Seeking An Extraordinary Life - A Travel Journal

Labels: arizona, borders, California, el centro, gps, lake havasu city, london bridge, mexicali, Mexico, monsanto

Everyone's up latish and a bit muzzy from the night's excesses, but a huge fried breakfast (eaten at around lunchtime) gets us back on track nicely. Once we can move again, Robin takes us out to the paddock at the side of the house, where her two horses are standing side by side and munching companionably. We met these two old boys previously on Thanksgiving itself; Quick is a former racehorse who still has a good turn of speed (and some jumpy energy), and Caesar was formerly a participant in Barrel Riding (for a brief explanation of which see "Rodeo and Other Matters") but is now getting pretty chubby - in fact he's beginning to resemble a barrel himself.

Caesar is the better-tempered animal so Robin leads him out and we feed him carrots while she puts on his blanket and saddle. The two horses are inseperable, and Quick follows nervously along on the other side of the fence as we walk him up the side of the paddock. Deidre, an avid rider in the past but having been away from horses for some time, mounts up first, and Robin leads Caesar in a couple of laps round the barn, since she's not sure how he'll behave with an unfamiliar rider.

I'm up next, and with my right foot in the stirrup manage to haul myself up into the saddle with relative ease. I haven't been on a horse since a couple of pony rides when I was a kid on farm visits. It's an amazing feeling, sensing the power of those huge muscles moving under you - I can see how people become addicted to horse-riding, and they're such beautiful and fascinating animals, so much strength and speed packed into lean (well, relatively in Caesar's case) and efficient form. We take a couple of laps of the barn and I slide back down on quite a buzz.

The ride back, in daylight this time, is spectacular. We roll across miles of red earth and yellow scrubland, the horizon always walled with mountains crinkled and creased like rhinoceros hide, catching the light of the descending sun on their slab faces and peaks. On a few of the higher points snow has settled. The last of the light casts a long bright streak across the tops of the mountains behind us as the sun dips over the horizon, and we come down on Vegas in darkness, once again lit up like an enormous carnival ride.

Deidre and I are tired of travelling but buzzing with the need to do something, and we only stop in long enough to unwind, shower and change before heading out again. We meet Deidre's boss, Chris, and two of his friends, Ingrid and Jordan(a Burner couple, in another of those odd synchronicities), at a bar on Fremont Street. It's a vast, partially-covered plaza in the older region of downtown Vegas, lined with bars and clubs, where the neon signs of defunct casinos are brought and placed on display for the ages. Group gathered we immediately depart for the destination of the evening - Dino's, near the top of the Strip.

Dino's advertises itself as "The last neighbourhood bar in Las Vegas", and inside it's authentically rough-and-ready with a bare concrete floor, strip-lighting and battered tables. The pool tables are occupied by what I'm almost certain is a Hispanic biker gang. At the front of the bar, by the door, is the bar's main claim to fame and the purpose of our visit - the low stage and technical gear necessary for Dino's legendary three-nights-a-week karaoke jam, hosted by Danny G.

Danny G arrives shortly after we do and begins to set up his kit and set out boxes piled with song folders. He's a chunky middle-aged guy with glasses and greying wings of hair, but his voice and manner are pure showbiz and he bounces about the small stage with charisma and passion. Shortly the experienced karaokers all have their noses in the song lists, and nervously I do the same. I pick a lowkey start - Peggy Lee's "Fever", followed by the Hammer Song and Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock 'n Roll".

There's a pretty good crowd in, with a big group taking up two tables in front of us containing several serious karaoke fanatics, and couples and small groups dotted around the tables and the bar. The song slips begin to pile up next to Danny G as the performers come and go. When I'm called up I walk to the stage on wobbly legs through a haze of stagefright, but the cheers and whoops of my own group and those at the adjacent tables are heartfelt and encouraging, and I get through the song with confidence but no flare. I walk off in a glow of relief and genuine enjoyment, and I return to a round of high-fives from the group.

