The Great Vegas WiFi Adventure

So…I'm at work on Wednesday, first day at the new job. It’s a combo retail, restaurant, cabins, and tours place. It’s going to be a fun place to work. I can already tell that.

The first week of a new school term also began, and I'm in for another ride with a batch of students as we explore the powerful dynamic between characterization and plot in short fiction. I'm already seeing the way the term plays out. At some point, I’ll use a genetic metaphor and say: Plot and character are the double-helixed strand of DNA that holds together and informs all the other literary elements, such as setting, POV, and dialogue. I will work these next eight weeks at helping students pull the best story they possibly can from their imaginations. They will start to not like me in the first four weeks because I demand excellence in their responses. I really don’t care what point they are trying to prove because there are all kinds of interpretations of literature, but I do care that they use a well-reasoned response peppered with examples from the text being examined. I taught basic argumentation skills for too long. The old equation still rings true: CLAIM = EVIDENCE + RATIONALE. At the same time, I'll coax their creativity to think beyond what they see and take the leap of faith into trying something new: a different POV, dialogue, a different organization, whatever...anything to show them the power of the literary elements and how to weild those tools with their writing.

But, I digress—the topic is work.

I'm at the new job, learning to work the POS system, which is a lot like the Clover system I just set up at the health food store. The other gal shows me where to find stock and what we sell out of the most. While I'm stocking the bright red cans of canned cooking fuel, I play over my dilemma regarding tomorrow's webinars.

A few weeks ago sitting at my desk while in Havasu, I’d signed up for a pilot project to lead live webinars in each of my classes this term. I even went out and bought a good microphone and webcam to ensure AV clarity. The trouble happened when I got to Escalante and tested out the technology the first time. My daughter agreed to a test meeting, and an audio reverb occurred halfway into the test conference. Granted, the echo might have been because I was in a canyon. Not a regular echo, it was a wifi-hifi techy echo, a delay. Perhaps the wifi beams bounced off canyon walls at weird angles. The second test conference did not have the echo, but the first session with reverb really bothered me. Everything hinged on that first conference this term. Further, the deans will evaluate it. I must succeed.

At 3 p.m., I clock-out, drive back to the Godspeed, and get to work updating discussion boards. But my thoughts are heavy with tomorrow's webinars. Will I be able to connect? What if the delays in voice are too much?

I stop what I'm doing, shut down the computer, and start packing. I'm going to a hotel, so I check hotel prices in Grand Junction, St. George, Mesquite, and Las Vegas. (I rule out going to Page. I always get the worst internet in that town.) The hotels app tells me Vegas has the best prices, so I book a room at the Tuscany because it has a super-special price due to my loyalty as a hotels.com member.

Driving as far south as possible on Wednesday puts me back at Overton, Nevada, somewhere around eleven o'clock my time, ten o’clock at night Pacific Standard Time.

Many of you know my dilemma with the twice-yearly time change. So, my math-word puzzle looks like this as I lay down for sleep in the back of the Xterra:

A woman starts her journey at 5 p.m. Mountain Standard Time and has to lead online conferences from Las Vegas the next day. The first conference begins at 7 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, and the second conference begins at 8 p.m. At what time (local) should she begin her first conference?

The next morning, I wake Buena as the grey fade of early dawn crests the ridge. I need her to move so I can jump into the front seat and get the car warmed up.

We head south through the Lake Mead Recreational Area. The views at dawn entertain me for the entire drive. Colors, patterns, and clouds create a visual tension, and I really wished—for the gazillionth time!—that I had a good camera as the sunlight captures the white mountain ridge against a storm-dark sky. A good zoom lens would capture the detail well. Instead, I zoom in with my cellphone and take the somewhat fuzzy image that heads this blog entry.

In Vegas, I pull in the hotel parking lot around 9:30. Having worked in the hotel industry, I know that if rooms are available, hotel staff will sometimes let you in before the actual check-in time, so I tell Buena to wait while trying my luck.

“Sure! I can get you checked in,” she says with a smile. The gal passes the key across the desk and quickly adds, “There’s no smoking or pets allowed in the rooms.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking the paperwork and thinking, No pets? What am I going to do with Buena? I park the car in a mildly-shady area, put lots of water in her dish, and crack the windows. Then, I hurry upstairs with my luggage and plans for a shower. When I finish, I set up the computer and log into the additional-cost wifi just to make sure I have a good connection for later.

While putting on my shoes, I revisit the equation and mind map it westward. Seven o’clock EST…6 o’clock St. Louis…5 o’clock Buena Vista and Escalante…4 o’clock Arizona and Las Vegas. So, I need to be at the computer by 2 p.m. to create the PowerPoint agenda for the meeting. I've got three hours to walk Buena.

