When you drive through the California desert, it is impossible not to feel free…. relaxed…happy….awed. (Those sensations are heightened when you’re in an automobile that you know won’t break down 30 miles from nowhere). I always feel like the desert has been quietly operating for thousands of years, and will continue to quietly operate for thousands more. Bugs and critters do their thing, the sun goes up, the ground bakes, the sun goes down, the ground cools. There’s something reassuring about all that predictability.

Rather than storm through this bastion of consistency, we took a few side roads to savor the experience. A sign to the town of “Searchlight” has caught my eye many times over the years, so we headed out a small road to check out this mysterious destination. It proved to be no more than a tiny gasoline-stop town with a handful of pre-fab houses and a post office. I walked into the town’s truck-stop-slash-convenience-store to buy an apple, and was greeted warmly by an elderly lady behind the counter who called me “darlin”, reminded me to wash my apple, and asked when the baby was due. Some teenage guys walked out the door in front of me, and one of them scoffed at the others and said “you don’t got NO manners, you should have let the pregnant lady go first!” They all stepped back and held the door in unison, full of apologies. I had to laugh and appreciate my 5 minute slice of backroad Americana. Searchlight was well worth the detour.

Now, Searchlight was practically a thriving metropolis compared to the town of Nipton we soon encountered. You could cough and miss Nipton. Population about 10, with no more than 3 or 4 houses and a railroad track blazing straight through the center of “town”. In every direction, you see nothing but miles and miles of desert. We were delighted to be dead-stopped for about 10 minutes by a very long freight train roaring through town. That’s probably the most exciting thing that happens in Nipton all day.

Our meanderings eventually led us to Vegas, a city like no other on earth. It just keeps getting bigger, more splashy, and more mind-boggling. Outdated casinos are blasted to the ground to make room for the latest theme hotel. We had booked a room at the posh Venetian hotel – actually, it was not just a room – it was a suite bigger than my apartment in So Cal. All for less than $200. In the true spirit of Vegas, they milk the rest of the room value out of you through overpriced drinks, food, and of course gambling.

Having both encountered the real Venice, this Disney-ized version was somewhat less than satisfying – but better than a sock in the eye. We duly strolled the indoor canals, ate fabulous gelato (THAT was very authentic), and enjoyed a delicious Italian dinner. Soenke even came away from the slot machines a few bucks richer.

One of the highlights of our adventure was a side trip to Hoover Dam (where of course Soenke had already been, but not me). It’s big. Really big. One of man’s modern marvels. I don’t know what else to say about that.

On the way back home, I fully savored a moment of triumph (totally unrelated to anything Vegas) which I will attempt to explain. In Germany, for no apparent reason, most of the population BACKS their cars into parking spaces (which are typically much narrower than US spaces). I have repeatedly observed that this is infinitely more risky than front parking, since you are squeezing a very expensive piece of metal into a confined space while stretching backwards over your shoulder and going in the opposite direction that man was intended to operate a vehicle. (And please note that in the German driving test, you are *required* to perform this task.) After many many MANY inquiries as to the reasoning behind that, I have received nothing but shrugged German shoulders. The answer is: NOBODY KNOWS, THEY JUST DO IT BECAUSE IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN DONE. Mmm hmm. So I have duly pointed out that here in the States, there is a very specific genre of driver that backs their cars into parking spaces. Typically Asian or Mexican male teenagers, these guys have lowered their car, added shiny wheels & low profile tires, significant amounts of bass for their stereo system, and they wear black sunglasses and hunch low over the steering wheel. Often, these cars have dark glittery paint (purple is a favorite choice). We call these cars “lowriders”, and they nearly have to come to a complete stop at every speed bump or railroad crossing in order to avoid destroying the undercarriage of their car. For reasons unknown to the rest of us, they also BACK their cars in to parking spaces at all times. The rest of us quietly ridicule this practice. Soenke didn’t really believe all this, so when we came across a specimen of this vehicle, I slammed on the brakes and snapped a photo….. (see below). I look forward to the day when someone explains to me the logic – for everyone other than a bank robber – for backing a car into a parking space. I can safely say that in 22 years of driving, I have NEVER ONCE needed to back my car into a parking space.

And thus, with a smirk, concludes our Vegas adventure…!

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And here, my friends, is the type of car in America that “backs in”:

The interior at the Venetian:

Soenke does the Dam:

Downstream from the Dam:

Lake Mead is the result of Hoover Dam:

Busy Nipton:

We found a fabulously deserted road lined with Joshua trees: