A Sejour in Sin City

Most of our trips this year have been into the backwoods and we are generally happier in low-density areas, but we decided that one place on our must-see list while we’re in Wyoming had to be Vegas, baby!

So I spent hours scouring the web looking for the best deals and Sunday, November 15th we packed up the Mini and started the 9-hour drive accompanied by Vegas-themed music. Other than some dicey roads on some of Utah’s mountain passes, the ride was pretty uneventful. Even so, 9 hours is a long car-ride and by the time we pulled out of Nevada’s desert into the insanity of the city, we were tired and more than a little overwhelmed.

With the help of our trusty GPS, though, we managed to exit the I-15 and find our hotel for the night, the Excalibur. This taste of “Merry Olde England” is like Disney’s the Magic Kingdom on crack. It was huge: the parking lot could fit more cars than exist in our whole town of Green River, and we had no idea where we were supposed to go. So Doug pulled off to the side and I jumped out to try and find hotel registration. Entering the building I have to admit I fought a panic attack. It was dark, smoky, and the ring of slot machines echoed off the walls. I stayed focused, though, and made my way to the registration desk. Clutching our room keys and reciting my parking directions like a mantra, I plunked back into the Mini and took a deep breath.

Doug and I found parking and then wrestled our bags into the building. In Vegas, you have to walk through the hotels’ casinos to get anywhere, so we pulled our suitcases between rows of one-armed bandits (slot machines), trying to home in on the elevators. Up, up, up and we were in the silence and safety of our very nicely appointed tower room.

While my first instinct was to curl up in a ball and rock back and forth, I summoned my strength and we went to collect our welcome drinks, play the penny slots for an hour or so, and then go to our dinner show, The Tournament of Kings.

It was a blast and smoke-free, since it’s considered a restaurant (and family-friendly). We sat in the ‘Dragon’ session and cheered for the bad guy who kills King Arthur and booed for all the other kings: Russia, Norway, Spain, Ireland and so on. The best part, as Doug demonstrates below, is that we didn’t have any utensils to eat our Dragon’s blood soup (tomato), pheasant (chicken), or dessert. We even got to drink out of tankards and sing drinking songs while we imbibed our Pepsi products. Doug’s only problem is that he’s allergic to horses and had forgotten to take Merlin’s magic pill (Claritin)… atchoo!

After the show we decided to explore The Strip a bit, and wandered down to the Luxor where ancient Egypt has been re-created, and then to the Mandalay Bay, a posh hotel where our martinis cost $12 a pop (tip: in Vegas you can get 4-star rooms for dirt cheap, but they nickel and dime you everywhere: like no coffee in the rooms – so you pay $4 in the in-house Starbucks). Luckily Doug managed to cover the drinks with his blackjack winnings…

We got to sleep early the first night because I wanted to be in top form for shopping at the Las Vegas Premium Outlets: 150 stores full of deals waiting for me! A much better gamble than the slots, in my opinion, and I was right. I’m glad we got there early – by 2pm it was overrun by people and the line-ups were snaking all over the place.

It was time to check in to our second hotel, New York New York, anyway, so off we went. I immediately liked NY NY better than Excalibur in terms of layout and adult-orientation. It was also less smoky and noisy, and they’ve tried to re-create a little NYC neighbourhood with shops, restaurants, and bars.

We decided to eat at the hotel’s laid-back restaurant, America, and Doug got one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. My veggie club was good too, but I kept ‘helping’ him out. Then I screwed up my courage and we hit the $5 blackjack table. I had decided pretty early on that I didn’t like the slots – sitting there pushing a button endlessly didn’t appeal – and after watching Doug play and practicing on a 25 cent video terminal, I felt ready to give it a go. I was also feeling pretty lucky after scoring a pair of knee-high black leather boots for $56 at the outlets!