The evening continues and my spirits rise higher as I soak up the joy of the event. Talent is very mixed but if anything those who can't carry a tune sing with the most passion (and volume) and applause is universal and free from judgement. If anything it feels like a Burner event, with everyone just focussed on expressing themselves and having (and sharing) the best time, no judgements, no derision, just love and support.
When I get up again there's no fear, and once I'm into the swing of the Hammer Song I make a real performance of it, moving around the stage and putting some passion on the high notes. It's fun, energising and the crowd love it. I come off the stage on a total high.

The rest of our group have a great night too. Deidre is the total performer, a demonic force onstage in black and red punk grrl gear, howling out rock greats and swinging country classics. Ingrid delivers a couple of sultry songs, while Jordan leaps around the stage with wild arm gestures, drops on one knee and roars out his selections. Chris is, according to all the evidence, completely tone-deaf, but he knowns no fear or self-consciousness at the mike and delivers with volume and energy to a wildly appreciative crowd.

I find "Old Time Rock 'n Roll" too high for my range and have to rumble it out an octave down, but put in a second song slip and make the very most of Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill". Finally, with most of our group dispersed, Deidre and I finish up, she with Heart's "Magic Man" (perfectly suited to her rich throaty lows and crystal-clear high tones) and I, to my own considerable surprise, channel some of Tim Curry's dark sexuality into a rendition of "Sweet Transvestite".

We stagger out into the cool Vegas night a little after 2am...to be continued...

Labels: arizona, dinos, Farm and Ranch Equipment, horses, karaoke, las vegas, Nevada, thanksgiving, the strip

Still recovering from our huge overindulgence, we sleep fairly late, undisturbed by the slow squeaky swaying of the trailer on its jacks as the wind blows around it. Once everyone is awake and together it's decided we'll make an expedition to Jerome, a historic mining town not far away in the mountains near Sedona and a popular tourist spot.

All six of us pile into Geoff's enormous flatbed truck, and we wind up through the mountains on a beautiful bright, clear day, the open blue sky streaked with soft clouds. The mountains are incredible, vast piles of deep red rock stretching away on all sides, carpeted with evergreens and cut through with little rivers and steep valleys, the road winding up and down and around the bends. It's a testament to the bloody inescapable power of cinema that one of my first thoughts is how much this resembles a scene from Thelma and Louise.

The town of Jerome clings to the side of the mountain, and is built around a series of switchback turns in the road which divide the town into descending levels. Many of the buildings are pretty worn and rickety, some showing significant holes and crawling cracks across their faces. Many are historic buildings from the days of the town's founding, presumably heavily repaired and restored. From every level one can look straight out over a vast plain of red earth far below at the foot of the mountain, stretching into the distance, cut through by a shining ribbon of river.

We work our way halfway down through the town, winding back and forth on the hairpin bends, before finding a parking space in front of a row of cafes and tea shops. We get (excellent) coffee in a crammed triangular cafe perched on a heavily-sloping corner, then spend a couple of happy hours wandering in and out of the town's quirky craft stores and unusual shops. The highlight is the House of Joy; once a brothel, now a shop selling historic memorabilia (with a brothel theme - lots of replica turn-of-the-century lingerie, masks, saucy postcards, perfumes and risque paintings).

On the ride home Robin puts a Simon and Garfunkel album on the stereo - it's the perfect soundtrack as we curve round the mountain roads and the setting sun casts warm light across the valleys and peaks. When Homeward Bound begins I feel happy but very far from home, and have to wipe my eyes a couple of times.

In the evening we leave Derek with his grandmother and head into Prescott, a couple of towns over from Robin and Geoff's place, to celebrate Geoff's birthday and experience the legendary Whiskey Row. It's a street composed mostly of bars, most of which date back to the turn of the century and are still laid out as authentic Western saloons.

We start in the Palace, a huge open saloon/hotel/restaurant with a long bar which was apparently saved from a fire many years ago when patrons carried it across the road to safety. Steve McQueen filmed Junior Bonne here in 1971 and there's Steve Mcqueen memorabilia everywhere, including a twenty foot mural on one wall commemorating the film. We munch calamari and onion rings, sample their fine whiskey and cocktails then move on.

