Reno: Lucky 7s in the Biggest Little City in the World

It was time for a mini-road trip after being in one place for so long, and so it seemed the perfect opportunity when Derry offered a few weeks ago to join him and his pals for a jaunt up to Reno, "The biggest little city in the world." This is, of course, a self proclaimed title, and I'm dubious of it simply because of its lack of measurable qualities. But no matter, Reno believes it, so who am I to stand in the way of mini-Vegas, perhaps a more appropriate moniker, although not as popular with those that live in Reno itself.

As we headed out into the scortching heat of the California sun, we headed through the Sierras to cross into the Silver State, Nevada. We arrived after a few hours of mostly uneventful driving we arrived in Reno. I was surprised to find that the Reno surrounds were much more picturesque than the drive toward Las Vagas from California which inspired my brother, sister, and me to think up a new slogan for the state:

Nevada: Of course they want to bury nuclear waste here
Nevada: Gateway to everywhere else
Nevada: Now you know why we had

RECOVERED

to legalized hookers and gambling

and so the list continued on. But arriving in Reno was a bit different. Sure, I wouldn't give it prizes for its natural beauty, but it certainly didn't inspire derision either. The city itself shows a lot of potential and has a small, but very nice riverfront running through the city center.

The trip was brought to us, and hence you, by Derry's friend Stuart. His stalwart participation in certain monetary events in Reno had earned enough comp points to provide us with event tickets, meals and even our hotel rooms for my favorite price, which you know to be that known by the name "free." It was a most excellent bonus.

That night we went to see the Blues Traveler concert. You'd hardly recognize the band. I am told that the lead singer, who used to be enormous, is the last original member. Apparently, after eating the other band members, he realized he might have a problem, and took care of it with a stomach stapling surgery. So they had to be replaced. In truth, that's all that most people recognize anyway - the voice of the lead singer. In the case of the lead singer, also his amazing harmonica skills. The concert was electric. People were up and dancing up at the stage. For the most part, I had a great view of the entire concert, in the forth row dead center, with the old chinese couple giving up on the band 30 seconds into their first song. Apparently they thought they were getting B.B. King or something.

Saturday brought together the Blues and Brews festival, but before it began we decided to hit the Transformers movie. I had very low expectations going in, but was pleasantly surprised. I thought, perhaps hilariously, that the complaints of parents was even more entertaining. With vociferous complaints that it was too violent for a toy targeted at children, parents once again blamed Hollywood for its lack of guidance. The movie is rated Parental Guidance 13. If parents just sucked it up and told their pre-teens "no" and the film flopped, maybe Hollywood would change their tune, rather than handing over their money and then whining.

Moving out into the world, free of giant, sentient, transforming, alien robots, we got our free beer mugs and wooden nickels, filled up and began listening to the music of James Cotton. It was a great concert and there were some excellent beers, but there were some real dogs too. What never ceases to surprise me is that Anchor Brewery, which produces my favorite beer anywhere, Anchor Steam, also never fails to produce beers that tempt me too pour them straight into the gutter. I'm not sure how they do it, but it is impressive in a bad way.

Still there were enough excellent, or at least interesting, beers to make up for it. Including the local Brews Brothers brew which were quite good. Ah, yes, back to James Cotton. It was really excellent blues, and one of the guys we were with, Bill, remembered seeing him in 1972, five years before I was even born. He's still belting it out. He was followed by the only band I knew prior to my arrival. Levay Smith and the Red Hot Skillet Lickers. The name says it all about their innuendo geared big bad-style. In between the two I grabbed a free, or rather, comped lunch. Since Derry and I were going to use our free coupon and split the cost of the second meal. Instead I haggled for a second side of potato salad and an extra rib, so that we could just split the already large meal. I succeeded; the cook, new I meant business, and actually didn't care a damn about his job, so gave me everything I asked for. While I'm not normally a fan of apathy, it worked in my favour today.

The heat of the day drove us back to the theatre to watch another movie, Fantastic 4, 2. It was not aptly named, but it di provide a few hours of air conditioning. Later that night we had a meal that made me feel ill. Reno is a strange culinary experience, drawing together all the greasiest, nastiest, albiet tastey foods that make you feel so fat and ill, it's not even funny. After a weekend in Reno, my colon was plotting a way to get back at me for my indiscretion. I will surely pay. But it also explains the population cross-section there in Reno. This was not the only demographic point of interest I took note of. There was also a definite dirth of woman in my age group. In was much like my experience in Zeebrugge, where the females were either teenies or bluehairs.

Since it was the lucky 7.7.07, the busiest wedding day on record, I thought I'd go an gamble my 3 dollars. Of course I lost it, but not before playing for an hour. Sunday was much the same, although, I was up 7 dollars before losing the entire 10 dollars I had decided to spend that day. Down 13 dollars, I decided to give it up. Sure you could have found a better way to waste 2 hours, but it wasn't a particularly expensive one, all things considered.

Thanking Stuart and saying good-bye to the others, Derry, Malou, Greg, and I drove off in hopes of getting back to the Bay Area in time for me to catch my hockey game that evening. Unfortunately the evening came much more quickly and the traffic MUCH more slowly than we had anticipated. The 4 hour drive took 7 hours and 15 minutes by time we got home. Pure craziness. It's amazing that four lanes of traffic can be so jammed full of cars for nearly two hundred miles that traffic can hardly move. It's mind-blowing, really. Eventually, however, we did come home and I prepared for my last week in California before heading back to the Great White North.

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