him to try it out… to get the full Vegas experience.
“You fellas been here before, have you?”
“Yeah, about twenty years ago,” I tell him. Mike looks out the window at the strip as we drive down it.
“Has it changed much?”
“All of it.”

We drive the length of the strip, and only when we get toward the north end and see Caesars Palace and Circus Circus do I remember anything.
"What the fuck... they have really changed this place."
After turning around near the Stratosphere Tower, we head back down toward the Bellagio, across from the mock up of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Casino. Traffic moves at a snail's pace and we have plenty of time to watch pirate battles, scope out the casino store-fronts, and do a little people watching. Andy doesn't flinch as he manuevers the behemoth into the far lane to get into Bellagio's long entry drive. As he said when we got into town... we're big, they will get out of our way.
All in all it takes about half an hour to drive back down in this traffic from the top of the strip to the Bellagio. There must be a dozen streets the locals use to get around on, but those are meant for locals and not these rubbernecking tourists.

We pull up the drive to the hotel/casino and the fountains are going off to the enjoyment of the thousand or so people that are lining the rail that runs the length of the drive and down Las Vegas Boulevard.
"Hey there, Andy... look at this would ya." Mike watches as the fountains, computer controlled to background music, as they do their thing.
"It's water, Theo. We'll have it in our room. I'll see it then."
"Don't be that way, Andy. This is beautiful."

We turn away from the fountains and pull into the large drive for hotel check-in. One of the valets sees us and waves us into another lane.
Andy hits the button and the window slips down.

"Sir, would you mind following the signs around the hotel and park your rig with the tour buses?"
Andy straightens up in his seat. "Will it be safe there?"
"Yes sir, our security office will be right in front of your rig. There will be a hotel entrance there and an elevator that will take you to the lobby."

Andy throws him a thumbs up and we slowly move out of the entry and down the drive that takes us around toward the back of the property.
"Nice fella." Mike reports.


We finally get out of the rig. Even in the lap of luxury a nine hour drive sucks. Kind of a rolling cabin fever. We aren't dressed for the part, but we have a shit load of money and are in the mood to spend some. A suite, a two inch thick steak, some choice booze and a little gambling. That is what we're here for.