The Road to Red Rock, Nevada

Thursday 17 February 2011

Today I went to the nearest Chevy dealership to see if I can fix the air-conditioning in the van.  I need a knob for the fan, but also the switch inside the dash that the knob fits onto.  Marlon - Rein's local mechanic - told me it would be easy to buy and fit for quite cheap, but because it appears the internal mechanism is missing i think it will be a mission and a costly exercise to fix.  Sure enough they at the dealership said $300 for the whole unit.  They sold the knobs for sure, but I needed the internal shaft etc.  Looks like no fan for me!

Bought some screws to fix the front grill, and another battery.  Now I have 2 brand new batteries for the van, so I can run my inverter and charge all my appliances without fear or running the battery down.

Also went to collect some mail that has accumulated at Rein's PO box.  West Hollywood is the gay centre of LA it seems!  The postmaster was gay, as was everyone I saw on the street.  It is a very hip area, with cute little dogs and everyone good-looking and friendly (hey are you from Australia?  Wow love the accent darling!)  I had a friendly chat with a hairdresser who was frantically trying to keep his little Shitsu from doing his morning business on the tree by my table where I was eating crepes.

In the afternoon I went down to Venice Beach to check it out.  No muscle-bound body builders pumping iron this time of year!  It was quite cold today.  I've enjoyed splendid weather for the past couple of weeks or more since I arrived, but now it is turning wintery.  I had a walk down to the marina and surrounds before meeting Teissia in the Venice Whaler (these puns are right up my ally!) for drinks to discuss my climbing options and any suggestions she may have for my trip.

I had quite forgotten how strikingly beautiful she was, and I had to uncertainly call her name with the fear of a blank reaction making itself known somewhere in the base of my jaw.  Luckily it was indeed her, and we climbed out of the falling farenheit up the stairs and into the warmth of the bar.  I have to say she is the most incredible woman I have ever met - incredibly interesting, friendly, helpful, excited, vivacious, funny; beautiful beyond a magazine cover or a tv spot for Maybelline - beautiful like a wood fire or a dewy sunrise; she was all brown hair, brown eyes, cute little brown army hat; and how she pouted!  Ah I have been truly roundhouse kicked in the face thank you Chuck-smitten-Norris!  We made plans to meet out at Red Rock next week for a few days of climbing.  Please please please don't let me screw this up like I always do!   But to whom do I pray?  Aphrodite, Venus, Freya?  Is there rather a goddess of not fucking things up?  Maybe its time for me to head to Texas and start a cult!

Hmm quite the ramble.  Anyway best not to dwell on it and take it as it comes.

Friday 18 February 2011

So the Road!  I left LA at around 1 o'clock in the afternoon, hoping to avoid the perils of weekend traffic that beset my last trip out East when I went to Riverside.  But this weekend is the President's Day weekend, so no such luck!  Traffic crawled for much of the 300-odd miles to Vegas, with intermittent surges of 70 miles per hour along the 2 to 3 lane run.  Many trucks slowed the journey, but good old American pragmatism ensured that up the face of every long ascent there was an extra slow lane for trucks and RVs.

So I'm rolling along the 15 getting closer and closer to Las Vegas, when I see lights on the horizon ahead.  The GPS is resting because there's only one road, and when I see the bright lights of the neon signs I think this is it! but it is so small?  I can see from one side to the other of this light show, with dark desert all around, and when I zoom through at 75 per with all the traffic staying true to the highway I'm clear thought the oasis in literally less than a minute!  So the GPS is booted from its slumber and drags its feet to inform me that that little hamlet of gambling and skin shows was in fact Barstow, and the lights of Vegas illuminating the far horizon is only a further 30 miles.  And so the heart settles into the steady rhythm of the engine and the road noise, and I coast down the slopes and gear down for the rises with the radio off and cruise control keeping me in step with Johnny's 21st birthday celebration SUV, painted in garish white "Vegas Baby and Dad's buying!" on the windows.

Suddenly I'm screaming down the hill to the lights of Las Vegas; they've transformed from a hazy bright horizon glow to a blanket of clear and delineated neons stretching far wider across the desert than little teasing Barstow; and I'm screaming but I can't fathom where the high-pitched noise is coming from.  And before some smart friend accuses me of being the source of that girlish squeal, I'll tell you that I've narrowed it down to my car and not those around me, but it's not the engine (thank God, or thank Venus or Freya) so it must be the tires.  Have they bred a special strain of blacktop that tells you when you're nearly there, to keep you awake of the last few miles?  Some fore-warning perhaps?  Whatever it is, its loud and very annoying!

I turn for the road to the Red Rock canyon campground before I reach the strip - there'll be time for that later I'm sure.  Right now I just need sleep.  Tomorrow I'll get my bearings, try to find the bouldering crew from LA who promised to meet me here, and try to get the guidebook so I can drink in one of the country's premier climbing destinations.