DUDE, REIN-O!

About every three weeks, I make an early Monday morning drive from Denver to Aspen.  I’ve been doing it since last winter, racing across Interstate 70 in cold and icy blackness, to arrive in the Roaring Fork Valley just at sunrise, and joining with the regular commuters for the battles on Highway 82.

In the summertime, a second option is available in Independence Pass.  I’ve driven this route at least a half dozen times, and I never cease to enjoy the solitude and natural scenery for the two hours away from the interstate.

Independence is a serious pass, with tight switchbacks and some very narrow sections where a descending truck must stop in place to let an ascending vehicle through.  But it is all paved and easily navigable in the summertime.

In early October, I took a risk heading up for the pass.  I felt that it may be my ‘last chance’ before CDOT would close the pass for winter.  I knew that a storm had hit the mountains on Saturday, but I hadn’t seen the conditions of the pass in any news report.  I based my final decision when I saw the sign at the Copper Mountain exit of I-70 that read “Independence Pass:  OPEN”.

For most of the drive up the pass, the road was all clear.  However, during the last few miles, above treeline, the conditions turned to blown over snow, with ice beneath.  I pulled over and locked the hubs on my truck, then transferred over to 4 wheel drive and continued my climb.

At the top of the pass, the entire road was a sheet of ice.  I pulled into the parking lot and saw a group of people struggling to load motorcycles onto a truck.  “What were they thinking?”  I thought, for they were crazy to be up here on bikes in this condition.  But perhaps they, like me, were not expecting the icy conditions.

“Do you need some help?”  I asked.  They responded affirmative.  I put on my hat and gloves, and carefully stepped over across the ice in my hiking boots (how I wished I had my Sorel rubber boots!)

After helping them out, I got back in the truck and sat for a while, contemplating the danger of an icy descent down to Aspen.  I watched a large CDOT plow truck scrape at the top layer of snow.  However, he was not dropping Magnesium Chloride (or “Mag” as Colorado drivers term it) to melt out the ice and allow tires to grip the pavement.  Finally, I figured that my trusted truck could handle a very slow and cautious descent.

As I crested over the pass, and could see the road below me, I was struck with a scene of chaos.  There was a line of vehicles, all struggling and spinning out as they tried to climb the steep eastbound slope towards me.  The sheet of ice prevented any traction for 2WD cars with summer tires, and many motorists were just stuck on the side of the road, unable to climb any more but too scared to turn around and go down.

First I encounted two irishmen in an old F150.  One guy was driving, and spinning one rear wheel uncontrollably, while the other had tried to push.

I pulled up in front of them and explained their futility.  For even if they could gain some momentum by pushing, there would be no hope of the tire ever gripping the road and making it to the top.  I offered to tow them up.

“Oh, God Bless ye!”  they said.

I wasn’t entirely confident it was going to happen, but I just had to try.  I brought my truck directly in front of them, almost until both our front bumpers touched.  Then I pulled out a 6 foot tow chain that I have (that saw a lot of use last winter!) and hooked it up between us.  Getting back in the truck, I shifted into reverse, and eased off the clutch, to take up the slack in the chain.

I had expected a bit of resistance, and was suprised to feel very little.  My truck had no problem pulling a half-ton pickup up the mountain, and my brand new BFG All Terrain tires never once slipped on the ice.  Slowly, I drove backwards, while looking out my rear window to stay in the lane, and towed the guys to the top.

At the top, the man came out and embraced me in a big hug.  Both of them thanked me many times.  One pulled out his wallet.  I said it was not necessary, but he shook his head, and said “This is for da beers.”  ( I wasn’t sure if he intended for me to buy some beer, or find a bookie and bet the money on “Da Bears”!)

For the second time, I left the summit and attempted a descent into Aspen.  This time, a front-wheel drive sedan was stalled perpendicular across the road.  There was a long line of vehicles trying to get around him, and many people out trying to push the car off to the side and out of harms way.  Again I parked my truck and walked down and encountered a middle age woman.

