The Exact Type of Vacation I wouldn’t mine repeating.
Shayne Flaherty
It’s 1331 local time here in Las Vegas. Yours truly is lounging at the Tropicana’s
pool with one of those goofy cups that you want as a kid but your mother always
says that they’re a waste of money, and truth be told she’s probably right, but I
couldn’t resist when placing his drink order of a Long Island (ironic) Ice Tea. It’s a
purple cup with the wide base and the narrow neck that opens up a bit at the top. It
looks like the Space Needle, or the thing here in Las Vegas that used to be popular,
but not longer is, that too looks like the Space Needle.
What better place to pound out copy of this trips remarkable events? This was, in
fact, his favorite of all the trips he’s taken over the course of his post-college life.
I have been told, or at least heard, curiosity of Mr. Lewis himself, that the seeds of
excellent literary material can be found when something deviates, drastically, from
what you were expecting. I’m not sure how many expectations I could have had
when the only planning I did for this trip was listening in on a phone conversation
between two friends and booking a plane ticket from JFK to LAS, but this trip has,
for all intensive purposes, exceeded them – the expectations that is.
The icing on the cake, as a single man, was book ending this trip with two nights in
Las Vegas. Not something I was planning on doing 2 months ago when this idea
came to fruition, but impromptu Vegas, as a 24 year old, is never a bad decision.
Wednesday night, upon arrival, was tame. A Brazilian steakhouse, some black jack
and a burlesque show. All of these, aside from the burlesque Shades of Temptation at
New York, New York (ironic) have been done sometime in my previous 24 years on
earth.
The show, much like this trip, had some interesting expectations. Going in I was
confident I was going to be let down; the mystery was to what degree?
A burlesque show, or at least this burlesque show, was a bunch of four-minute strip
teases. It was not without variety and there was an effort to please everyone in the
audience: A cage scene, a French maid scene, a naughty teacher scene, a romantic
passionate scene, and the production was concluded with an orgy. The burlesque
show was a step below soft-core porn; it was all the teasing and none of the action,
which I’m told is exactly what a burlesque show is supposed to be.
Now these people aren’t professional actors (at least not yet), which was obvious
because the acting, at times, was pretty below standard. The entire show was
reminiscent of getting “set up” to dance with someone at a high school freshman
mixer. You’re dancing, in some regard you’re forced to touch each other, but you’re
scared to take it to the next step because it wasn’t completely natural, as in you
didn’t ask her to dance, someone just pushed you together. If you move you’re
hands, or get closer, or make any type of adjustments, even the most subtle of
adjustments, the girl, quite possibly, could run away. This is how the people on
stage were acting. This makes the burlesque (and dance) very awkward, or at least
far from reality.
There were ten people involved in this production. The first of which was a
narrator (male) who doubled as a singer during certain portions of the show. He
was an attractive looking man and comparable to Ryan Seacrest from American Idol.
In addition to the seven girls, there were two male dancers: one black and one
white. The “theater” looked less like a theater and more like a converted high school
gym with a bar (for drinking) stage left. The flat floor made for an interesting
viewing experience because if the person seated directly in front of you was a tall
individual you weren’t really going to get your money’s worth.
Before any clothes were even removed it was easy to tell that all ten of these
performers are in shape; not like the we-work-out-a-couple-times-a-week in shape
but professional athlete in shape. If you were to find the Fit TV channel or maybe
even pull out an old Crunch workout video you would see people, who are, by
definition, in shape. The performers in this show are more impressively in shape
than those who “work-out” for a living. Very much in shape and defined muscles
and good-looking indeed.
There were two things that stood out about this show.
The first thing that was… strange was that of the seven girls in the show, they all had
very similar sized breasts. There wasn’t a girl that could be described as flat chested
or if you’re catty: “pancake boobs.” At the other end of the spectrum, there weren’t
any double D’s or excessively large fake breasts. All of the seven girls were sporting
B cups.
Secondly, the production was, in fact, fascinating. If you’ve never been to a strip club
I recommend the experience. There are plenty of other reasons to indulge in a strip
club, but the best is that you will leave entertained. I mean this in a very non-sexual,
non-arousing way. The fitness and the athletic maneuvers the girls are capable of
on the pole are impressive. This show delivered the same type of performance. The
moves, the dancing, the ballet and gymnastics are very much something that took
hours of work in dedication, and strength, to accomplish. Something most will
never be capable of and left me in awe as I departed the theater.
