The Road to Sin City is Paved with….Coffee and Pretzels

I have residue from chocolate-covered pretzels smeared on my fingers and coffee cooling all-too-quickly in the cupholder.  It’s almost 1:00am, way past my bedtime.  And I am on the road to Las Vegas – a town I have never liked.  Vegas, a place where patterned carpets blind the sober eyeball, cheap buffets seduce the weak, the ringing of slot machines and the clack-clack-clacking of stacked chips numb the eardrums and the stale smell of cigarette smoke creeps into your belongings that, like a bad case of bedbugs, leaves traces long after you return home .

Vegas.  Sin City.  A town I sadly equate more with a bad Chevy Chase movie than the site of one of my best friend’s weddings or the place where you can sit on a man-made beach one minute and shower off in a bathroom with a flat-screen television.  My disdain is palpable.

Also, I have never driven to Vegas.  In my mind, the road from LA to Vegas (“The 15″ as we say) is a desolate, neverending ribbon of dust, dotted only by the occasional haunting tumbleweed, sketchy gas station, questionable hitchhiker or random UFO.  Horrific images conjured by these supposed presences have in prior circumstances lured me into flying Southwest Airlines instead – a lovely and painless 35-minute jaunt that costs less than the gas money anyway.  But when you live in LA and you need a 3-day getaway (and people offer you a place in their lovely home/hot tub)…driving to Vegas is forced to become a viable option.

So here I am, groggily coursing my way through Miles of Absolutely Nothing and somehow very much looking forward to sunning myself in a bikini, drinking cheap cocktails in public and otherwise soaking up the fact that doing NOTHING in the Nevada desert for a couple days is a completely acceptable way to squeeze in a mini-vacation.

Maybe it’s the fatigue.  Maybe it’s the confusing yet delicious combo of salt and chocolate.  But suddenly the road to Vegas seems like a pathway to liberty, a yellow brick road to relaxation.  Maybe my problem is letting go of the practicality that travels in your back pocket, remnants of the workplace persona that sticks like glue (*shameless Elvis reference*) no matter how many miles away you are.  Maybe its important to remind myself that whether its nightclubs and casinos or pool time and barbecues, a trip to Vegas is always an escape from the ordinary.  And that can make for an effective vacation.  Uh-uh-huh.

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