“Would you like me to tow you up?” I asked her.

“Oh!  Do you have a tow truck?”

“No, just my F-250, but it can do it.”  This time, I was extremely confident in the abilities of my vehicle.

“Please!  My husband will be so grateful.  I will go tell him.”

Again, I drove down and hooked up both front ends, and towed the small sedan all the way up the pass in reverse.  This couple (tourists in a rental car, i later found out) were so excited that they even took a photo of me and my truck, and called me their “Guardian Angel.”  Again, I was offered money, and when I refused, I was told “Sometimes miracles can happen.  This is not like the parting of a sea.  It is a miracle that you just happened to be here when we needed help.  Consider this a donation to your church.”

By this time, the CDOT truck had dropped the Mag and started to thaw the ice.  The cars were now making it up the pass without help.  I made it down a few hundred feet and found dry pavement again.

Once again, I am so proud of the power of my truck and new tires.   I hope that it comes in handy many times this upcoming winter.   To me it was second nature.   I have the means to help people out in trouble, so I do so, without question.  Although I arrived a few hours late for work, it was well worth it, to see the smiles on those grateful faces.Some people may have called me stupid or gullible, but I got much more reward out of the good feeling up on the pass than I’ve ever felt at a job, current or past.

Wildnernest Camper, originally uploaded by Adam Reiner.

This is how Vanessa and I camp in style! It is a rare “Wildernest” folding camper, which fits snug as a bed topper for my F-250 Powerstroke Turbo Diesel.

A few weeks ago I took my first trip outside of the United States.  I had my passport, two bags, and a roll of U.S. dollars, and my VISA card. Although I was a little nervous in the days leading up to the trip, I was more anxious than anything when the airplane arrived at the Cancun Airport.

At the airport, the customs agent asked us where we were staying.  I could not pronounce the name of the hotel, so I pointed at the name I wrote on my declaration form.

“Como se dese?”  I asked, and pointed to the word ‘Ixchel’

“Ish-el…” she replied, then tried to explain to us, in limited English and some Spanish.  “God…the love…”

Although I couldn’t really understand at the time, I found out quickly (and was reminded many times in various forms) that Ixchel is the Mayan goddess of the moon.

From there we took a long shuttle ride through the entire city, through the hotel zone, downtown, towards the port.  The driver pointed out various areas.  “Here are the discoteks” he once said.  When I asked him to differentiant between the caribean sea on our right side, and the large lagoon on the left, he said “That is the lagoon.  Mucho  Lagarto”

“Lagarto?”  I asked, confused…then finally figured it out:  alligators.  Vanessa took a deep breath and had a worried look on her face at the sound of the alligators.

I had heard various descriptions of Cancun from other Americans prior to the trip.  “Commercialized”, and “Americanized” were two common trends.  While I fully understood the commercialization of the area, I found it far from “Americanized”.  While the enormous buildings in the hotel zone reminded me of the Vegas strip, the culture was distinctively Mexican.  As we made our way downtown and to the Puerto Juarez, the scenery became more urban.  However, this city scape was just a little bit ragged, a little more poor than a reasonable American counterpart.

At the port, I ventured into my first Mexican convienent store.  To my ease, it wasn’t much different thatmy local 7-11.  In addition, I found a wide variety of Mexican snacks, sweets, and ice cream that would be out of place in the health-conscious culture of the U. S.

I took a lot of photos on this trip. Here are a few. Scroll over for descriptions.

p>I am still working in Aspen, and living in Carbondale. That will change soon as I am moving upvally to Basalt, to share a 2 bedroom condo with an old Buddy from the Front Range. I am hoping that it will resemble a more urban environment that I have always been more comfortable with. I do like living way up in the woods, but I think I will go crazy without a little more social contact.