My beginner’s luck didn’t fail me and at the NY NY casino I won about $80 at blackjack. Then we decided to wander up the Strip toward the more European casinos: Paris (where Doug lost a chunk of cash at the Caribbean Stud table) and then on to the Monte Carlo, where I won another $50.

By midnight it was back to the America restaurant where I sprung for a banana split for Doug and I to share.

The next day involved a long nap (even when I go to bed at the witching hour I’m up at 6am – so I end up feeling pretty witchy…). I also managed to lose all my winnings plus some by noon but then was back at even a little later. That evening we headed across the street to the massive MGM Grand hotel and casino in search of our ‘big meal out’ (i.e. fancy, pricy fare). We were aiming for seafood and there were several options, but when we spotted a happy hour at the Sea Blue where pints of Fat Tire were $2 and oysters and jumbo shrimp were $1 a pop, we abandoned the plan and stuffed our faces for $25. We also met some lovely people at the bar including a harpist from Hamilton, Ontario named Alyssa who had just released her first CDs.

At 7:30pm we wandered back to NY NY and rounded out our meal with pretzels and ice cream. Not a vegetable in sight, but that’s Vegas. Then we headed to bed early after setting our alarm for 3:30am to make our flight to Edmonton Wednesday morning…

Canyon Camping in Utah

We are in the home stretch of our time here in Wyoming. As we’ve done in other places we’ve lived (Vancouver, Montreal, the U.K) we’ve started making a ‘Gotta Do Before We Leave’ list. Top on Doug’s: a canyon hike in Utah.

So last Wednesday morning we jumped in the Element (“Ellie”) and the Mini and headed along the I-80 West. Before venturing into the wilderness, though, we made our requisite stops in Park City at the recycling center, outlet mall, and Red Rock Brewery for lunch. Then we dropped off the Mini south of Salt Lake City for its last round of repairs and continued down the I-15 toward the Canyonlands, stopping briefly in the town of Helper to get Tylenol and muscle ointment: it was a really strenuous shopping trip!

The sun was setting as we pulled into Green River, Utah which is basically a glorified truck stop of fast food restaurants and motels. We went middle-of-the-road and stayed at the Super 8, which was clean and backed onto sage flats – perfect for letting Riker run after being cooped up most of the day. While we mused aloud about GR, UT being like the evil twin city of our current hometown of Green River, Wyoming, we alas did not run into twisted version of ourselves and our friends there… maybe we’re the weird ones already!

We got a decent night’s sleep after Riker stopped growling at people in the hall and by 6 a.m. we were up and ready to continue south toward our destination of Arch Canyon near Blanding, Utah. First we had to stop at the McDonald’s in Moab to grease up for the trek, of course, and ogle the insane number of R.V. parks chock full of these portable homes. Shudder….

At 10:30 a.m. we were at the trailhead with our packs strapped to us – even Riker had one so he could carry his collapsible bowl, kibble, and treats!

I was really surprised at how sandy the trail was, and it was a heck of a workout keeping our balance and getting up the hills.

There was a lot more vegetation than I had expected as well, some of which – like the trembling aspens – were wearing their fall colours.

After a 9-mile hike with breaks for lunch and a quick snooze we arrived at the junction of Arch and Texas Canyons where there was the biggest, most groomed campsite ever. Plus there was a flaming red maple tree/bush which we took as a sign that us two Canucks and our American dog should set up camp there. We made dinner – freeze-dried Katmandu Curry - followed by a dessert of freeze-dried dark chocolate cheesecake. In the real world these probably wouldn’t taste amazing, but out there after all that huffing and puffing, it was gourmet!

Unfortunately our freeze-dried pancakes the next morning didn’t turn out quite so well. Okay, they failed miserably. Probably because we had nothing to grease the pan with and the heat didn’t distribute very evenly. After one attempt that scorched the pan, we dumped the rest of the batter behind a tree. Which, of course, Riker proceeded to lick up.

