An American Tale - Day 7, Alt. Vegas

For the last week I have slept in a number of motel rooms of varying quality.  From quirky to sucky and everything in between, they have all shared the common thread of 'basic'.

It was now time to try a little more luxury....at The Flamingo.

This is the Pink plinkerty pink hotel, originally opened by mobster Bugsy Segal, (a fact which they love to remind you about everywhere across the casino).

Right in the middle of the strip, it is everything you expect from Vegas; Over the top, Glitzy, cheesy, huge.  

My room carried on the theme;

Pink cheesy decor

On the 19th floor with awesome views of the Bellagio fountains

AND A TV SCREEN IN MY BATHROOM MIRROR!

I have a wander around the casino, and as my first time I thought it'd be rude not to throw a few chips on the roulette table (quickest £50 I'd spend the whole holiday).

Maybe I'd try the gambling again tomorrow, let's get a drink instead.

Feeling a little rock n roll (as always) I try out Hard Rock hotel for a few Sam Adams (the only American beer I've found so far that doesn't taste like fizzy water.)  I also found the so called Crack cocaine of gambling here, Video Poker.

Hemmorhaging money and quick I thought I needed to move a little further away from the strip, and I stumble across The Double Down Saloon.  A dive bar, with a heavy sounding juke box and $2 cans of beer, this was perfect for the end of the night.  A little further into the night, I get chatted up by a girl with a mohawk whilst a punk band called Geezus Cryst play....not the Vegas I was expecting!

Tomorrow...A little more of traditional Vegas.

An American Tale Day 6 - Downtown

I had just 200 miles left on my journey, so I intended to savour every yard.
I sped off from the route 66 motel hungry...what to eat, I'd done Taco Bell, Jack in a box, Wendy's... what other Americana could I try.
Then, beyond the haze, like a mirage, I saw a sign (not the biblical sort, an actual sign)

Peggy Sue's 50's diner stands alone on a square of tarmac amongst the cactus and sand....perfect.
I felt like Marty Mcfly walking into 1955 and was welcomed by Betty Boo.

It had it all;
Ageing waitresses in full costume, check.
Mini jukeboxes on the counter playing rock n roll, check.
Sweating chefs behind an alcove saying "order up", check.
What a find.

The food was deliciously unhealthy, the coffee constantly topped up, and the local truckers surly.  Breakfast should always be this fun. 

After buying a little tat from the gift shop, I got in the car and flipped through the radio stations looking for a some suitable tunes for my entrance to Vegas, when I found the Elvis station.  I'm not kidding, a radio station that plays Elvis...non stop....brilliant.

A couple of hours later came a very sad time.  It was today I would say goodbye to the car.
Oh the times we had, the roads we'd driven, the laughs we shared.  I must admit I had a bit of a moment.

My first night in Vegas would be away from the glitz and glamour of the strip, and would be spent in the old school, arty district of Downtown. 

I did this to witness First Friday.  A monthly arts and music festival held downtown that looked far too cool to miss.
First thing that happened when I got there, I got sold some drugs.

Ok, it was Oregano, a prop for a interactive performance of the musical 'Hair' (As in "Let the sunshine. let the sunshine")

There were artists, singers, dancers, poets all lining the streets with lots of beer and food tents mixed in. Quite an atmoshere.

So tomorrow it's time for the real deal, 3 nights on the strip, Oh yeah, Vegas Baby!!!

An American tale Day 5 - Get Your kicks...

I leave cloudy Buelton, California, after my free continental breakfast (weak coffee and stale Danish, gee thanks) and head South in search of the Sun, and boy did I find it.
As I pulled of the freeway, temp gauge was reading 103º, this was definitely a day to be visiting one of the world's most famous beach towns, Santa Monica. 

Pretty much all you need to now about this place is everybody is hot.  Everybody.  And they know it. Whether roller blading, walking the dog, or working out on muscle beach, the real reason they are there is show off their asses.  Not that i'm complaining mind, just felt that maybe today wasn't the day to join them and show some skin.

I wander south to find the pier.  Nothing too remarkable and not very different to anything you'd find in Britain; Arcades, Ferris wheel, buskers.  The reason it was on my list however was that the end of the pier is the official end of a very famous road indeed.

(That and the fact that "I want to be big".)

Sadly the historic Route 66 no longer officially exists, replaced by faster freeways and interstates.  Of course, that doesn't stop geeky people like me.  You can pretty much follow the old route halfway to Las Vegas before it cuts across Arizona, so that was my plan.
I start on Santa Monica boulevard, driving into LA, cutting across West Hollywood.