I am truly concerned about how I will react when I go back to Chicago this weekend. I used to love the fast pace of the big city. I remember walking down Belmont Ave. on a cold Wednesday night in December, and still coming in contact with dozens of people. Those days seemed so simple. I didn’t have a plan but didn’t really need one, either

I guess life still has not changed too much. I’ve made a few new accessories to my truck, and I am enjoying my job as well as my free time.

As I progress through current times, I find myself devoting more and more of my free time to spending with one single person. This is a bright contrast to what I have been used to. I went from having many, many acquantences in Illinois, to living a somewhat of a hermit’s life in Colorado for the past three years. However, with each new day that I spend with this person, I find myself craving more, and more, and more time with her, and have less interested in other previous passions.

However, my interest in snowboarding is still hanging on strong, so without further ado, I present a springtime TR.

A frustrating two weeks late, Colorado Highway 82 over Independence Pass was finally open to automobile travel this past Friday. My best girl and I planned to meet up and camp on the east side of the pass, near Twin Lakes, CO. Leaving Aspen on Friday afternoon and turning right on Main Street was a surprising change from what I had been used to for the past 5 months. The sun was shining, and I launched my truck up the winding road.

It was late in the day, but I could tell by all the tracks on the mountains, that hundreds of laps have been made by skiers and snowboarders throughout the day. There were a few cars remaining at the top of the pass, but otherwise it was a windy, barren wasteland full of snow and rock. Strangely, the top of the pass is very flat, and I thought it might resemble what Antarctica looks like.

Down on the east side of the contintental divide, Summer was in full swing. After a quick trip down to Twin Lakes, I settled on a nice secluded campsite in the San Isabel National Forest

Soon she showed up, and the fire was roasting with the sweet scent of homeade s’mores.

Saturday morning was beautiful, and the temperature rose very quickly. However, at the top of the pass, it was still frigid, although sunny. From the parking lot, I looked over the massive crowds of people who were dropping off the slopes from there, to hitch rides from the turnout further down the road. Not wanting to deal with a ski area crowd, we headed north, up a mountain named Blarney Peak. During the whole time, all I could imagine in my head was rowdy Irish Bars in Chicago, full of my friends on a chilly autumn evening, laughing and having a good time. Oh, if they could only be here now, on top of the U.S.A., charging forward above 13,000 feet.

My partner was way ahead of me, and I could barely make out her pink hat through the bright white glare of the snow surface. The hike was steep but not technical, and we reached the summit in under two hours.

From the top, we had an awesome view of the surrounding mountains. I could even identify previous lines that I had taken with my snowboard, and examined future possibilities. I finally had my zoom lens fixed, so I was able to take a bunch of close up shots

After a few moments on the summit, looking for the “Blarney Stone” to kiss, we took a smooth ride down the south face and back to the cars.

We were back at camp and on our bikes by 3:00.

Although, on our way off the pass, I spotted some crazy Kentucky headz running the slopes in kayaks!

Although you’d never believe it, we didn’t go to clubs the entire time in Vegas.  IN between sleepless nights that always ended at the marquee sun belt burger joints like Carls Jr., Sonic, or Jack In The Box, we made time for enjoying the Vegas scene during the day.  One thing I have learned during this trip about getting around town is that you absolutely MUST have a car.  I painfully remember staying in strip hotels and walking mile upon mile up and down Las vegas Blvd.  It never occured to me that there was another option.  Our local host revealed a secret network of back roads and parking garages that make the trips between casinos seem like a ride on the L.  For the entire 4 days we made the best of our time using this method.

When people come to Las Vegas for their first itme, they are instantly drawn the the casinos and the fantasy of getting rich.  However, at this point in my life, the gambling is very low on my list of priorities.  The only table game I play nowaday sis craps, and I do not play it spontaneously.  However, a weekend in Vegas in the fall means that placing bets on football games is unavoidable.I don’t know a whole lot about sports betting, but the casinos make it really easy (to give them your money) by providing simple parlay cards that you fill out (just keep the pencil in the circles, kids). 

