A spooky full moon rose up in an orange haze over eastern Las Vegas, Nevada Wednesday evening as Grannygear and I sat down to a delicious Del Taco meal on a seedy stretch of Tropicana Boulevard. It would be our last hour together and the last time ever, (maybe), that we would both ever be in Las Vegas for that Interbike madness.
Someone at the show must have read my earlier blog post because they exclaimed that I must not like Vegas all that much since I was having such a terrible time at Outdoor Demo. Well, there was a fair bit of hyperbole and sarcasm in that post, folks, so take it all with a grain-o-salt and move along. I'm just having some fun here. (That said, it was hot!)
We sauntered over to McCarran International a short way back towards The Strip after eating where Grannygear dropped me off and I went into my annual McCarran International sabbatical/endurance writing mode. Grannygear made the long trek back over the mesas, valleys, desert, and mountains back to his abode, while I prepared to bang the ends of a couple of my digits on spring loaded plastic buttons, otherwise known as a keyboard.
Endurance writing, you say? Yes, I do say. If you are quick on the uptake, you'll note that I said, "..I prepared to bang the ends of a couple of my digits...". That's right, I am whatcha call a "henpecker typist". It takes me five times as long to type anything as your Grandma can. What's that you say? Grandma is dead and buried these 20 years now? Trust me....
She types faster than I do!
So taking the time I have to wait at McCarran to write up stuff for Twenty Nine Inches is no big deal, but writing up and editing even one article can take me.......well, I'd rather not say. Somebody might decide to send over a forensic unit to see if I am decaying!
That said, I was banging away when I realized that the loud speakers in the waiting area at my gate were playing "Funky Town" and specifically the chorus, over and over and over and over, and........well, you get the idea. It must have been a dance mix because every so often a husky male voice would chime in, "He's so funky people!" Okay. It's cool for 30 seconds, then..........after two straight hours? Yeah. Two hours! I think it was a mind control thing.
Anyway.
I got productive, typed and banged away for well over two straight hours, and then settled back for a 2.5 hour moonlit night ride in a germ tube to DFW. When I got there, I was met by perhaps the most sarcastic gate agent ever. A younger lady was telling people which gates their connections could be boarded at. The guy in front of me got the following:
"That's Gate number B-29 sir. You take a path to your right. There you go now. Gee, if you move any slower you'll miss the connection"
I was pretty tired, and wasn't up to giving her a snappy intro, so I just blurted out "Des Moines" when it was my turn. She stopped, looked me in the eye, and sad, "Good morning sir." (Pause for effect)
I didn't let her jump back in, because I could see the door opening for her, and I took it back and closed it by staring her right back in the eyes and saying, "Good Morning. How are you?" (Insert slightly irritated, sarcastic tone here) She exchanged the pleasantry, and then tried to give me some witty directions as a come back, to which she received a dead pan stare into the eyes. I shuffled off in the general direction she had indicated, only to discover two hours later that the gate assignment had changed and I had 20 minutes to get over there. No problem. I made it.
The rest was fairly uneventful, and I am back, ensconced in the Guitar Ted Laboratories once more. Oh yeah.......did I say I was "Endurance Writing"? Well, I still am, right at this very moment as I type this out, I have been up for 39.75 hours so far.
Sleep. It's what's for dinner!
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