As I finally leave the city, (LA traffic's a bitch) I witness why the road is so iconic, wide open roads cutting through the desert with mountains either side of you, quite literally awesome.
I end my route 66 experience in the quite unremarkable town of Barstow.  A place that seems to exist just because it has to, being the halfway point between LA and Las Vegas.  The one thing it did have going for it however was one of the coolest places I have ever slept.

I pull up and walk into the booth (couldn't really call it a reception), I'm welcomed by a friendly elderly man, who hands me my key, along with a disposable toothbrush, razor and souvenir postcard.
A pull alongside one of the many beat-up classic cars dotted around the carpark.  I let myself into my room and am reminded about something I found amusing when booking this motel...the round bed.

That photos for all you ladies out there, thought you'd appreciate that image.

Tomorrow, it's VEGAS BABY!!!!!

Today's soundtrack provided by ZZ Top, Johnny Cash, and Jimi Hendrix

Day 4 - Sideways driving

Today was to be the day I had been most looking forward since this whole journey came together.  My first sight of the Pacific, driving one the World's best roads in an open top car, and ending up drinking Pinot Noir in Americas' greatest wine region.

Oh, well.

So the weather wasn't what I'd hoped, big deal.
So the roof would have to briefly come down, so what.
So fog's covering the whole Pacific Highway...oh for fucks sake.

What should have been one of the most awe inspiring views I would ever see was somewhat dampened by some seriously crappy visibility. At some of the vista points along the way (Of which there are hundreds just to rub it in), I see people on the side of the road genuinely gutted by the sights (or lack thereof), guys who had obviously come from the other side of the globe to take this in, they look devastated.
Two hours in, I however, was over it. 
There were plenty more things to see on this journey, so I pressed on to (after my Alien site-seeing) the 2nd geekiest part of the trip.  The Sideways Wine tour.

If you are unaware, Sideways is a (quite brilliant) movie about a couple of friends on a wine fueled stag weekend in the Santa Barbara Vineyards.  I was to stay at the Windmill Inn (where they stayed), and eat at the Hitching Post (where they ate) and drink Highliner Pinot Noir (that they drank)....I just read that back, I am such a nerd.

Some parts were disappointing (The motel's a shithole), some parts were annoying (walking 2 miles in the wrong direction of the restaurant...in the rain), but some parts were beyond what I could imagine (THE best steak I have ever eaten, and a bottle of THE best wine I have ever drank) so worth it all in the end.
We live to fight another day.

Tomorrow let's go to the beach, beach..

Today's soundtrack provided by Gaslight Anthem, Band of Horses, and Muse

An American Tale day 3 - Please Don't feed the bears

Until recently, my knowledge of the word Yosemite was limited to cartoons

I now think of THAT drive, in THAT car

I drive deep into the park, through valleys of rock and Giant Redwoods.  

I pass Park Rangers and bears.

Wait, Bear, was that a bear?  That was bear.  Oh my god I saw a bear.

My mistake, it was a bush.

The reason I was so convinced was the fact that there are signs about bears everywhere. Don't feed them, don't approach them, oh and if one approaches you, you've gotta be really loud and wave your arms around...thanks for that.

I stop in a picnic spot to eat my 7-11 purchased lunch (burrito, Cheetos, and Dr Pepper...when in Rome).  There are more bear signs, but not one that warns you that the local squirrels have NO fear!

As beautiful as it is around here, I have long old drive to the coast this afternoon, so I start my descent to ground level. Trees merge into bushes, bushes to weeds, weeds to sand...and we're back on the open road passing Oakdale (Apparently Cowboy capital of the world, more like like trailer trash capital of the world...I don't stop.)

After a few hours I finally see it.  The Pacific.  I stop over in Santa Cruz, a very strange resort that is a mix of very rich, and very poor.  (Part of the check-in process at the motel was warning which roads I should probably avoid walking down.)
So like a good little tourist, I head to the posh end of town, to Rosie O'connells, an Irish bar where I was the most Irish thing in it (Sorry I know, not very authentic, but there was a man playing guitar, I couldn't resist my muso roots.)
Day 4 arrives...along with the clouds, booooo!

Today's soundtrack was brought to you by Metallica, Deftones, and Audioslave

Day 2 – Deserts and dusty roads

If ever there was a day to wear my cowboy boots...

As I leave The Little A'le'Inn, I look down at the themometer...it reads 102º F, and it's only 9am! I feel I should rub factor 50 into my ever increasing bald patch as I put down the roof.

By the way, my car is awesome.  Just saying.

50 miles down the road and I cross from Clark County, into the best named county in America.

Yes, Nye county Nevada, named after Governer James Nye, aide to President Abraham Lincoln, I shit you not!