On Saturday our host took us to the pool at Mandalay Bay.  Although he could enter as an employee of MGM Corporate (The Man), we were told to wear special wristbands that said ‘Casino guest only’.  Apparently there is a penthouse casino above the pool that is open to the public, but you have to walk through the pool area to get there.  In the pool, no one wears a wristband.  WHy the hell were we wearing them?  I smiled after figuring out the flaw in the corporate system and tore off the wristband.  We founds some nice seats right in front of the wave pool and chilled out in the October desert sun.

After a bit of sunning, our host and I went up to the bar to get some drinks while the Irishman was midway through his burn.  At the beach bar we met some cute girls from Oregon, watching the Ducks hand it to USC on the gridiron.  I have always been curious about the state, so we ordered up some slurpee-style margaritas and cheered on the team while making some new friends.  They were in town for the PBR event at Mandalay Bay, which made sense considering all of the cowboys we had seen there.

After the pool session we made our way over to the Treasure Island for lunch.  Our host was bragging about the buffet, and in Vegas I NEVER skimp on the food.  He turned out to be right, and we got out $16 worth by eating a four hour lunch.  They had sushi, Mexican food, American BBQ, salads, freash meats and an awe3some dessert.  I think I went up for seven servings!  I finally finished off with an espresso and gourmet mini-donuts.
 
Sunday morning started off with another tradition: breakfast at the Victorian in the Barbary coast.  Although the tradition was modified (we at at 10 AM instead of the usual 3 AM), the steak and eggs were still good and the coffee still strong.  Then we went over to the Flamingo to watch Da Bears. 

The Flamingo has long been a favaorite of mine.  They have a bright, clean casino floor with multiple watering holes and TVs.  The pool always features a daily party with of a young, fun middle-American demographic, and Jimmy Buffets Restaurant is a great place to hang out with friends and watch the action on the strip.

My fourth vacation in Las Vegas, Nevada has been the most fun, diversified, and epic trip yet.  The original plans centered around the Vegoose concert on Sunday, but also included on the agenda was mountain biking, football betting, fine dining, baseball watching, beautiful women, table gaming, pool lounging, and world class nightclub parties.

THE GENTLEMEN’S CLUB

We might as well start off this blog right.  Contrary to those men who enjoy these establishments during the peak time at night or early into the morning, I prefer to fit a visit in between dinner and the parties.  Around 8 PM the business are just beginning to set up for a big night.  You can find ample seating, reasonable (for Vegas) drink prices, and if you are lucky, a free buffet.  The dancers working during this time are much more laid back and friendly.  They will it down and get to know you without pucshing for the hard sell. (it is true that all women love to be asked about their lives).  A short time in this situation will do amazing things for a man’s self esteem, and top out his confidence levels in preparation for the night ahead.

We visited three gentlemen’s clubs this weekend.  ON Friday, shortly after my arrival, our Host took us to TREASURES for his favorite happy hour.  A small club, they featured free drinks and a finger-food buffet that hit the spot after a long day of work and air travel. 

Saturday evening brought us to the SPEARMINT RHINO, world famous in the industry.  By far the most extravagent and electrifying of the three, it allowed us to forget about our middle-classl lifestyles back home and live a little bit like a V.I.P. 

Lastly, our Host took us to a special Monday Night Football party at SAPPHIRE, which brags to be the largest in the country.  During the game, the bar had a “down home” feel, with many of the staff hanging out with us and watching football like only American Girls can. After the physically exhausting mountain bike adventure that morning (details to come), I was even able to buy not a lap dance, but rather an incredible back massage from a girl named Sahara.  I’ve had a long summer with no girlfriend, which means no free back rubs, so paying $20 for one was a no brainer.  After beating up my body in all sorts of ways week after week, I have never felt so relaxes as I did when having an exotic dancer from Brazil working (and walking) on my spine in the middle of a crowded club while watching Monday Night Football.