So I quickly made up some wraps with pb, honey, sunflower seeds and dried fruit, a recipe I’d found in Backpacker Magazine and we ate them while hiking further up Arch Canyon with minimal gear.

By 11am we were back at our campsite at Texas Flats and had stripped off most of our layers: while it was hovering near freezing at dawn, it gradually warmed up as the sun found its way into the canyon, reaching about 18 celsius. We ate our mac and cheese and started breaking camp when all these ATVs came roaring up the trail right to us. We counted at least ten ATVs – a whole family at least – and decided we’d try and stick to the riverbeds and side canyons (where they couldn’t follow) as much as possible.

A couple miles back toward the trailhead we deked off to a side canyon on the left in search of springs we’d seen noted in the hiking book. After stashing our backpacks, we hiked for an hour, clambering over boulders and learned an important lesson: grey rocks = solid; red rocks = crumbly sandstone you can break your neck stepping on. Or in Doug’s case, his bum.

In the end the mythical springs turned out to be trickles of water dripping off moss on these rocks. Not quite the impressive founts we had imagined. But, the water was cold and wet and after pumping it through a filter, boiling it, and dousing it with chemicals, we figured it was safe to drink and cook with. And we must have been right, because no one got dysentry on the trip (well, Riker had an interesting day after the pancake batter…).

That night we hiked to another well-groomed camping spot closer to the trailhead. It was a little trickier to navigate all the cacti, but other than Riker getting one ‘spike ball’ stuck in his paw (and then in mine when I tried to remove it) we managed. At day break on Saturday we packed up and headed back to Ellie – and just in time to avoid a veritable onslaught of ATV-ers there to celebrate the Columbus Day long weekend by laying siege to Ute territory.

We made it back to the ‘real’ Green River mostly in one piece, but thoroughly exhausted from exercise, the long drive, and Riker’s ‘watch-dogginess’ that began with the birds’ rustlings at 4:30am. Then on Sunday we rectified the pancake incident by eating the most delicious home-made blueberry-flax pancakes ever (a high-altitude recipe I’ve been tweaking since moving here a year ago). Monday we celebrated the controversial Columbus Day aka Canadian Thanksgiving aka El dia de la Raza the right way: by gorging on margaritas and fajitas at Don Pedro’s restaurant! Ole!

Now the camping gear is stowed until the spring, except for Riker’s backpack, which is not only practical but cements our reputation as the yuppiest family in good ol’ Green River.

Fall (Re)Training

October, I decided, is about getting back into shape.

I feel like the last few months I’ve been letting both my mind and body lie fallow. This isn’t a totally bad thing. After all, think of farming: agriculturalists know you’ve got to give a field a chance to rest, to regain nutrients, so that it can sprout forth a new crop next season. So the summer might have meant a mushy brain and less than stellar commitment to hard-bodyism, but it was what the two needed to come back with renewed vigor.

It’s often hard to change habits, though, and a helping hand can be useful to pull us to our feet or give us a much-needed smack. My help has come in the form of Yvonne, a personal trainer at the Green River Recreation Center I’ve begun seeing. The first time we met, we spent two hours going over my current fitness and nutrition plans. “You know you’ve been coasting,” Yvonne told me with a kind but knowing look on her face. “It’s time to step it up.”

Stepping it up first involved figuring out my baseline numbers, which meant getting a wrist heart-rate monitor I’m still not adept at using. The instructions say to hold it up level, making sure the strap is fastened securely and lays flush against the skin. It also says I may need to moisten my finger when I push on the sensor – but not too hard, because that creates “muscle confusion.” My muscles are already confused, but this heart-rate thing is scrambling my brains too! How am I supposed to get a heart-rate reading (nevermind a decent workout) when I have to stop moving, hold my left arm in the air while licking my right finger to press delicately against the sensor?!