As I travel 200 miles North, I fill up at a little backwater town called Tonopah, where the gas attendant may as well have worn dungerees and told me I sure had a pretty mouth.

Heading West, I start to climb and the dusty trails & cactus make way for Hot springs and Forests. 

The air smells of pine as I cross the state line into California (I'm asked by the border patrol if I am bringing any livestock or meat into the state...errr, no....ooh actually I lied, there's some beef jerky in the glove box).

Late afternoon, I arrive at the mountain town of Mammoth Lakes at a height of 3000 metres above sea level. It's a ski resort in the winter so I feel quite at home (lots of use of the word Dude). It's also here where I  learn that geeky glasses and a British accent CAN be cool. Don't worry, I poshed up my Brummie twang a fair bit.

I sleep long and deep tonight (Thank you Coors©) as tomorrow will be the biggest drive of the trip as I hit The Tioga Pass through Yosemite National Park.

Today's soundtrack was provided by Creedence Clearwater Revival, Tom Petty, and The Eagles.

An American Tale day 1 - The truth is out there...if you're a redneck.

This is the sign that saved my life.

Ok, maybe a little bit of an exaggeration, but when you've been driving in the desert for 3 hours after a 11hr flight, having been up for 24 hours, seeing a sign reading Extraterrestrial Highway was a god-damn miracle.
You see, I should have been checked-in, unpacked, and drinking a beer way before sunset...but US customs officials, Las Vegas baggage handlers, bad American road signs, and getting lost in a giant Walmart put an end to that idea.

A few miles down Extraterrestrial Highway (named as it runs alongside Area51) lies my destination for the evening - Rachel, Nevada (population 67), and more specifically - The Little A'le'inn.

I arrive, and a pair of eyes belonging to an extremely stereotypical redneck (mullet, non-ironic handlebar moustache, chewing tobacco) bore into me.  

I walk past and nod to Billie-Joe, Jimmy-Bob or whatever his name is, and in my gruffest of tones manage a "Hey".

Anyway, turns out his name was Jeff.

My room for night was actually a trailer in the carpark - No shit!  But the bed was comfy, the beers were cold and the conversation was hilarious (They really don't get England - At all!)

I may have missed it in the dark, but as I woke, I looked out the window and this what Jeff claimed to have found in the desert back in the 50s...

After a ridiculously unhealthy yet tasty American breakfast, it was time I hit the road.  

I then saw the road...

Today would be a good day.

AMERICA!  

LET'S GO!

Diary of a festival organiser

Allow me to paraphrase a drunken conversation held on a warm evening this June...

"Dude.  Our garden is immense."
"Yeahhhhh man"
"We should do something in our garden man."
"We totally should!"
"We could have an epic party"
"With a BBQ"
"And you could play guitar"
"As could you"
"everyone could"
"Something like a festival?"
"No...EXACTLY like a festival"

And so it was, that the idea of Emberfest 2012 was brought to existence.

Our ambition grew with every day.  Ideas were excitedly added all the time. Day 2, a drinks shopping list was made.  Day 4, a poster made. By day 7, Emberfest had its own twitter, gmail and facebook account.  By day 10, it became self aware.
People were getting subtle clues, and word of mouth was spreading; What was it?  Who's playing?  How much will they charge for a pint?

It was getting ridiculous. In peoples minds, it was a licensed event, with proper bands, a fully stocked bar, and security.  In reality, 2 weeks before the big day dawned, it was still me and my housemate, a ukelele, a crate of stubbies, and pack of Richmond sausages.  I looked over to Matt, "Do think maybe we're not taking this as seriously as the people invited are?"

We realised it was becoming a monster, one we couldn't control, when a joke about a reformed Sclub7 being added to the line-up was taken seriously by half the punters signed up.  (By the way, in case you're wondering, we did look them up, they are still going but now under the name Sclub3, have a guess why)

We needed to calm the storm, and quick.  We stopped talking about it, started to referring it as "a party", and called a few people to let them know we could no longer provide camping facilities.

Along with the hype, numbers started to dwindle.  People who were "100% guaranteed will be there" a month previous were suddenly "oh sorry, forgot it's my niece's ballet recital".  Offended? Moi?

A night before, we were down to 10 confirmed guest.

"Come on Jim," I heard from the door "Let's go get some booze"
"You're right dude, fuck 'em!" I spat.  "We never needed 100s of people.   Even if it's just you and me with a can of Carling under an umbrella, at least we did it."
"If you book them, they will come."

In the end, there was reason to worry.  Guests arrived, beers were supped, burgers were charred, songs were played, and we had one hell of an epic Swingball tournament.

So Emberfest 2013?  Maybe....I heard Bewitched are not doing much these days