by ray
10-14-02
This morning we piled all of our stuff into the van and drove the two hours to Vegas. We got the bikes shipped, returned the van and got to the airport as planned.
The hardest part was saying goodbye to Robert. I think perhaps the trip didn’t go as smoothly as it could have, thanks largely to my underestimation of how much driving it would take to get from place to place. We spent a LOT of time on the road, and really didn’t get to ride that much. While that may have only slightly sucked for me (I was technically working, after all), I wonder what it was like for him. After all, he’s not out here to write about biking. He’s out here because this is his vacation. It was a bike vacation and I know neither of us got even a hundred miles of riding in over the seven days. Well, hopefully it was a worthwhile trip for him. I know it was for me. I did get to ride some fun stuff, see some awesome sites, and go places I might not otherwise have visited. Best of all, I got to spend some time getting to know a friend a little bit better. In the end, I think that’s pretty good.
I’m sitting in the airport in Vegas with a few hours to kill before boarding my plane. There’s a table of guys next to me talking about getting prostitutes. The main guy talks loudly, which is helpful for the eavesdroppers here. It’s an interesting conversation, an exposure to an underbelly I would otherwise never see.
“I was with this girl last night and asked ‘Do you kiss?’ She said ‘No, we never exchange bodily fluid.’ And I’m thinking ‘Hey, I’m going to be shooting all over her face at the end’.”
The conversation drifts from vague place to vague place.
“They didn’t tell you it was going to be six hundred?”
“No. They said one-sixty per girl.”
Later, “There’s this one woman I know, she only works three days every other week. She flies from LA for Thursday, Friday, Saturday and she makes enough to pay for every thing in LA AND put her daughter through college. Man, I wish I was a woman!”
At some point, the guy talks about only having twenty dollars. “She looked at me like I offended her sensibilities or something. You know, I think if I needed twenty dollars, and somebody offered me twenty dollars to mop this floor, I’d mop the floor.”
Ah, Vegas. Get me out of here.
“Man, it don’t matter as long as it ain’t your wife [with whom you’re having sex].”
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