Las Vegas was left for Utah early Thursday morning. Backpacking and hiking
Thursday and into Friday.
Friday evening was one of the best nights in a long time. Dinner included: Whitney
(our good looking waitress), a burrito, margaritas, and chocolate lava cake with
homemade peppermint ice cream. The campsite we picked was just outside the
town of Springdale and was just close enough to town that LTE was available, but
keep in mind that being in the middle of the Utah wilderness, with perfectly clear
skies, just outside Zion National Park (ZNP) allowed for some optimum star gazing.
By all accounts a unique and wonderful experience.
One of the things that was planned was that the group was going to indulge in some
slot canyoneering via rappelling, something none of us had done previous. Most of
these routes in ZNP require a permit, so we found a route just outside the park that
allowed the group to by-pass the system. A route that was supposed to take,
according to a friend and the guidebook, six to ten hours.
The group woke up Friday morning to grab coffee and ask the cute barista, who
used to double as a tour guide, about the looming adventure. Following that we
drove into the park and quickly found our pull off to begin our adventure; however,
the guidebook was inaptly left at the coffee shop and we hit our first detour.
It’s detours like this that are the best example of an opportunity to nap (OTN). I
took advantage of this OTN in style by reclining the car seat and sticking my right
foot out of the window and placing it on plastic that protrudes from the car door and
forms the car’s passenger side mirror – which may or may not be designed for this
purpose - and then placing my left foot across the ankle of my right leg. It was warm
enough with the sun shining; yet the wind provided a lovely breeze that, at the same
time, kept me cool.
By the time the car returned from recovering the guidebook, which took nearly an
hour, it was time for lunch. Initially, two adventures were planned for the day: the
two-hour Keyhole adventure followed by the six to ten hour Fat Man’s Misery
(FMM). Keyhole was supposed to be at the plate with FMM on deck, upon further
discussion the batting order was revised. After eating and gear prep the group
headed out at high noon.
The hike out was demoralizing. The hiking and backpacking from the previous day
had taken a toll on everyone body. In addition, the canyon was filled with sand and
not the stuff at the beach that’s watered down and on which it’s easy to walk. This
was dune sand that was a pain-in-the-ass and exhausting to traverse. Such a painin-the-ass that, at times, while hiking up a sand hill, you would take one step
forward and sink back down a half step before taking another step forward and so
on and so forth.
Not to mention it’s high noon and we were in the middle of the desert in June. It was
not East Coast humidity hot, but after twenty minutes of moderate hiking,
cottonmouth was developed and it was not like there is a cooler to keep drinks cold,
or a guy with a cart wandering around Prospect Park selling popsicles and ice water.
What this meant was that while one attempted to keep hydrated, water became
something you needed and wasn’t even close to refreshing. Drinking was a chore,
not something that was enjoyable like at a bar or cookout.
After traveling through one canyon an opening was reached and a sharp left turn
was made before we traversed over three more ridges or washes, then a right turn
and we dropped into the canyon. Some more hiking until the first of many slot or
narrow sections was reached.
It’s indescribable how naturally beautiful it was in a slot. The closest example is, if
you can imagine for a minute, a gap between two tall, like 30 stories tall, buildings in
Midtown Manhattan. The gap between these buildings is just wide enough to fit
through, perhaps 2 or 3 feet wide. However, towers in Midtown are perpendicular
to the street and rise straight up. Slots are similar to high rises, although the slots
over lap each other and they curve and have protrusions and are bright orange and
red in color and sometimes the blue sky isn’t even visible.
If you’ve ever seen the movie 127 Hours you have some idea of what it looks like in a
slot as that is exactly the type of canyon in which Aron Ralston got himself stuck.
What it feels like in a slot is similar to what I would image solitary confinement
might be like. Additionally, I now, completely and utterly understand how and why
Aron Ralston went crazy before cutting off his own arm.
There are even trees stuck in between the walls of the slot and, occasionally, these
trees are needed in certain instances to assist in the down climbing to get through
the canyon. Rocks are also stuck in the slot and serve a similar purpose.
Wildlife-wise the canyon was filled with snakes and lizards, lots of lizards. There
are also a large amount of tadpoles in the stagnant pools of water along the route.