THE NIGHTLIFE

It is often said that Las Vegas feature world-class nightclubbing.  I’ve never been to parties in London, Rio, or Ibiza, but I was born and raised on the Chicago Scene and have been to my share of parties across the U.S. 

Nothing…NOTHING even comes close to the nightlife in Las Vegas.  Every single hall features its own over-the-top extravaganza.  Rich pointed out that these clubs differ than most others is because they are operated by billion dollar casino corporations.  Because of this, they provide the customer with the most smooth, efficient, and worry free club experiences ever.

On Friday night we went to a club that is formally titled RAIN IN THE DESERT.  This party has been a staple tradtition that dates back through my last two trips to this city.  It is one of the last few clubs that still retains the “Industrial Warehouse” look that was very popular years ago (All the modern clubs on the strip feature delicate architectural intracicies).  Regardless, Rain holds a classic appeal and is a landmark club that should endure a long healthy lifespan within the PALMS, without a doubt the most “hip” hotel in town. 

One thing that I  especially like about this club is waiting in line!  Their queue system is the best, hands down.  With a flowing line that snakes around the perimeter of the palms casino, you mind is working overdrive on people-watching, and not thinking about how long the wait is.  One courteous doorman even informed me that I was in violation of their dresscode, thus avoiding an embarassing situation at the door.  he even asked for my name so I could get to the front of the line after I went home to change.  However, when we returned he was no where to be found.  The man with the guest list laughed at me as I tried to describe this “mysterious dude” in attempt to get in the club.  Eventually he appeared, recognizing me instantly and parted the crowd to let us through.

The beauty of partying at the palms is that paying the cover charge at one club allows you unrestricted access to all the others after 2 AM.  After dancing the night away in the cavernous mega-club, we took a grand tour, starting with GHOSTBAR on the top floor of the original Palms tower.  Ghostbar is an upscale cocktail lounge with an open air patio that allows the best view of the Vegas strip. 

Next was a trip to the new Palms tower (and business is so good they are even building a 3rd one!) for a stop at the PLAYBOY CLUB.  Less of a nightclub, it is actually an intimate Casino, with plush couches, fancy cigars, and of course gorgeous Bunnies dealing cards.  It is no doubt a hip, modern version of the historic club operated in Chicago decades ago by Hugh Hefner himself!

Above the Playboy Club is MOON.  Although similar to Ghostbar with the open patio and view, it had more of a classic “Afterhours-Loft” vibe, complete with go-go dancers, a large center dance floor, and pounding house music.

Saturday night brought us to LAX, in the LUXOR casino, for the official Daft Punk (headliners at Vegoose that night) afterparty.  We wore costumes, and although Elvis and Hugh Hefner looked very strange walking through the casino with an escaped convict, we fit right in with the characters inside the club.  The staff operations at LAX was a drastic disappointment when compared to the previous night at Rain.  There was no organized line outside, just a mass of people.  Inside the club was a logistical mess.  Bouncers had to constantly keep people moving on the stairs and tight halls, and you could only enter the dance floor from two sides.  The chaos aside, the party was off the hook.  On Saturdays in Vegas, EVERYBODY comes out to play.  The dance floor was packed with tourists, locals, and the jet set crowd from California.  At the front of the floor were groups at tables with bottle service, with a demographic of the most glamourous looking people I have ever seen.  These people are so beautiful they would look out of place on the streets of Denver, Chicago, or even Los Angeles itself.  I always wonder where they come from; I certainly don’t see them walking the strip during the day.  Regardless, the eye candy was well worth the aforementioned complications.  My costume was a big hit with everyone I met.  At first I thought that dressing like The King in Vegas would be very ordinary, but it was not.  I think the costume made many people think of how Vegas got started: that before the glamour and hip-hop and bottles of Grey Goose, there was an entire entertainment industry built around one larger-than-life rock star.

