We've spent the last week on the shores of Lake Mead in the Nevada desert 30 miles southeast of Las Vegas.
An evening in Vegas is surreal. The sidewalks are lined with hustlers who hand out pictures of scantily-clad women offering $35 'specials', apparently 'massages'.
There is the Eiffel tower, live volcanoes, Venetian gondolas and other wonders.
I learn to play doubles in tennis and discover that there is an intact B-29 on the bottom of Lake Mead. We rent a powerboat and drive it twelve miles up the Colorado river to the foot of the Hoover dam. The scenery along the river includes mountain goats.
The next door neighbour is an iron worker named Clay who drives in to Vegas every day to work on a new 82-story casino. He appears to possibly be a meth freak and talks rapidly, changing the subject frequently. He says that his casino will be the tallest building west of the Mississippi. He walks on the high steel girders.
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