There are frogs; apparently it’s pretty hard to make it in the desert as a tadpole
because while there are plenty of tadpoles, frogs are a lot less common. It’s also
possible that frogs have legs and are not confided to water like tadpoles and could
be just as ubiquitous as tadpoles just a lot better at hiding. Squirrels appear on
occasion.
Bug-wise, it felt more like a lake than a desert. Insects, like tadpoles, are thriving in
this environment and aren’t afraid to do just what they are supposed to do, which is
bug the hell out of you and, at times, question why you decided to leave your air
conditioned apartment at all.
The climax or focal point of this route was a 40-foot rappel that led into a narrows
section that eventually led to a spring, which flowed, into the grotto and into the
East Fork of the Virgin River at the bottom of the canyon. All of that beautiful stuff
about the previous slot sections still apply, only now there is water and pools to be
traversed.
The group stopped for a break in the most beautiful part of the route: where the
spring and grotto met the river. The canyon really opened up; perhaps 30 feet
across now; the walls are vast, approximately 1,200 feet in height on either side.
The water was refreshing and clear; there were tadpoles (of course) in both the
spring and river. An urban equivalent, that doesn’t even come close to doing this
view justice, is walking down 6th avenue between 42nd Street and Central Park
South.
The coup-de-gras has arrived. The group left at high noon and expected the trip to
take somewhere between six and ten hours to complete. It was approximately 2100
local time at the bottom of the canyon and we were quickly running out of daylight
with the sun setting at approximately 2115, not that we could see the sun being at
the bottom of the canyon.
Harnesses are removed and water containers are refilled and sterilized via the
Harry Potter method, which uses the power of the sun – UV radiation – to prevent
the bacteria, and other bad things that can be found in river water, from growing
and reproducing and leaving someone very sick indeed. This was the first time I had
used the Harry Potter method. The Iodine method is more common with me and I’m
still not totally sure how I felt about this new Harry Potter method, but I trusted my
friends enough to go along with it.
At this point the group had realized that this was going to suck, hence coup-de-gras.
We’re all starving and tired and the trip is only half complete and, again, it’s 2115
and we’ve got a long way to go. The hike out was similar to the hike in and we have
to go through all that sand again and we hiked to the bottom of a canyon, meaning a
significant amount of the hiking is going to be uphill, and there were even some
moves that could be classified as class 5 climbing – if you fall you die – and we just
want to get out and enough talking about it, let’s just get on the move.
The group took a break at the top of a ridge. The sun had set, but there was enough
light still left that, while the group took out it’s headlamps – I forgot mine in the car the group didn’t need them to see just yet. It’s also a lovely view where we can see
the three washes that still need to be covered before hiking into the final wash that
will take us to the road and eventually our cars. I put on another layer of clothing so
that I’m wearing a white Ultimate jersey and on top of that had a Prana sleeveless
shirt (non-cotton) like one he would wear to the beach. I’m sure I looked ridiculous,
but I’m in the middle of nowhere with three good friends and was far more
concerned with my body temperature than my sexual-appeal.
Roughly 30 minutes later after departing the ridge it’s now around 2200 local time
and all that was left, light-wise, was the moon. More specifically, it was the sunlight
that was either reflected or refracted off the moon that was guiding the path out.
There was some discussion on that subject – reflected vs. refracted – a conclusion
was never reached.
It was still possible to see what was in front of me as I continued to traverse the
desert landscape, only now, each steps provided a little more uncertainty as far as
the type of surface on which I might be stepping. As in, at times, it is unclear about
whether the next step will be on rock or on sand, or ever worse, as I’m neurotic at
times, especially times such as these, where I’m far outside of my comfort zone and
has grown worried of twisting/breaking an ankle, losing balance and falling, or,
worst of all, stepping on a snake or other wildlife with large vicious teeth.
All of these worries I attempted to suppress, but they only got stronger as the group
reached the final wash and, eventually around 2240, the little light that the moon
provided is now behind the large vast canyon wall. The hiking grew more vertical
and with that more dangerous and remember that my headlamp was safely tucked
away in the car which the group was desperate to reach.
All of a sudden, I had a change of heart. Typically, and this is certainly true in this
case, that the more dangerous something is, the more badass it is as well. And I was
going to make it out of this alive, HOW COULD I NOT? What other choice did I have?