On the third night we went to TRYST, in the WYNN casino.  After two years in a row, Tryst has become my favorite nightclub in Vegas.  Words can not describe the artistic masterpiece that serves as the decor.  The interior features soft fabric couches, and detailed molding on the ceiling.  However, the outside area is jaw-dropping.  There are lakeside cabanas next to a HUGE waterfall, covered by a forest of evergreens that reminds me of home in the Rocky Mountains.  Because it was Sunday, the crowd was much more relaxed than the day before, and everyone was dancing and having fun.  The vibe at Tryst was the most positive the entire weekend.

In my constant quest to make every new year full of even greater accomplishments and wilder adventures than the year before, I started off 2007 with a bang. A close friend of mine, whom I personally have always referred to as “The Human Cartoon” has finally decided to move from Chicago to California and “Re-invent the ACTION MOVIE” as he so discreetly put it. (Basically he wasn’t getting any “action” in Chicago)

This is a guy who I met around my Sophomore year of high school wearing a “STALLONE : CLIFFHANGER” T-shirt and bragging that someday he would be the next James Cameron.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 19, 2007.
12:00 PM
THC rolled up in (pay attention to that, it’ll come up later) Denver. When he opened his door and kicked out the empty cans of red bull, I smelled a distinct aroma of adventure and heard the sounds of an old Clint Eastwood epic on the stereo (For A Few Dollars More, I later learned) as he triumphantly cheered after finishing the first half of the ride. Without delay I hurried him to the couch where he was treated with strong drink and Sportscenter.

After sobering up he starts to recollect on the harrowing voyage through the icy darkness of Nebraska, where at any given moment he could have been ambushed by a tribe of Huskers and taken to their vile dungeons and convert him to their crazed sports religion (good thing those Jedi mind tricks don’t work on Green Bay fans). I really don’t care for horror stories, but my ears perked up when he said “Oh yeah…my living arrangements in California sort of FELL THROUGH”

“Don’t tell me that. Not my problem, All I know is I’m throwing your sleepy ass in your car at 4:20 AM and driving that 4-banger NEON straight up the Rockies! You get that shit figured out by the time we reach California because if I end up sleeping in the gutters of Los Angeles, I’m going to kick your ass!”

THURSDAY, JANUARY 20, 2007.
4:20 AM - D-TOWN
Believe me or not, I coerced his subconscious up and we were on the road. It was cold, but clear. I could tell that the sun God would be smiling on us through the trip. Apparently this car was made with three gears: (OD) (3) and (1)…they must have forgot about 2 and 4. No worries. I made it a straight shot to Glenwood Canyon by dawn, fueled by nothing more than a 20 oz. black coffee, an original glazed donut, and a can of HUSKY Wintergreen…all courtesy of your local 7-11.

The sun began to crest as I carved my way through the canyon. At every bend I thought I would finally feel its bright rays on my face, but was discouraged. Finally, up in the distance i saw a small spark of light reflect off of the car in front of me, and I rounded the bend and looked to the South where daylight hit me for the first time. I continued to cruise through the Colorful State keeping one eye on the road and the other on the scenery.

10:30 AM - UTAAAAH
THC was gonna drive all the way through the state on eye-seventy and the fifteen and I was settled into enjoy the scenery. I tried to sleep, but couldn’t keep my eyes off the snow-covered canyons and deep red sandstone cliffs. In the far distance I could see the Rockies carving their way up north through Salt Lake.

“Whats up with the living situation” I asked
“I’ve got some numbers off of Craigslist” he replied
“Casual Encounters?!”
“No dip-shit, Rooms for rent in Los Angeles”
“Oh, I bet you’ll meet some real wackos there for sure.”

