Las Vegas: Wings of Gold

The sun came up over the wings and blasted golden light into the cabin. I had an entire row to myself on the port side—a benefit of pandemic protocol, but also a reminder. Even my annoyance at the poor soul who didn’t lock the lavatory door seemed to note that I was alone—no one to commiserate with about amateur travelers when returning to my three empty seats. I tried to spread out in a futile attempt to sleep, but somewhere over the Rocky Mountains I gave up. The 2.5 hours from the night before would have to be enough. I was excited to get this trip underway, but somehow was still feeling the worst I had in a month. Up here in the air is where the past somehow had its strongest grip. I had tried to fend it off by readily accepting an awkward conversation with a stranger at the gate, but with my bullshitting and three McDonald’s hash browns now long behind me—my recent history and I were barreling through the sky towards Las Vegas on this year’s latest attempt at searching out a geographic cure. This plane needed to land. Only then could I find myself physically and mentally elsewhere.

I reunited with Travis—a friend, photographer, and occupant of first class on the flight out here. Watching the morning warmth rise off the asphalt in hazy waves, I finally understood “dry heat” and gladly embraced this weather over the midwestern humidity we had just come from. 111 degrees wasn’t enough to stop me from buying a hot, black coffee at the grocery store where our Amazon locker was located. Within my online commerce compartment: five rolls of Portra 400, three of Kodak Gold 200.

I would’ve taken this trip regardless of my station in life. There were things here I had been wanting to see, to photograph, and to experience—sights that lended themselves to the beauty of physical, 35mm film. I didn’t care for the usual attractions when I had been here before, still didn’t care for them now. What I wanted to see, what Travis could guide us to, were the remote—vestiges and fragments of a former Vegas that still existed on the periphery and between. All of it followed by a meandering road trip through the desert. I could get away from my life for awhile with two cameras loaded, ready to shake off the thoughts that had been bothering me. There was hope, right? Hope for the trip, and life, ahead. A small, rented Nissan carried me forward in more ways than one.

*“Big Rig Jig” by Mike Ross. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*10th and Fremont St. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*The El Cortez. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

Mural on the side of the Cabana Suites featuring one of the characters created by artist D*Face. The thought bubble reads: “I gave her my heart and she left me for…”. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.

*Downtown Vegas Mall. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

There was some sort of pandemic related government order in place, one that required establishments to serve food if they wanted to serve alcohol. Because of that, the first local and lesser known watering holes we had sought out for relief were closed. We settled on a run-of-the-mill millennial Applebees* after a few hours of wandering various streets in search of signs and street art.

*Arts District. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Arts District and Stratosphere Tower. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Halfway point between Downtown Vegas and The Strip. Digital.*

The line at our hotel was socially-distanced, but crowded. Check-in was delayed by a woman complaining about the heat and mask requirement as she sucked up the last drops of a neon blue 7/11 Slurpee. A charming gentleman in a t-shirt that read “I’m not usually a dick, just kidding, go fuck yourself” also slowed things until security took him elsewhere. Apparently The Strat Hotel & Casino was also home to drama in addition to the United States’ tallest freestanding observation tower.

We took some time in our respective rooms. I indulged in air conditioning and fought off sleep, knowing that if I crashed I’d never get back up. I loaded more film and stared out the window at the desert and nearby highway—half awake, slipping between absentmindedness and focus. I needed to be present, I wanted to be present. More coffee in the lobby helped that as we regrouped and hopped on a bus.

Our transit vehicle featured a mix of mask-wearing tourists and commuters as we sat in traffic and took in views of the approaching Strip. The amount of people on the streets going about their vacations seemed no different than my last time here, but Travis remarked: “Vegas is not its normal self.” He was more perceptive than I was, pointing out things that differed from the norm—resorts entirely closed, less frequent public transit, and popular shows now being advertised as dark in the middle of a pandemic.

After indulging in generous portions of casino margaritas and generic Tex-mex, we made our way to the elevated space between New York, New York and The Excalibur. Both resorts represented Vegas’ one-time push to be a more “family-friendly” place, but they hailed from different generations. Excalibur, with its faux castle turrets and Medieval dinner show is frequently rumored to be on the chopping block. As Vegas continued to transform, we made sure to glimpse the gaudy gambling kingdom.