We move on through a long narrow biker bar (name unknown), a packed and jumping pub above the Palace itself with a live band playing covers and an enthusiastic crowd of middle-aged locals (Hooligans), and end up in Matt's Saloon which has a high-energy country band and a wide dance-floor which is a sea of cowboy hats and checked shirts, before returning to the Palace to wind down.

Labels: arizona, jerome, prescott, thanksgiving, whiskey row

Well-slept but with Mark still dozing, Deidre and I enter the house to meet the folks. There's Geoff, Robin's quiet, boyish husband, always grinning and joking through a scrubby goatee, and Derek, Robin's son - although he's only 12 he's as tall as I am, solidly built under a bit of baby fat and clever beyond his years so it comes as a surprise when he occasionally slips into a pre-teen's confused silences and brief strops. He and Deidre are partners in crime of old (Robin lived just outside Vegas for a time) and are joyfully reunited.

On the back porch I'm introduced to Buddy, a cute beagle with friendly paddling paws, and there are three other dogs in an enclosure across the yard. Above the sky is perfect blue, and the air is clear and cold and almost wintry again. Back in the warm and spacious high-ceilinged living room Geoff is adding logs to a vigorous fire and the Macy's parade is on TV. In the open kitchen Robin, with a white ribbon in her hair, is assembling stuffing. It seems joyfully orchestrated, a perfect scene from a holiday special.
I sink happily into the embrace of the season.

Derek gives Deidre and I a demonstration of his developing trumpet skills, and we persuade him to come outside and play Reveille into the window of the trailer as we feel it's about time for Mark to be up and about. Through the morning more friends and relatives arrive, bringing a terrifying array of dishes, and once a sufficient number of men have arrived the beers come out - Miller Lights for most but Robin the unstoppable hospitality machine has stocked the trailer fridge with Guinness. And of course, after a couple of beers...it's time to deep-fry an enormous bird carcass.

No-one present has done this before, but everyone seems to have heard a horror story about someone burning their house down trying it, so the burner, propane tank and pot are located a cautious distance from the house and the cars in the middle of the yard. We stand around in the bright sun looking at the smoking metal cylinder as it slowly reaches 375 degrees F, and debating how badly burned Geoff is going to get putting the turkey in there. Finally the man of the house changes into disposable clothes, approaches the pot holding the marinated bird (impaled on its torturous metal frame) at arms length, and gingerly lowers it into the bubbling oil. Not a drop gets on him. With the interesting part of the process over we return to the house.

Slowly the makings of dinner come together as we sit and talk and circulate, and finally we gather around and begin to load our plates. The deep-fried turkey is amazing, juicy and tender all the way through and infused with the rich flavour of the Cajun butter. It's accompanied by a conventional turkey, a ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, cornbread, yams (with marshmallows and orange juice) and rolls. To follow are pies (pecan, mincemeat, pumpkin and apple), pineapple upsidedown cake and pumpkin cake.

We eat until it's almost impossible to move, then most of us retire for a nap. When I rise again the sun is starting to go down, most of the friends and relatives have left and the fire is built up again. We sit around the fire and talk, and Derek carries on a running game of Madlibs until threatened with physical violence. We watch Talladega Nights, knock our slowly recovering digestive systems back down with turkey sandwiches and pie, and go back to bed enormously satisfied.

Labels: arizona, deep-fried turkey, thanksgiving

Labels: arizona, deep-fried turkey, las vegas, thanksgiving

A whole day spent on Amtrak, and I'm glad once again that I've chosen this mode of travel. On Greyhound this amount of time would be interminable, but on the train there's space to move around freely, comfortable seats in which I can sleep almost normally, and the landscapes from the huge observation car windows are dramatic and always-changing as we roll across the huge expanse of Texas.

The previous night the others started yet another drinking session in the bar below the lounge; I stopped in to chat but didn't feel any need to join in. I couldn't sleep until quite late, so I stayed up in the observation car writing up my journal notes and watching the odd sparse lights passing by or the occasional orange-lighted main street as we rolled through a town.

In the evening we finally pass out of the Lone Star State and into New Mexico, then Arizona. Now the landscape is serious desert, barren sand with cactus everywhere and craggy, jutting hills on all sides. California is coming closer.

Labels: amtrak, arizona, Austin Texas, new mexico