After about 500 miles and song #81 on the iPod (I still hadn’t heard a single AC/DC song and was getting a little worried) I took over driving at the Arizona Border (thankfully we made it through Utah without either of us marrying a few Mormongirls) and hastily began to chase the sun to Las Vegas

5:00 - VEGAS

Rush Hour. Apparently in my multiple trips to the wonderful strip during past weekends of debaucherey, I failed to notice that a bunch of people decided to build a CITYaround our favorite fantasy oasis. I looked up above the brigade of SUVs through the blurry waves of red dust mixed with carbon monoxide and saw the surreal vision of the strip skyline. It had a different look to it. Maybe this time it was because I knew full fact that I had no intentions of stopping and was just passing through, but it looked like an alien race had landed here in the middle of the desert and set up camp.

“That’s one fucked-up looking city” THC said.
“Sure is.”
“That last billboard just had a picture of a machine gun and said Try One“
“Sure did, man…let’s get the hell out of Nevada before the sun goes down!”

The neon lights and the smog quickly dissipated and we were left with nothing but desert for 200 miles.

7:00 PM - CALIFORNIA, SOMWHERE OUTSIDE BAKER.
After a celebratory picture at the border, we go the coordinates from the navicomputer and plotted course through the desert. However, about 10 miles into the state, THC started freaking out and thought he lost his cell phone where we stopped for gas & red bull and I had won 25 cents on video poker.

I pulled over on the side of the highway ready to defend us from some desert drifter as my friend got out and immediatly found his phone.

“You boys okay?” asked the friendly California Highway Patrol Officer who somehow teleported himself to not more than a yard away from my friend!
“Yeah man, I thought I lost my phone” THC said in complete shock.
“You should get it serviced in the next town” he eerily suggested.
I quickly leaned over and looked the cop right in the eyes, “I didn’t want to drive back to Nevada to look for it!”
“No…I wouldn’t go there either. You boys have a nice day.”

That was it. Dude was gone just as fast as he arrived. THC thought that his first ever encounter with a California cop was a sign of good things to come in his destiny. I was just happy he didn’t search the car. (Not that I would have let him get away with that.)

Immediatly I thought of a scene in one of my favorite books, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, where Duke gets stopped by the highway patrolman who tells him to “go gest some rest at the next town” (which was Baker!) Yeah I’m strange.

9:30 PM - LOS ANGELES
As soon as I saw the lights of San Bernadino I knew we had made it. There is something about the feeling of returning the land so generically referenced as “SoCal“. This is an entirely man-made civilization built out of a desert by the sea. The roads ahead and around are dotted with red lights as thousands of people are coming and going and interacting and just trying to get through “another day in paradise”. EVERYONE here is “living the dream” in some way or another. It can only really be explained by visiting yourself.

Where my friend is going to be starting his new life is in a place called Studio City, which is in the Valley. No, not the Vail Valley, THE Valley. This is a place that really doesn’t exist to the rest of the world unless you take U.S. 101 in L.A. through Chinatown, Koreatown, Nippontown, past Union Station and Dodger Stadium, through a narrow canyon just like Beggar’s Canyon back home, to an isolated minilopolis that bears itself more towards Toontownthan Detroit. I’ve never actually ventured to THE Valley before, but within seconds I was beginning to figure out what all the hubbub was about. Mercedes and Cadillacs and Rolls and Porches and Bentleys were zooming and screeching and honking and growling down Ventura Boulevard which was itself lined with endless miles of shops, restaurants, bars, businesses galore. I could make out just the lights of the enormous mansions that dotted the mountainside above me. The stench of money and power in this Valley was more pungent than anything this midwestern boy has encountered in any affluent suburb of Chicago, Indianapolis, St. Louis, Tampa, Washington, Miami, Houston, or Las Vegas combined. Personally I’ve never been to Greenwich Village, but it would take a hell of a lot to top this place!!

At this point it was obvious that it was too late to call any of THC’s “numbers from craigslist” so I conjured up $100 to stay at the the Day’s Inn off Ventura Blvd. It was a cool 50 degrees as I heard the wind blow through the palm trees. After leaving sub-zero in Denver, fuck it, I was going to sleep with the window open.

TO BE CONTINUED