Day Thirty-Eight: If you've ever been a lady to begin with

Day Thirty-Eight was probably one of the hardest of the trip. We woke up in Cassie's house, dragging our feet as we packed and prepared to leave the comfort of a place we could call "home" for the long, long road ahead. We had an eleven hour drive ahead of us, and at the end of it we would be in our own time zone, just a three hour drive from Long Beach. It was almost incomprehensible. As I packed up the car, I made BFFs with an old lady out for her early morning walk. "Going on a trip?" she asked. "Nope," I said. "We're going home." She'd noticed our California license plate, and she confided that her children had grown up in Whittier. I wanted to explain to her that it wasn't what she thought: we weren't a young couple a two-days 'drive from home, staying with a friend in Denver for a few days and then heading back to our homes, just twenty minutes south on the 605 from where she had grandchildren. It wasn't like that at all. But how could I possibly explain how ludicrous it was, how crazy we felt, how we were positive that the Rockies in the distance were an illusion, that we'd be driving forever and never cross them, never traverse those last few inches between us and the jagged line our atlas assured us was the Pacific Coast? I smiled and she wished us luck, and then she walked on.

The Rockies weren't impossible after all. They were, in fact, gorgeous, and the snow on the ground and flurries in the air reminded us of the eleven hour drive we'd taken just one country's-width due north, when we were young and enthusiastic. When we came down out of the mountains it was almost immediately swelteringly hot, and the 60° temperature shift may have contributed significantly to the way the rest of the day played out.

Ryan "Just Call Me a Cow, Cuz I'm Always Tippin" Poohausen earned his nickname by giving us some solid advice on how to stay in Vegas. On his recommend, I booked a room at the Tropicana, which was a great location and great value for a very reasonable price. What we didn't realize was the effect Vegas on a Friday evening would have on us after a day's worth of driving in almost complete solitude. There were way too many people, they were way too loud and way too drunk and they were standing way, way too close to me. We played the slots for a while (and we would've won 49¢ if we'd quit while we were ahead), then got a few minutes into exploring The Strip before it was just too much for me, and we retreated to our room where we collapsed exhausted and overstimulated. Money, baby.

We listened to: Greatest Hits (Nirvana), What's the Story? (Oasis), and our official return to the West as we cheered with a hundred Lakers fans for the close of game 6.

Mystery Words: "Let me refill your water."

Mike?: astoriedyear.blogspot.com