Day 20

Sunday 20th May 2007<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 

As we were in Las Vegas we thought we ought to at least have a look at what we thought was called Sunset Strip, or The Strip.  On Las Vegas Boulevard we found it in all its glorious tastelessness.  We discovered several miles of casinos themed by town – there was one for New York, one for London, one for Paris and so on, each seeming to have its own village of casinos and mono rails to get you around.  What a dire experience.  We are both country lovers so found this whole experience tasteless.  There is much building still taking place, and a little further out from the centre, casinos that have obviously not made it, lying empty and derelict looking: such a contrast.  We had no wish to get out and explore, so, after taking some photos to prove we had been there, we headed for Lake Mead where we had booked tickets on the paddle steamer at 2.00 pm to tour the lake and take a look at Hoover Dam.

 

By now the temperature was hot, registering 104 degrees in the car.  Getting out of the car, the hot air hit you like a blast from a furnace.  So, armed with hats and my pashmina to keep the sun off my arms and shoulders, we headedfor the boat.  As it was obvious that it was going to be too hot to sit up top, because there was no canopy to provide shade from the sun, we went into the restaurant/bar area where there was air conditioning.  This gave us the opportunity to have lunch and view the scenery from relative comfort.  The whole thing was marred by what we assumed was probably a Saturday Dad and his three kids.  They were quite noisy making it difficult to hear the commentary.  He kept telling them to be quiet and then proceeded to use his mobile phone in a very loud voice.  Bob was not best pleased when he went to the bar to get us a drink to hear the chap asking for information about the lake and dam (the same information that we had been told via the commentory had he listened).   The dam was originally conceived as a flood control scheme.  The Colorado used to alternately dry to a trickle and then flood the area south west of the dam site, providing fertile green valleys for settlement and agriculture but regularly devastating them when it flooded.  The scheme was then adapted to provide water for the states of Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico and California and hydro-electric power as well.  Originally planned for Boulder Canyon, it was eventually sited in Black Canyon, which had the effect of flooding Boulder Canyon as well, providing a bigger lake.  During the building of the dam, all the workers lived in Boulder City, which was purpose-built, and the dam became known as Boulder Dam.  It was officially named Hoover Dam to honour the former president.

 

When we got back to the car, it registered 107 F, the highest of our trip so far.  From Lake Mead we decided to go and have a look at the top of Hoover Dam.  We had intended to go to the top and then down again, but as the traffic was so bad coming down we found another route out to where we next wanted to go.  The whole area was amazing: they have a 5 year programme of building works around the Dam, including a whole new road system.

 

To be able to view the Dam we were pulled over to a security check point, although what they were checking for was anyone’s guess as they just waved us through.  Anyway we were now on the road to Barstow, California, where we had decided to spend the night (some 150 miles away).

 

Having originally planned to take the I-15 to Barstow, we were stymied by the aforementioned roadworks and so took route 93 to Kingman, Arizona, through more semi-desert, typical Apache country, stopping on the way at a scenic viewpoint where we shared photographic duties with other sightseers.  At Kingman we joined the I-40, crossing the Mojave Desert into California, where we went through a border checkpoint, bemusing the guard who questioned us when we stated that we’d come from Hoover Dam – a completely illogical route in the normal course of events.  Still, she waved us through, and on we went through the bleak and nearly featureless Mojave Desert for mile after mile, flanked by various mountain ranges that offered the eyes some relief from the tedium of the immediate surroundings, past nondescript little places with evocatively misleading names like “Essex” and “Ludlow” and “Newberry Springs”, eventually hitting Barstow at sunset.