A Nevada
For Bev
At 5:50 am I boldly stride into Buffalo Bills Casino. Having never gambled in my life, I have much to learn about the sport at the heart of city that I am calling home these few months. In the highly exercised neurons of my brain in charge of day-dreaming, I envision gambling as a hardcore pastime of sorts. Men in cowboy hats with a lump of chew in their cheek lean over card tables manned by big-bossismed, garrulous women, and think deeply about every play before betting. Every once in awhile a pistol fight breaks out over blackjack dispute and the looser is quickly dragged away through the swinging double doors and left to rest among the tumbleweeds. Las Vegas
As I quickly learned upon my arrival in the silver state my dreamy gambling world was a bit antedated. Outside the casino is the Mojave; bare dusty mountains overlooking even dustier plains of creosote bushes any yuccas. Ostensibly, the desert is barren, the only movement are the mini-tornados that one sees through the car window. But truth is, life is there if you look for it: jackrabbits sprinting from bush to bush, wild burrows braying, kangaroo rats scavenging for food among the bipedal visitor's belongings, brightly colored lizards doing pushups, tarantulas lumbering along and the winsome desert tortoise.
Once inside the casino, the world outside ceases to exist. The few windows are darkened and in lieu of the veritable desert backdrop, a false landscape of western-style corrals, mountain plateaus and tumbleweeds all made of plastic and appearing quite unauthentic pervade. On the floor of the casino, red purple, yellow and blue lights flash and fade, flash and fade in every direction. With their bododo-bododo chimes the computer screens set side by side (more cramped and closer to one another than even the worst employer's cubicles), invite guests to play games to WIN; games that resemble the ones I was so thrilled to have on that very first DOS computer that my dad brought home in 1992.
In the bathroom I don't think twice about the tawdry-outfitted woman in the leopard print blouse. She left the water running while reapplying her heavy eye makeup. I was focused on the waste of water in the desert during my interaction with her and it wasn't until I was steeping out of the bathroom that I took pause. It was 5:50 am. Why would one need to be reapplying their makeup at 5:50 am? I wondered if she was an early riser and just started gambling or if this was the last push before calling it a night.
Back into the main casino hall I spot two black women, one in her 50s, the other in her 30s, they turn to each other with huge grins and high-five. Obviously, a WIN!. A Caucasian women seated nearby has her returning players card plugged into the slot machine and stares blankly at the computer screen, presses a button and takes a long drag on her cigarette, presses a button and takes a drag, presses a button, presses another button and takes a drag. Her vacuous demeanor a stark contrast from the upbeat and stentorian cartoon-character game she is playing. Her skin pale white as if it has never seen the sun, she sits like a wraith trying to make a few bucks before departing this world for the final time.
And what was my purpose in Buffalo Bill's at an ungodly hour in the morning, you may ask (those of you that have spent a significant amount of time around me understands thoroughly that in my world waking up early is met with nothing short of antipathy)? Well, this is my life. I am living in Primm , NV , 1 mile from the CA boarder and 40 miles southwest of Las Vegas
The Mojave Desert tortoise is a federally protected species. A significant amount of resources are dedicated to relocating them during any type of construction in their native habitat. Alex is here, along with a few hundred other scientists to relocate tortoises for the construction of a solar energy plant. I have never seen a crew of people so in love with a single species that is not their own as the crew of biologists looking for and saving the desert tortoise. As an animal lover myself, I can relate, but was still surprised when I fully grasped the extent of these people's ardor. They eat, drink, breathe and talk tortoises. Anything else is perfunctory and trite. It did seem a little overkill to me.
Then I had a chance to see the reptile around which all this hubbub revolves, and fell madly in love. How is it, that a creature that may spend a whole day moving 300 feet from one patch of desert to the next be so exceedingly charismatic? Small and tough the desert tortoise is surprising plucky; as I sat eating lunch near the railroad tracks (yes mom, that is what I’ve come to) I watched a grown male tortoise parade through the underpass next me, fully aware that a predator-like mammal was near. As a train passed and shook the whole structure above us, he paused in his saunter, took in his surroundings and continued on his journey. (the picture posted is from this interaction. To all the tortoise bios reading this, don't worry, the photo is from a distance and in no way did I disturb or move closer to this guy than he initiated).
My most intimate interaction with a mojave tortoise was while I was shadowing one of Alex’s co-workers while performing the weekly radio tracking task. As I marched through the creosotes with an archaic radio antenna in hand, listening to beeps leading me towards tortoise # 153, I happened upon a juvenile tortoise cuddled up underneath a bush. This was extraordinary! It was early in the morning, around 55◦ and it had been established that the tortoises usually active during 65◦ and 95◦. It was far too cold for this little guy to be out. Additionally, yesterday had been darn cold as well (respectively speaking of course). This little guy probably had been stuck outside in the open for a day and a half and two nights. It was a surprise an eagle hadn’t picked this one up for a meal.
The project was in need of tortoises in this age group to monitor their behaviors, so it was decided that I would babysit while the person I was shadowing would return to place a transmitter on our new find when the appropriate ambient temperature was reached. I had two whole hours alone my new friend (soon to be called number 313). Per protocol, I remained as far away as possible while still maintaining visual contact. As the day warmed up, he poked his little out of the his shell, slowly took in his surroundings, looked right, then left, swiveled his head back to center and yawned. The biggest yawn I have ever seen from such a little mouth. It was simultaneously precious and comical. His front right leg stretched out from his shell, tilting his body askew, both his back legs followed at, well, a tortoise’s pace, and then his left leg made an appearance a minute or two later and evened out his vertical body position. About 10 minutes later he took a few steps, stopped, and yawned again. Over the course of an hour, I watched and followed as he, with fierce determination ambled the 15 or so meters to his tiny burrow and settled himself inside the cozy haven of his home. It was amazing to think that while he sat in the open and vulnerable for what most likely was two days, the safety of his home was 15 meters away. He probably felt as lost and far away from home as I did when sick in Peru
Solely, housewife and tortoise admirer, I am not. While I do attempt to cook and clean for Alex, do his grocery shopping and laundry I have quite the schedule myself. Most days, I drive the 50 miles into Las Vegas
I like the Enterprise Library over the many other, ritzier libraries in Las Vegas
I don't spend my time in the Enterprise
Most people who are familiar with my lifestyle balked when I told them that I was living in Vegas for the fall. Rightly so. However, I must admit that I am extraordinarily happy here. My time here hasn't been without bumps in the road: the joy of living out of a small hotel room with one's significant other after being used to the world as a stage can be a stress to say the least.
Also included in my list of interesting experiences are:
·navigating traffic in a city that allows no left turns (zoolander would love it!)
·commuting 100 miles 100ºF with a car that makes weird noises when the air conditioning is switched on
·being hit on my a man with an outline of the state of NV tattooed on his neck
·being hit on by a man from the next car over at a stoplight
·braving fox news in the hotel gym
·having people look at me like my dreadlocks are a birth defect
This life is a far cry from what I had in mind when I left Boulder in December and an even father cry from my subsequent life in Peru
I choose Las Vegas Las Vegas Oregon
So here is a toast to sin city, the weirdest place I have ever lived.