Nevertheless, when I have managed to get the darn thing to work, it has told me clearly that no matter how hard I push myself on cross-country walks and hikes, I’m not going to challenge my body. And if I’m not challenging it, then I’m not improving my cardiovascular system or torching the extra Tostitos I tossed back on the couch…

The next wake-up call was in mid-September when I realized the CIBC Run for the Cure was two weeks away. Last year I ran the 5km (my first!) a few weeks after moving to Wyoming. I was new to running and had just moved from sea level to 6,100ft so I was allowed to struggle. This year the 5km should have been a piece of cake. It wasn’t. Although I’d jog a couple of miles here and there, I certainly had not been training regularly. So I hauled my butt down to the Green belt for a test run, so to speak, and breathed so hard that I must have sucked in half a sagebrush plant because for the next day I had intermittent sneezing fits and my left nostril ran so much I had to stick a kleenex up it during mealtimes to avoid extra ‘dressing’ on my salad.

So for the last two weeks I executed a mini training plan and by October 4th I was able to do my 5km “Run for Mums” and fulfill my promise to my generous sponsors. Mind you, the run took place on a treadmill in the gym because mother nature hit us with hail, rain, snow and 45 mph wind that day. But I did it. And it didn’t even hurt that much.

Okay, so the body is cooperating alright and I find it really helpful knowing that in a month Yvonne will look over my fitness logs. Accountability helps. Praise is even better. And gosh darnit if I pull out my gold star stickers I could run a marathon, or maybe even make it through a spinning class!

But what about the mind? That is a trickier beast indeed. It is happy doling out stickers to the body that surrounds it, but mightily resists its own changes, challenges, and work. It is very good at distracting me, too: ooh – I should make muffins! Or clean out the closet! Or go for a run! These are all practical, useful tasks that seem rational, but they are designed to distract. So I’m trying to be crafty back: I took my brain to a writing workshop in Cheyenne, WY last week where it was impossible not to be inspired. Then I borrowed books from the library with such winning titles as “The Plot Thickens” and “How to Write and Sell Historical Fiction.” I also sit down every morning with a caffeinated beverage to try and get the old brain cells sparking, and slowly but surely I think they might be responding.

What I really need, though, is an Yvonne for my brain. Or maybe some really super-duper stickers…

Warm Reception in Cowboy Country

Even when you lose someone special, the show, as they say, must go on. A few days after our return from Ottawa, Doug and I were scheduled to fly out to Houston where Doug was to receive a week’s training to become the Rock Springs Schlumberger office’s radiation specialist officer, and where I would give a talk at the Houston Aviation Alliance’s monthly luncheon.

The humidity hit us as soon as we landed at George Bush Intercontinental Airport on Saturday, September 12th. It was early afternoon when we arrived at our hotel, the lovely Crowne Plaza Downtown Houston, and the storm clouds were threatening. Not wanting to sit still after all that time on planes, we hopped a cab (with a French-speaking driver!) over to Houston’s mega shopping destination, The Galleria. I was absolutely gobsmacked at the size of this mall, the number of people there, and the high-endedness of the stores in one ‘neighbourhood’ of the centre. We managed to find the “middle class neighbourhood” after a while and I practically pranced around Banana Republic, Anne Taylor Loft, and Nordstrom’s. Ah, the delights of consumerism!

Then we were off to The Oceanaire to consume the fruits of the sea: oysters, calamari, mussels, crab, and some kind of white fish. We also enjoyed the fruits of the martini glass, the crusty bread, and the attentive service (a rarity we have come to appreciate!). Then we wandered around a bit more before catching a cab back to the hotel, with hands-down the worst cabbie of all time: he almost hit another car seconds after picking us up, couldn’t find his way even with a GPS unit, and seemed terrified to change lanes or exit/enter the freeway!

Sunday after breakfast we took ourselves to the Houston Aquarium, wandering through the interior exhibits (like the White Tigers) before going on a couple of the rides: a choo-choo train around the grounds and through the shark tunnel, and this ferris wheel with a breathtaking view of…. the freeway.

