(If you think it is easy setting up a photo on the strip at night that makes it look like you are the only one in Vegas with a drink in your hand, go ahead and try it! Props to Mr. Russo for intimidating every tourist within 500 ft)
After a 4.5 hr car ride through the desert down Route 66, I really wasn’t in a festive mood. The strawberry malted I chose to have from The Snow Cap instead of a healthy lunch was taking it’s toll on me. So after a couple of hours in a recumbent position I resurrected myself and headed out to see what this Vegas night life was all about.
Originally, we discussed taking the monorail down to the Luxor and then heading back down to our end of the strip (the cheesy side) for a little casino hopping trip. However, we vetoed that idea because we were both so stiff and cramped from all that time in the car so we thought we’d just head out and walk. I wanted to see the insides of the famous casinos and soak in the sights of the strip. It was about 8:30 p.m. and we figured we would see how far down the strip we would get before stopping for something to eat.
It was a cool night, by Vegas standards and we both had our jackets. The first stop we made was Treasure Island. For those of you who may not be aware, this hotel has two large pirate ships afloat in a moat & they do a swashbuckling show full of cannon fire.
It is also home to the Senor Frog Bar, which on this night was full of Canadian tourists playing a game where you pop a balloon between one man & one woman by imitating a sexual position. (Vegas is full of these juxtapositions of “family” type entertainment, i.e. the pirate show & “adult” type entertainment both within feet of each other)
Now, I have a plan that involves losing money in as many casinos as I can so I decide that my first donation will be to Treasure Island. Whilst I shake hands with the one-armed bandits, Mr. Russo is checking the score on the Yankee game in Senor Frogs (or so he claimed). Eventually I get bored and decide to move on down the road to check out The Venetian.
I decide I like The Venetian. It’s well lit (for a casino), nicely apportioned and the Sports Book sits right next to some slots so Mr. Russo can watch the Yankees while I make another donation. There are like 6 of the biggest TV screens I’ve ever seen lining the Sports Book section. Numerous events are being covered by these TVs but the one attracting the most attention is the Steeler’s football game. It’s a close score at this point so the bettors are reacting loudly to each play. All of a sudden the satellite reception on the screen hosting the Pittsburgh game goes down and the lights flicker. Pandemonium ensues as the Sport Bettors are now screaming and shouting about the inability to see the game. This becomes much more entertaining to me than losing more money but Mr. Russo senses potential for it to get ugly and we decide to plod onward.
We duck outside & discover that the problem with the satellite reception was due to an intense round of thunder and lightning that’s currently got top billing on the strip. A few drops are starting to fall & we think that maybe we should have taken those ponchos I’ve been lugging around all week in my hiking pack. We’re not too terribly far from our hotel (the cheese box) so we figure we’ll run back, grab the ponchos and some dinner then head out to the monorail.
Correct me if I am wrong but isn’t Vegas in the desert? Doesn’t desert by definition mean a dry, waterless environment? At least that’s what we thought. While strolling down the street the heavens decide that it is time to unleash precipitation of biblical proportion. Within 2 minutes the streets are almost unfordable and the water level is over the tops of my shoes. After 5 minutes the bell bottom type jeans I am wearing are soaked up to my shins. We are still long blocks from our hotel & now the hail starts pelting Mr. Russo’s cleanly shaved head with enough velocity to leave dents. I would say that we looked like 2 drowned rats by the time we reached the hotel, but I don’t want to insult the rats. I heard one Vegas native saying that he hadn’t seen rain like this in years.
We return to our room sopping wet and tired from practically running down the strip. Mr. Russo has to pour water out from the inside of his blue ostrich cowboy boots. Once we dry off, change clothes and try to hang up the stuff that is now creating little rivulets on the bathroom floor we decide to forgo challenging the elements again. I decide to continue my charitable contributions downstairs in the main casino. Mr. Russo decides he’s had enough at about 1:30 a.m. since his knee is bothering him after slipping around in his cowboy boots out in the rain. I relieve him of any cash he still has & continue my charity work until about 2:00 a.m.
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