I couldn’t sit down and wait for daylight and if I did that would be far more scary
than just getting it over with and all three of this friends are utterly experienced in
the art of backcountry adventures and night hikes and two of them even do this for a
living with people with far grander mental problems than his own.
THIS ISN’T SCARY. IT’S BADASS!
Badass…Yes! Completely badass and hardcore and something to be impressed about
and brag to friends and a way to swoon girls at the bar and other local
establishments in the New York City area. And, Oh My God! You know how to make it
in The City and in The Wilderness. What girl wouldn’t go for that? How diverse and
manly!
Upon reaching the car, I collapsed. I was exhausted and hungry. My legs hurt, but
not in a post-ultimate tournament way, in a different way that’s foreign to me.
There were sandwiches that could have been made, but I reached for the quick
carbs: Donuts and DS Oreos. I drank the rest of some Naked Juice I purchased for
breakfast and removed my shoes and socks that were completely filled with sand.
I did it! I’m a man among boys. Those people in ZNP doing the guided tours and
driving along the roads only to stop and take pictures. What Novices! What
Beginners! How lame of them!
When to group finally rallied up. It was 2330 local time. We planned to car camp at
the same spot we did Friday evening, but it being Saturday, that area was far more
popular and congested than the night previous. There was even a car that had set
up something like a homemade drive-in movie theater with a large laptop. All they
had to do was look up to see something far more beautiful and interesting than
anything they could find on Netflix: The stars and Milky Way, as both were visible.
Upon this depressing fact, the group took the 45-minute drive back to St. George.
Two slept outside on the patio, while two slept inside. After a challenging day,
laying by the pool and playing some Blackjack sounded excellent to me, I earned it.
Sunday night in Vegas provide to have not one, but two special features: Dinner and
Zumanity.
Dining took place at the Monte Carlo Hotel and Casino, at its Italian restaurant called
D. Vino. It being Las Vegas, the décor is lavish and embellished. Wine racks with
bottles displayed all over the restaurant. There were strange Italian pictures,
sculptures, and finely designed plates on the wall along with vases of flowers
sporadically placed throughout the restaurant. The most intriguing and question
raising feature of the décor is the scooter, sans it’s battery, placed on the island
behind the bar. A real full sized Vespa. I know the scooter is without power
because I asked the manager, and bartender, if I could quite possibly be allowed to
drive said scooter around the casino floor. No luck. My remark sparked the interest,
and laughter, of a girl sitting next to him with quite the foreign accent.
She, Pia if I recalls correctly, is a grocery manager from Oslo, Norway and is wearing
a black dress that shows off her legs. She had taken a three and one half week
vacation to Las Vegas, by herself, to escape the frigid cold of Norway. On her trip
she has done an exorbitant amount of people watching, a remarkably small amount
of gambling, and most surprising, learned that there is a two-week maximum stay in
any of the Las Vegas Hotel and Casinos. While I clearly see the logic behind it, I was
still somewhat surprised. Other eye-opening facts about Norway: She can afford to
take a three and one half week vacation, by herself, to Las Vegas, as a grocery store
manager. She is forced to take five weeks vacation in any given year and, in fact,
would get in trouble with her own government if she neglected this duty. Also
shocking, she only pays somewhere between 35 and 40 percent in taxes each year.
While this might be extremely high for poor people, I knows people who are, by all
measurable means, doing well for themselves that pay nearly that high of a
percentage here in the States and do not get all the same socialized benefits as this
girl: Health Care, vacation, and 46 weeks of maturity leave provided she chooses to
reproduce, which she hasn’t.
Pia does not drink and, in fact, ate a whole eleven-inch pepperoni pizza by herself
(using both a fork and knife the whole time) along with three separate deserts. She
rationalized allowing herself to eat three deserts because she neglects to order an
appetizer; she favors sweets instead. Pia claims she does not work out, yet in fact
appears to be in above average (American) shape. I have claimed, and shared with
her, that she is, by all means, what I would call a “medical marvel.”
The group, with full bellies, paid the tab and meandered about The Strip in order to
both walk off dinner and purchase some whiskey shooters to sneak into Zumanity,
also showing at New York, New York (ironic).
Tickets had been purchased via one of the little shops or booths located on The Strip
that sells both show tickets and dinner tickets as a discounted price. If planning on
seeing a show in Vegas, I recommend booths such as these in order to save a little
bit of money. Seats were to the right of center stage on the lower lever, but
somewhat in the back. The group was close enough to the action, yet far enough
away to avoid being chosen for audience participation. More on that later.
