My dad visited his brother in Oakland for the holidays, per usual. This year, he took his rental car to the “halfway” point between the coast and Tucson to meet me. We decided that point might just happen to be Las Vegas.

So on Wednesday morning (after the “porn company” interview), I hopped in my truck and headed northwest. It took about seven hours of driving each way. I picked the I-10 up to Phoenix and Hwy 60 / 93 from there, which heads through central / northwestern AZ towards the Hoover Dam. Unfortunately 60 was a stop-and-go affair until it escaped the retarded PHX suburbs (”Glendale”, “El Mirage”, “Surprise”). It was also very much closed to construction at times– leading me into impromptu dead ends full of burned out cars. Friendly!

Wickenburg is the first of two towns between the Phoenix metro and I-40 a couple hundred miles north. It gave off a real “rustic yuppie destination” sorta vibe, for sure, nothing worth stopping and checking out. It’s actually sort of amazing that development has left any rural areas in between, but they’re out there.

Everything after Wickenburg was beautiful. Tons of balanced rocks and cool mountainous landscapes. It was a fairly attention-demanding two-lane highway– but the breathtaking scenery made up for it (when it wasn’t distracting me into the oncoming lane full of holiday traffic). Burro Creek looked incredible– gotta remember to check that area out. There’s a BLM campground that overlooks a huge, colorful gorge that’d be incredible in full daylight. Driving the highway at sunset was one of the more scenic things I’ve witnessed since moving here.

The other delay came courtesy of the Hoover Dam holiday traffic. You see, Hwy 93 goes right through the dam via a series of switchbacks and parking lots (I swear they’ve got more parking than dam these days). As you can imagine, it backs up as soon as the minivans hit the blacktop– a true holiday destination. In the end, I guess it wasn’t that bad: only 30 minutes or so to get through. But it was 7pm at night, and one could barely see the dam. I imagine the mornings are absolutely unbearable this time of year. It must be prime depression-era art-deco dam-drooling season right now.

I coasted into Las Vegas around 8pm local time and managed to find my dad. He’d gotten us a room at the Somerset Motel, this ugly / old but perfectly servicable spot right off the strip. $40 a night? That’s cheap almost anywhere. My head cold had hit full swing by that point, so I loaded up on government-regulated Sudafed and hit The Strip. Ah, consumerism!

Behind all the flashing, screaming video billboards aren’t mere slot machines, blackjack tables and off-track betting facilities to steal your hard-earned dollars. No, that’d be, uh, “boring.” The Strip wants you to go shopping. Not just at the 3-for-$9.99 tourist shops, but at the big-ticket prestige shops like Gucci or Dolce & Gabanna. (Why do I even know those names, you ask? Sex And The City. Those fuckers.) Sure, your average American Housewife might be content corraling brats in front of the Treasure Island. But what she really wants is a shopping spree at the stores just inside Caesar’s Palace. I guess the “American Dream” isn’t about money anymore; it’s about brand names. Acquiring stuff. Material goods…bought on credit. Rich in credit, poor in real wealth. And let’s not even get started on taste.

The Disneyland-type theme action is pretty heavy– sans the craft, seamlessness and timelessness of a Disney park. The lifespan of a multi-million dollar strip attraction must be a couple of years at most. After that, it’s old hat and relegated to either the budget-minded crowd, revised and revived endlessly– or just cleared for the next big thing. Rarely does a strip casino complex occupy less than a block, if not two. They’ve got all these amenities, like gambling, drinks, food and the like. You can drink alcohol on the streets, sure, but can you find a bar that doesn’t require you to walk through not only a casino but also a fucking shopping mall? That’s the challenge.

That’s how night #1 went. We wandered around from casino to casino looking for a beer or buffet but only finding more shopping mall obstacles. So we settled for food-court Pizza Hut and MGD and turned in early.

I woke up at 9:30 or so and wanted nothing to do with The Strip. Or casinos. Or gambling. I wanted anything but flashing lights, loud music and herds of tourists. So we went out to Red Rock, a BLM recreation area just west of the city. Past the teeming cookie-cutter suburbs(but not too far– after all, everyone needs a porch with a view), was a rad array of former sand dunes, that’d petrified into rock formations. A 13-mile scenic loop drive ran around the site, and almost every parking area was rife with tourists. I strategized and figured that the second-to-last parking / trail area would be all but ignored by the the time the average putz had gotten to it (”how much more scenery are we gonna take in, honey?”), and it’d be abandoned. My plan worked well, and we had a nice, relatively unmolested hike into Ice Box Canyon. Not bad for a nature attraction just 20 minutes from the godforsaken Strip.

We fought rush hour back towards the city and decided to try the Excalibur’s buffet. What would a trip to Vegas be without a cliched, average all-you-can-eat buffet? So we ate and chilled back at the motel for awhile.

Night number two found us at a place called “Slots A Plenty.” I’d heard that beer ran $0.75 and their machines were old and (ahem) “loose.” At least when compared to the rest of / The Strip. A 12oz cup of Icehouse and a few bucks of nickels later, I’d hit a $30 jackpot–not bad for a few minutes work. We took the tourist bus to (gag) “The Fremont Street Experience” next– where all the old downtown casinos reside. Nowadays it’s a covered pedestrian mall with giant blocks-long video screen (the gimmick). Just in case you’ve lost your place and forgotten the sounds of classic rock, there’s an Aerosmith-heavy music video shown on the hour. Huzzah. We didn’t have much more luck on the Fremont slots, but at least there was cool neon to look at. Oh, and I almost forgot– none of that “walk through the mall first” bullshit. If you can see gambling facilities from the front door, you’re in good shape. We had a few beers and checked out. I miss the old days when MA$E could roll a mercedes down the block and shimmer, shimmer, shimmer. Sigh.

Woke up today and took Desert Inn Road out a couple of miles in search od breakfast. We ran into the “Omlette House / 50s Diner”, a strip-mall faux 50s place straight outta…the 80s. Ghost World syndrome, perhaps, but not quite so insincere. Got a pretty good omlette with Chorizo, oddly sliced taters and toast for under $6. Seemed to be all locals inside– I guess we weren’t doing too bad for a couple ‘a tourists.

I said goodbye to my dad and headed home. An odd feeling, ’cause I still don’t feel like I have any sort of home yet. I guess this is my fourth week in Tucson, but it’s also city #3 and address #6 since August. Crazy. I’m equally at home in my truck, it would seem. Subconsciously, I felt like I was leaving Tucson for good. I don’t know where else– I suppose wherever “next” happens to be.