A few weeks ago my wife Cathy and I spent the weekend at Fantasy Springs hotel and casino located in not-so-near-by Indio CA. It's a bit of a drive for us but one we gladly endure every so often for a couple of reasons 1) Cathy likes to gamble, and 2) Cathy likes to gamble.
The 100 mile jaunt on Interstate 10 typically kicks off right after work on Friday afternoon, ETA approximately 7pm, ATM, ASAP. Sharp!
After makin quick work of check in and a non-nutritional bit to eat, it's a, "see ya hun have fun call ya later" dash down the main escalator past the revolving Wheel of Fortune in hopes of snaggin lucky number 3-001, a generous but somewhat temperamental keno machine with whom Cathy's had a love hate relationship for over a decade.
My own approach to the evening on the other hand is considerably different. It begins with a slow and meandering stroll, one that raises the inevitable question, "What the hell do I do now?" That is of course unless the Kings are playin, in which case I've got a decision to make. Do I shuffle upstairs and spend Friday night alone in a barren hotel room quietly watchin the game? Or, do I belly up to the bar, put in my request for one of the dozen or so flat screens to the bartender and if granted prepare to defend my affinity for hockey to a pack of diehard WWF fans who think Lord Stanley is an up and coming hip hop artist currently opening for Justin Bieber?
Not to worry, because as it turns out the Kings are off tonight. And it's probably for the best really, because today (like most days) I got up at 4am, and if all goes as planned it's gonna be another early git up tomorrow as well.
It does (go as planned) and at 6am I'm easin down the road with J.J. Cale on the airwaves and a topped off YZ450F in back. As I make my way south on highway 86 first light begins to reveal itself through the low-lying fog that blankets the Salton Sea, a massive inland body of water that half a century ago was aptly coined the "French Riviera of California." Today, however, the abandoned remains of this former tourist hot spot are little more than an eerie reminder of a bygone era. Coming into view just a few miles further south and to the west is the outlying landscape of Ocotillo Wells, a popular state vehicle recreation area that boasts over 40,000 acres of knobby-friendly terrain.
With a twist of the throttle I'm carvin my way down a well defined single-track that takes me deep into the badlands. Surrounded by an unending maze of washes and ridges I maintain a steady clip while gettin a little more settled in the saddle. But from the moment I open her up I know this ain't gonna be just another "that was fun" sorta ride. Bearing down on the foot pegs my 200lb frame feels especially light and agile this particular morning and the blue bike is responding favorably to my every white-knuckled whim. From the gnarliest up hills to the tightest and trickiest sand sections we confidently pick our lines and impressively find our groove. From one end of this sublime dust bowl to the other man and machine become one, and together, we proceed to masterfully tear it up.
Northbound back on 86 the postmeridian sun has transformed the fog-laden Salton Sea into a shimmering layer of glass that stretches openly across the Imperial Valley. I give Cathy a call to assure her that all is well, that all body parts are intact and fully functional. Moderately relieved she shares with me the "really" good news: she's on a roll, 'ol number 3-001 is loosening up. Elated, I pop in The Black Album and polish off a sequence of textbook Lars Ulrich impersonations before pullin into Del Taco for a couple of chicken softies.
Once back at the casino I instinctively find Cathy in the same spot as when I left earlier this mornin. Did I forget to mention that she is notorious for pullin all-nighters? Did I mention that last night was no exception? In any case I'm headed for the showers. Clean and clothed, I swing open the double doors and step out onto the balcony to ponder my next move. A full gainer off the top rail and into the bowtie shaped pool four floors down is what initially comes to mind, but I opt instead to settle into an overstuffed chair in the far corner of the room where I begin transcribing a backlog of thoughts I've been luggin around in my head since last Tuesday. The next thing I know Nancy friggin Grace is slammin some two bit small town investigator for his buffoon-like incompetence, Cathy's propped up on the bed meticulously counting her "blessings," and I've got less than 20 minutes to shake off any false notions that these aching bones of mine may not make it downstairs in time for our 6:30 dinner reservation.
"Good evening, can I start you off with something to drink or maybe an appetizer?"
Yea, how bout a shot of Sauza and a travel size bottle of Ibuprofen?
Just kidding, dinner was great, as was the company. As for the remainder of the evening, well, let's just say it was anything but unpredictable. Before our waitress can so much as utter the word Tiramisu it's a, "see ya hun have fun call ya later" dash down the escalator past the...well you know the logistics. But this time I too have to high tail it outta there, cause I got a date with the Rock Yard.
A small outdoor venue that consistently attracts some of the finest cover bands you could ever hope to see and hear, the Rock Yard is a welcomed departure from the deep-pocketed high jinks goin on back inside. As always I waste no time securing my spot along the table-lined walkway directly behind the drum kit. Not only does this give me an up close and personal view of all things technical, it also allows me to pan out across the crowd, almost as if I were on stage myself. What? We're at "Fantasy" Springs remember?
Tonight's show is the second to last of this season's summer series. and on tap is a tribute to San Francisco super group Journey. As the crowd continues to scuffle onto the grassy infield the band kicks things off with a solid rendition of La Do Da, followed by a non-stop string of oldies that take me back to 1977, to the L.A. Forum, where just a few months earlier that same year Cathy and I went on our very first date.
Once again the musicianship tonight is top notch. The drummer, a tall lanky kid who resembles Steve Perry more than Ansley Dunbar or Steve Smith, keeps perfect time every time. His rolls and fills are flawless and tasteful. He's clearly done this a few bazillion times before. As I periodically glance out into the crowd I can't help but notice a guy who is unabashedly beating to his own drum. Talk about two left feet, this dude's got the meter and measure of a dash mounted bobble doll barrelin down a pothole plagued Louisiana back road. Sadly, as he makes his way to the edge of the stage I realize he has Down syndrome, as well as, an ear-to-ear grin that is every bit as infectious as the pulsating music beneath my feet.
I'm tellin ya, this guy is havin a ball, hell he's even got a couple of hotties hangin all over him, and whenever an unsolicited pair of gyrating hips get fired his way he giddily (albeit awkwardly) returns the favor. The singer, obviously overcome with envy, hops off the stage to make it a foursome, and all the while I find myself incessantly peering around the impeding floor toms tryin to get a better look. Ahh, the raw and untamed power of three simple cords and a mega watt PA system. Long live Rock n Roll.
Driving home Sunday morning I quietly reflect on the past couple of days while Cathy peacefully "rests her eyes." Honestly, with her level of energy I'm surprised she gets any sleep at all, even after an all-nighter. Nonetheless I'm happy she had a fun filled weekend and walked away with a few bucks in her pocket. As for me, I definitely feel as though I cashed in as well. It's beyond rare when things come together the way they did on yesterday's ride, and for a few days anyway, I feel like I'm a richer man for it.
Last night the Rock Yard rocked, the band kicked ass, the drummer was clearly on his game and I was once again shrewdly reminded of what a few years of unwavering dedication can do.
As for our dear friend in the front row, I can only say that it was an absolute pleasure to have been in your company. You are in every sense of the word, a true winner. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy watchin you unwittingly steal the show, but your unbridled zest for life made me quickly recognize (even after a couple of near perfect days such as these) that in the long run it's about much more than just gettin in a groove or on a roll every now and then. It's about finding your own unique and personal rhythm, even if it is a little...offbeat. See ya soon, till then, keeep it up.
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