The entire show was breath taking and something I would absolutely pay the 80dollar ticket price to see again. The show was visually and athletically impressive,
much in the same way the burlesque show was – or a strip club for that matter –
only Zumanity was the big leagues, not the minor ball shit I saw Wednesday
evening. Two scenes left a bigger imprint on me than the others.
The second scene involved two girls (topless, not that that’s relevant) and a large
clear bowl of water. The bowl was not much bigger than a six-person hot tub and
only about three feet deep in the center – it’s deepest point. The girls were, of
course, attractive and very much fit and in shape, and if I had to guess, I would
assume this was supposed to be the “lesbian” scene of the show as they were quite
close and affectionate with one another throughout their set.
Again, the bowl of water was three feet deep. The two girls, after teasing the
audience, proceed to do the first thing anyone would ever tell you not to do when
going to a pool for the first time:
DIVE HEAD FIRST INTO THE SHALLOW END!
But as the entire pool is shallow, the girls don’t have much of a choice. They were
diving and performing flips by jumping off the lip of the bowl and into the water.
They were swimming over and under and around each other, along with a multitude
of handstands with assistance of the bowls lips that require a great deal of arm and
upper body strength. Not to mention, the handstands are usually done in the very
near vicinity of the other girl and the way their bodies are wrapped and tangled
around each other and made them look like they were playing twister in mid air. It
is very much hot and sexy and impressive.
Later in the show, the BDSM scene involved a man in a skintight suit wearing a mask
similar to that of Optimus Prime and an abnormally large hula-hoop.
He began by simply spinning the hula-hoop and prancing around and through it
while a couple of girls cracked whips, rather loudly, behind him. Then the
excitement started: He placed himself inside the hoop so that he looked like the
Vitruvian Man (Da Vinci). He then proceeded to twirl and spin, all the while I
imagine the actor pushing his arms and legs against the hoop and keeping his core
tight so that the whole package – him and the hoop – remain firm and stiff. The
culmination of his scene is when lodged inside the loop he, with his body at about a
35 degree angle from the ground, spun and does sort of break dance so that only one
extremity is touching the ground at any given time. The entire audience, me
included, is impressed and offer this man some much-deserved applause.
Part of the stage at Zumanity was a large lazy Susan that had some mechanical
device that allowed it to spin. Lucky for the group, they were seated far enough
away so that audience participation was not an issue. Unlucky was a mother who
brought with her to the show her sons, one of which was celebrating his 21st.
This mother was nice enough to be chosen for audience participation and had one of
the many “hunks” of the show pick her, Shelia, out of the crowd and bring her on
stage for some questioning. The shared the information provided above and then
took the hand of the man and they went and took their place on the spinning stage.
As they took their place, there was no hesitation for them to begin getting frisky.
Every time the stage spun around and these two got brought to the front they found
a new position in which to display themselves: Sixty-Nine, Cow-Girl, Reverse CowGirl, and I believe there is even one of the mother bent over and taking it from
behind. Congratulation Shelia, you’ve given your child a birthday he will never
forget. So far, in fact, he might also need therapy.
Following the show, drinks were had, so many, in fact, that I do not recall walking
back to this room from the Fat Burger. Monday morning brought him a hangover
like none other, but not so bad as he made his 1231 flight out of Las Vegas.
Like I mentioned at the top: This was my favorite trip, most likely, of all time. I loved
the just enough but not too much structure to the whole thing. I enjoyed the wild
“nightlife” of Vegas and the cool nights sleeping outside under the stars. The
backpacking and the canyoneering are all something I will never forget. This trip
offered both manmade and natural beauty. There were even some parts that were
manmade natural beauty.
It’s hard to be let down when there weren’t many expectations in the first place. It
means there’s no downside; it means it’s impossible to screw up. It can only get
better! Perhaps that’s when I’m happiest, when I’m just out living life and going
with the flow, and knowing that it’s all going to work out, but it’s not all going to
work out today or tomorrow or even this week, possibly not even this month, so
there’s no point in stressing over it in the present. So yeah, “We can do whatever we
want!” sounded pretty great throughout the trip, but there’s a new mantra: No
expectations. No disappointment.