I wish I could properly explain the past 10 hours. But it’d be awfully hard.
That said, I’ll try my best.
Wait. First, a refresher. My family is moving to California in two weeks, and I need to get my Toyota Prius from New York to the West Coast. This week the wife took the kids to Florida, so I enlisted Robyn Furman, my longtime chum/Mary Ann Mobley enthusiast, to come along for six days of kicks and giggles and shitbag motels.
This morning Furm and I woke up at the shitbag-alicious Quality Inn in Flagstaff, Arizona. I was absolutely exhausted—the night before we’d driven five hours, through an intense lightning-and-rain storm, from Albuquerque. Anyhow, I did all the morning stuff (brush, shower, shave my armpits), and as we chatted I said to Robyn, “What about trying to do Las Vegas, too?”
Furman has some flaws. Her Happy Days knowledge is a little disappointing. She’d never had an Egg McMuffin. She cares too much about table cloths. All that said, she’s the perfect travel companion, and an adventurous spirit. “Vegas!” she said. “Love it!”
So we drove off to the Grand Canyon, arrived 1 1/2 hours later and, well, it was fucking fantastic. I’d been there twice before, but Furman was a Canyon rookie. She was blown away. Which, of course, is the only sane reaction one can have. We walked and walked and walked, and I tiptoed awfully close to ledges one isn’t supposed to tiptoe near. The euphoria was palpable. As the wonderful Nancy Trager once said, “Horses are friendly.”
Anyhow, we left the big hole and I was spent. Not just tired. Exhausted. Like a guy who’d driven, oh, 40 hours over the past four days. So I discovered the perfect fuel—a large, fattening, Arby’s coffee milkshake. Which, I’ve gotta say, is friggin’ delicious. Off we went, another four hours in the Prius, past canyons and more canyons and dirt and more dirt and more dirt. En route, The Furm looked online for a hotel and settled on Mandalay Bay, a place I’d never before entered. We arrived, checked in and, well, yesssssss. Sunday night, we stayed in a shitbag-alicious Quality Inn. Monday we stayed in a shitbag-alicious Wyndham. Tuesday we stayed in a shitbag-alicious La Quinta. Wednesday we stayed in another shitbag-alicious Quality Inn.
This place ain’t not shitbag. Awesome view. Clean as a new penny. Soft beds. No random hairs to be found. We’ve dedicated ourselves to having a fun, non-driving night of eating and gambling and making fun of people from Urbana.
I’m game.
Oh, best part. Free robe and slippers …