With few clouds in the sky and a gentle wind, the air feels like mid- to upper- 60s. I open the Xterra door, happy the interior temp is still in a safe zone. Even so, the day will warm up. I don’t want to leave her in the vehicle while I'm online. I’ll have to bring her inside the hotel. So, now, I'll have to wear her out with a long walk.

We hike up Tropicana toward the Strip. We head north and take a little side street with the aroma of smoked meat and popcorn. Happy people laugh. People gawk. I walk toward the big Ferris wheel and learn it's actually not a ride but a slowly-rotating observation wheel.

I take more cellphone pictures and plan where I want to go eat dinner. The choices in Vegas are endless. My hotel is near the Fogo de Chao, and I’d love to eat there, but they’ve gone up to about $60 a plate. Yikes! And a girl who doesn’t have a refrigerator has no business spending that kind of money on a meal. So, I stop in at the Walgreen’s with Buena and buy beef jerky and pretzels…okay, chocolate-covered pretzels. And a water. And a Red Bull. I’m tired. I’d only had four hours of sleep in my car. I’ll sleep after the conferences.

I look at my phone and see that I’m almost a mile from the hotel, so I try to route the best way back while avoiding the Vegas Strip. At this point, I’m done with crowds of people and ready to retreat into a quieter space. I look down at Buena, and she's panting. I give her some of my water, and she gently laps at the water pouring from the water bottle I hold high over her head.

I check my phone again and see a message from Kansas Tim: Did you find out your Sunday schedule yet?

Oh! Tim! I'd meant to text him back that I’m not working on Sunday, so when he comes through on Highway 12, I’ll be around. I text back: I’m in Vegas now.

Almost immediately, I get a reply: What? So am I?

So, we make plans to meet later. Why not? I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Back at the hotel, I quickly walk Buena down the long hallway and into the room without detection from housekeepers. I give her a bath in the large tub. It's been a couple weeks since her last bath. The sand in her fur comes out in the tub, turning the water a dirty grey. I make sure to scrub her paws, particularly after walking around the city. Ewwww!

When she’s dry, she gets a crazy look in her eye and starts the zoomies. Running as fast as she can, she stops on a dime and turns around to face me, front paws on the ground, butt in the air, tail wagging. I make a move. Immediately, she cocks her head back and races past. Again, she stops on a dime, paws scraping the carpet as she spins to face me. I play this with her a few times as she races around the room. Then, she hears a noise out the open window, barks, and runs to it to look, paws up on the window ledge. I explain to her that she can’t make noise in the hotel and that we’re going to do her ears now. She sits still for me while I get the Q-tips and work on her flappy ears, careful not to go too far down. But with a little bit of work and some essential oil, I’m able to get her ears clean and fresh.

I prepare for the conference, while Buena watches me from her spot on the Mexican blanket I have spread across the bed. She falls asleep while I'm working.

At 4 p.m. Las Vegas time, I conduct the conference scheduled for 7 p.m. Eastern Time. Five students show up. Bravo!

I take Buena out for a bathroom break between conferences. Just as we head to the door for Building J, the young, skinny maintenance guy appears and walks with me to the elevator. He says something about my dog, and I perceive he speaks Spanish, so I say, “Mi perro es bueno.” He smiles and says something quickly, so I respond, “Yo apprendo espanol. Solo palabras pequenas.” I'm learning Spanish. Only small words. I want him to know I'm not conversational at the speed at which he speaks. While waiting for the elevator and on the ride up, we compare our learning. He is learning English on Duolingo, and I’m learning Spanish. We smile at each other. Nosotros los gusta los perros y Duolingo.

He doesn't say anything about the dog. Maybe I’m in the clear.

While I conduct the second conference, Buena falls into a hard sleep on the blanket. She knows it’s her blanket, and she's comfortable in this place.

The second conference ends, so I hurry to Margaritaville at six to meet Tim. While I'm making idle conversation with the bartender, Tim texts. He won’t be ready until seven.

By the time Tim shows up, I’ve made bar friends with the young gals to the right of me and the middle-aged couple from Michigan to my left. The young girls are trying to figure out the young Hispanic barback's name, and he keeps refilling their waters. Once the Michigan couple's stack of deluxe nachos arrives, it consumes their focus. I'm left to scrolling through Twitter on my phone while waiting for Tim.

When he arrives, he's hungry and wants to get dinner. We discuss Batista’s, and I like that idea. They’ve got a great salad and a good manicotti. The only thing is that Batista’s fame as Frank Sinatra’s hideout, it’s often crowded, and at this time of night we’ll have quite a wait.

“Where else is there?” he asks.