*New York, New York and the Excalibur bridge. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Excalibur. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*The roller coaster at New York, New York. Digital.*

Down by the southern end of the Strip, we photographed two deserted columns that were to have been the main supports of “Voyager”—a never completed, 600 ft. Ferris wheel.

*Remains of the never-completed “Voyager” Ferris wheel. Digital.*

Nearby, beneath a billboard advertising Carrot Top’s latest venture, the crumbling remains of a sign and marquee stood watch over the desert.

*Abandoned White Sands Motel marquee and Carrot Top advertisement. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

This had once been the sign for the White Sands Motel. In his 2019 publication, photographer Fred Sigman had featured this scene on the book’s cover. Motel Vegas is one of my favorite photographic collections—something that spurred me to finally pull the trigger on going back here, to try and view this town with a fresh perspective.

Motel Vegas by Fred Sigman. Published 2019. Available here. — *Motel Vegas by Fred Sigman. Published 2019. Available* *here*.

*Remains of the White Sands Motel marquee. Digital.*

*In the background of this 1995 photograph by Fred Sigman, you can see the Tod Moter Motel sign.*

*Tod Motor Motel sign and Stratosphere Tower, August 2020. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Star Motel sign as photographed by Fred Sigman in 1995.*

*Star Motel sign, August 2020. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*High Hat Motel sign as photographed by Fred Sigman in 1995.*

*At the middle right, you can see the “STRIPPERS” and High Hat Motel sign previously viewed in the Sigman photograph. August 2020, digital.*

As the sun set, we went off in search of getting something to drink. Vegas may not have been its normal self, but the long lines of certain bars begged to differ. Still, the Planet Hollywood stood above the Strip, completely dark, even as the sidewalks of Las Vegas Blvd. were tightly packed with a diverse adherence to masks and social distancing.

*Las Vegas Blvd. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

*Mandalay Bay. Pentax K1000 + Kodak Portra 400.*

At Paris, we found a bar wiling to seat us—so long as we ordered some sort of food. We weren’t really dressed for the occasion, but a “snack sampler” got two photographers in t-shirts and tennis shoes a pair of seats and cold beer. Our server was gruff, but despite her lack of affection, she seemed to like us better than the other patrons. “Stay as long as you want,” she said while handing us another round of drinks and bar nuts. “Please.”

I had been here two years or so prior. If you told me back then that I’d return one day, under far different life circumstances and focusing on 35mm film, I may or may not have believed you. The argument could’ve gone either way, I guess. But I also knew, even back then, that hypotheticals centered on looking back and bargaining with your past self are pointless. I pushed that useless thought exercise aside to focus on conversing with Travis about what lay ahead in the coming days of our trip—the roads we’d take, the destinations we planned to reach.

Snacks sampled and beer downed, we made our way once again to the Strip-traversing double decker bus known as “The Deuce.” Had it not been for the frequent stops in clogged traffic, I probably would’ve fallen asleep right there—on the vehicle’s upper floor, right at the front and overlooking the lights of The Strip through the window. Then we met Skyleeana.

She had grabbed a seat behind us, starting a conversation by asking us where we had come from.

“There’s witches in Ohio,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah, I saw it in a Netflix documentary.”

She couldn’t remember the name of the production or where exactly the witches resided, but even with my insistence of how much I had traveled my home state and never encountered any sorcery, she stuck by her assertion that witchcraft existed. I wasn’t going to argue, though, I was grateful for the random conversation—although we passed on her offer to go seek out folks in Downtown to “party” with. Truly heartfelt invitation declined, we departed the bus and re-entered our hotel. I passed out at 2 AM after a shower and making postcards. I woke up at 3 AM to a fight in the hallway. I fell back asleep while the hotel television played “Pensacola: Wings of Gold” on cable.

*Starring James Brolin and syndicated from 1997-2000.*

* I say this term lovingly as a Millennial myself. The local brewery decked out in industrial aesthetics will be my generation’s Applebee’s/T.G.I. Fridays/O’Charley’s.

The above story is Part 1 (of 7) in a series from a trip out west.

Circus Circus

A Big Boy Graveyard + Other Assorted Film Shots