By noon we started walking around downtown, the sweat rolling down our backs from the simple act of strolling. We came across the Discovery Green, a space with water parks for kids, a pool for radio-controlled toy sail boats, and on this particular day a Green farmer’s market where we picked up a container of Blue Heron Farm’s chevre (their motto is Spoiled Goats, Fresh Cheese) and a rustic baguette for lunch.

Then we checked into the Comfort Suites in nearby Stafford, TX where Doug’s training would be. After a refreshing dip in the pool and a nap, off we went to Las Haciendas restaurant, where the portions were decidedly more Tex than Mex and the margaritas were (hiccup!) soaked in Grand Marnier.

Monday was my day to give a talk to the members of the Houston Aviation Alliance at the Hilton Hobby Airport, so at 9am I went to get my rental (a cute red Toyota Yaris) and an hour later I was on the freeway headed east. I only got a little lost – especially compared with our cabbie who had a GPS – but I made it alive and on time. The group was very welcoming and asked me some great questions afterwards. While Houston is far too big a city and too hot and humid for my tastes, I wish I could be there this October and November for the airshows and other events!

After the talk I was escorted by two of my handsome lunch companions, Col. Van Skiles and Col. Don Outler, to a small hangar where they and many other volunteers have been painstakingly restoring a B-17 bomber named Texas Raiders over the past 7 years at a cost of $800,000.

As you can see, I even climbed up into the plane – in high heels no less! I couldn’t get over how tight the fit was. And they tell me 10 crew would be in the aircraft at a time – at a maximum weight of 120lbs apiece. Jockeys of the air!

Wednesday I was on my way back home, having left Doug behind, so that I could prepare for my appearance at the Wyoming Book Festival on the other side of the state in Cheyenne on Saturday the 19th. I was one of the “lesser” writers (i.e. not one of the well-knowns) and so was part of the authors’ fair under this canopy. I had the first slot in the morning and it was a little quiet, but I did get to chat with some folks.

When my time was up I wandered over to the ‘big stage’ where two of Wyoming’s literary darlings – Craig Johnson and Margaret Coel - had decided to combine their slots and do a conversation rather than a presentation. It was magical! They had great chemistry and spoke candidly about their inspiration, their struggles with writing about cultures not their own, etc.

After their talk, one of the festival organizers came over and told me that I could have a slot between the ‘big names’ on the main stage. So at 11:45am I grabbed the mike and literally got my 15 minutes. The crowd wasn’t very big because most people had followed Craig and Margaret into the book signing building (or Clifford the Big Red Dog to the children’s tent), but I still had some friendly faces looking back at me from the grass.

So Cheyenne didn’t give me “the boot” (which is how they joked I pronounced ‘about’) but rather adopted me as one of their own. And the Houstonians gave me a true down-home, very warm, southern welcome. Doesn’t get much better than that!

A Week of Waiting Rooms

This past Sunday, September 6, 2009, my wonderful mother-in-law, Dawn Kenny, passed away. Last November this upbeat, energetic woman was diagnosed with an exceedingly rare form of cancer, cholangiocarcinoma (bile duct cancer) at the age of 48. There has been no shortage of exclamations from friends and family: “It’s so unfair!” “How can it be?!” But rule #1 on the playground is life’s not fair.

KENNY-PAGNUTTI, Dawn Adele (nee Atkins) (July 10, 1960 – September 6, 2009) Dawn Adele Kenny (nee Atkins) did not live with moderation. She loved fully, laughed loudly, traveled extensively, and was happiest when surrounded by friends, family, good food and wine. Dawn was also an accomplished shopper – whether at snappy boutiques or garage sales – and collected everything from nutcrackers to tea pots to shoes. So much of what she bought or made (she painted, knit, crocheted and refinished furniture) went to loved ones, but she gave most generously of her time and enthusiasm, which she shared with many as a volunteer at local schools, Vintage Wings of Canada, and other places.