I suggest Fogo de Chao, but quickly add, “It’s expensive, like $60 a plate. I’d be up to us looking for somewhere else. I just don’t know where to look.”

“I don’t care how much it costs,” Tim said. “Let’s go somewhere nice.”

Fogo is definitely a nice restaurant. It's a Brazillian restaurant with a wide variety of South American foods on the salad bar. And the flame-broiled meats are brought out of the kitchen and carved right at the table. The picanha steaks are my favorite, so I save room for those by keeping my card turned to green and rejecting most other cuts of meat brought out by the gaucho-wearing men with the meat on a skewer. (At Fogo, they give you a card: red on one side, green on the other. When you want the men to bring you more meat, you flip your card to the green side. When you want them to stop bringing things, you flip it to the red side.) When one of the Fogo servers brings over the cheese biscuits, it's like a little slice of manna lands at the table. You can see how wonderful these are by my goofy grin in this picture.

Tim wants to make further plans for the evening. We talk about riding the big observation Ferris wheel or going to a show.

“Honesty, if I sit that long, I will fall asleep,” I admit, explaining my long day and limited sleep.

Even so, we walk around for a little bit after dinner. Then, Tim decides he wants to see what the new Horseshoe Casino looks like. "It replaced the Bally's."

"They didn't tear down the Bally's, did they?" I ask this trying to think about what construction I've seen in the area. There's always construction going on, but in the last several years, I don't remember seeing a project of that magnitude close to the Strip.

"No, they just took over the building." Once we're inside, Tim wants to find a Black Jack table. “Only if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, curious about how Black Jack is played at a casino. I'd only ever played it as a kid when my dad bought a bunch of poker chips and taught us Black Jack and Poker.

The flashing slot machines flash and blink around the perimeter of the casino floor, making all kinds of bweedly-dee-dee-dee noises. Meanwhile, I follow Tim, who circles the tables like a cat, looking for the right one.

Finally, he settles in on a table without an automatic card shuffler. He says those are bad. They're more favorable to the house. He throws a hundred down on the table, and the plump Hispanic woman gives him three $25 chips and five $5 chips.

The game begins, and Tim and the other four men at the table put their chips on a marked space on the green felt. Cards are dealt, and hand gestures ensue. These gestures signal the need for another card or to stop dealing cards. It's like the green and red at Fogo. Bring me more cards, stop bringing me cards.

In less than half an hour, Tim’s made a little over $200. He decides to cash out. Seems like a great get-rich-quick scheme, I think as I watch the cashier hand him three crisp $100 bills. Only...you win some, you lose some, right? It's a great get-rich-quick scheme until you start losing and trying to recoup those losses.

He's tired from a long day on the golf course, and I'm just tired. Tim walks me back to my hotel, and we part company.

After about twenty minutes, I text to make sure that he made it back safely. He did.

The next morning, I’m up at five and checked out of the hotel by 6:30 to start the long drive back. But, first, I stop at Panera for a bagel, Winco for non-refrigerated food product, and Big Lots for BBQ sauce.

I took the same road through Lake Mead Recreation Area. It's so much better than the interstate. While driving, I marvel at the way the desert comes to life after a rain.

In Mesquite, I stop for a Red Bull. I really, really, really need to stay awake.

The bridge at the Beaver Dam has construction again this year, and traffic backs up on the interstate. Quickly, I pull off at Littlefield, and drive up the backway into St. George, past the Joshua Trees, over the pass, and into Ivins, where I can get gas at the reservation. I fill up because it's about 50-cents less than off the rez.

Before leaving St. George, I pick up a side salad at Texas Roadhouse. They also give me some of their biscuits with the cinnamon-honey butter. I eat my salad quickly, so I can dig into those biscuits while they're still warm.

There's several ways to get from St. George to Escalante:

• through Hurricane and Kanab

• through Zion

• up and over 14 at Cedar City

• across 20 north of Cedar City

Usually, I take the Kanab or 14 way, but since I bought the National Parks Pass this year, I decide to see how much more time going through Zion adds to the journey. Mileage wise, it's not bad, but the tourists and slowing cars can really gum things up. It's probably quicker to go through Zion in the winter.

Still struggling to stay awake, I stop and get another Red Bull on the eastern side of Zion. The picture below marks the homestretch. This is about thirty miles west of Escalante, but at this point, I'm practically home.

Thanks--as always--for reading!

~ Pyra

Addendum: HELP ME CHOOSE

The blog posts pictured below are still in draft mode. Most of them just weren't finished due to time constraints. I'm going to select one of the blog posts below and recraft it as a personal writing exercise over the next week. Which one do you think I should work on? Feel free to "vote" for one in the comments or send me an email with your selection!