viva las vegas

So, I know I'm giving you the oldest excuse in the business: my computer wrote my blog entry. But it's true! I wrote the best, most thorough entry about the day into Las Vegas. It wrote all about the rumours that we couldn't find a host in Vegas, our excitement upon learning that, in fact, all our leaders are dirty liars (well we'd known that since Illinois) and we were getting the ultimate hook-up: free rooms in the Imperial Palace on the strip.

Then, I had a long description about the absolute awfullness what was our ride into Kingman, AZ, the stop before Vegas. The short version is as follows. We had a choice between 95 miles on I-40 (incredibly boring, lidden with tire-puncturing debris, ungodly amount of climbing) or 110 miles on old route 66 (less climbing! less debris! one third of an ironman!). We picked the second option. The day before my front tire bit the dust (not literally... well it always kind of is biting the dust literally), so Jo lent me one of her recently switched out armadillos. Now, Jo didn't get a single flat this whole summer. I figured with Jo's tire, I'd be golden.

I got a flat on my front tire around mile 15. The rest of the morning and early afternoon were relatively uneventful: generally downhill, hot, threatening thunder showers, some beautiful scenery. Second lunch was in the parking lot of a zoo which contained animals rescued from abusive owners (such as a panther and a cow). The afternoon was worse: hot, windy, and endless. Then Lynn and I got lost in Kingman, just in time to be hit by a duststorm -- I'm serious, a full-on Grapes of Wrath style dust storm. I freaked out a bit. Ok, maybe a lot. Luckily, Skip rescued us in the van and drove us the last three miles to the church. And by church, I mean tiny little house next to the church where there also wasn't enough dinner. After switching Jo's tire for a brand new Armadillo that Hilary kindly bought for me, I passed out under a table.

I wasn't very happy the next morning. I don't think any of us were. We were exhausted, in the desert, and facing another 100+ mile day that had some serious climbing at the end. Jorge, as always, managed to save the mood, giving us one of the best motivating speeches ever. When we rolled out I was feeling pretty optimistic and spent a wonderful morning riding through a desert valley with Lynn, singing Jason Mraz and Smash Mouth at the top of our lungs.

After lunch I ended up riding with Jane and Emma, two people who I hadn't gotten to ride with much during the trip. We hit the beginning of the climb just as it started to get hotter. The landscape was unlike anything we'd encountered before: jagged gray mountains with absolutely no plants or water or really anything. It looked a bit like Mars; probably because, as Emma pointed out, they must film all the Mars movies here. At the top of the climb, we passed through a security checkpoint (oooh, thanks homeland security) before beginning a harrowing descent to the Hoover Dam that involved dissapearing shoulders, slippery gravel, and speeding traffic. Our reward? 120 degree heat and a really big dam. As we crossed the dam we ran into Kyle R. and Lenny, usually two of the faster riders, who'd spent the morning hanging around the dam (eating lots of dam burgers and dam fries, no doubt). We posed for some photos with them on the dam and at the Nevada state line before they left us in the dust climbing out of the dam. Emma started feeling sick so Jane and I waited with her in some shade for a bit before we all continued on.

I actually really enjoyed the climb out of the dam. It was really really hot and the road was pretty narrow, but the opposing lane of traffic was at a standstill because of traffic slowing over the dam, and the looks on the drivers faces as we rode by made me feel pretty dam hardcore. Towards the end of the climb the van passed us, and Emma, who looked and felt miserable, wisely got in. While she and Jose loaded her bike I climbed into the van to enjoy the marvelous air conditioning (and left a trail of dirty sweat on the door. eeew). Then, Jane and I pushed on, finally finishing the climb. When we got to the beginning of our descent into we could see a giant storm cloud covering the city. Well less a cloud than just a giant black thing with lightening occasionally flying out of it. I was pretty excited about the end of the heat. Then, riding into the city, the wind began to blow. And blow hard. To avoid being pushed off the road or into traffic, Jane and I finally stopped and took cover under the awning of a casino. Fitting huh? A half hour or so later the storm cleared enough for us to continue into Vegas. If only that was it.

As we rode, the pavement got wet from the rain we'd missed. Then, there were puddles. And then there were more puddles. We found ourselves in the middle of a flash flood, as foot-deep water rushed across the road. I am so glad I was with Jane, because alone, I would have just called it a day. But she pressed on through the water, around the stopped cars, and I just clung onto her wheel, following her through the chaos. And it was chaos: it must not rain this much in Vegas ever. All around us were stopped and stalled cars, dazed pedestrians, general madness. We must have looked absolutely crazy -- which I have to say, we must have been. When we finally got to the strip, we were soaked and splattered with muddy water, and I was so exhausted, I almost couldn't take in the lights and craziness around me. But suddenly I realized: I am riding my bike down the Vegas strip, past the casinos and the tourist, after riding 105 miles through the desert and the mountains and that f-ing flood to get here! I am so badass!

Then I fell smack on the ground in front of the Flamingo. One block from our hotel. Ouch. It was bruising, both for my legs, and my ego. But I'm glad to say I got back on my bike and rode, slowly, to our hotel.

We'd had big plans for all the crazy things we'd do in Vegas. But after a shower and a giant meal at the buffet, all I could do was fall asleep in my glorious glorious bed. The next morning, I found myself wide awake, as normal, at 4:30 am, so I took a walk up and down the strip, past the casinos themed to look like a pirate ship, or a cleaned up Venice. I was definitely the only person I saw who'd already slept, and slept over eight hours at that. After weeks in the peaceful, deserted, desert, the lights of Vegas just seemed bizarre. We went to a build site that day, and after, walked around some of the other casinos. I'm glad, I guess, that we went to Vegas, because now I never need to go back there ever again.