In the 200-acre Fruita Historic District that’s part of Capitol Reef National Park, there’s a historic farmhouse – the Gifford Homestead – that was built by Mormon settlers and occupied for more than six decades. The last residents of the house, the Gifford family, lived in the home for 41 years, then sold their property to the National Park Service in 1969. In cooperation with the NPS, the Capitol Reef Natural History Association has renovated the home to demonstrate the early Mormon settlement of the Fruita Valley. The house also serves as a little shop offering handmade items like quilts, aprons, woven rugs, soap and crockery, as well as books, postcards, jams, jellies and locally baked fruit pies.
“That’s nice, Mom,” you’re thinking. “Why are you telling us this now?”
I’m telling you, because when we were in the park two days ago, Dad and I visited the Gifford Homestead and bought a little peach pie that we planned to enjoy after dinner that evening. But we ended up at Ebenezer’s Barn and Grill, where we stuffed ourselves full of chuckwagon dinner. We were in no shape for peach pie when we got back to the campsite later that night.
And last night we filled up on our own campfire dinner and a bottle of wine; piling on dessert would have been irresponsible.
The little pie has been sitting in the back of the Teardrop since we bought it. Since this is our last morning of camping for a while, we broke it out for breakfast. Oh my goodness, was that fantastic. So fantastic that I just spent five paragraphs on it.
There was not much to do after breakfast. We didn’t unhitch the Teardrop last night, so this morning, we just had to close and lock the doors and roll ourselves out of the campsite. We were on the road by 7:15. We stopped for about an hour at Ruby’s Diner down the road – to use their wifi and post to the blog – and then we bee-lined it for Las Vegas, arriving just after noon.
We drove straight to the city’s downtown and found a lot big enough to accommodate the Teardrop. This morning, as we were packing up our Bryce National Park campsite, I could see my breath. This afternoon, as we stood in the middle of three acres of sun-scorched pavement in downtown Las Vegas, it was 114 degrees. What a difference five hours, 250 miles and 6,000 feet in elevation make.
We were downtown to visit the Mob Museum – also known as the National Museum of Organized Crime and Law Enforcement – housed Las Vegas’s first federal building, built in 1933. The building was added to the National Register of historic Places in 1983. The city of Las Vegas took possession of it in 2002, and The Mob Museum opened in 2012.
Designed by the same folks who thought up the Spy Museum in Washington, D.C., the museum offers an absolutely engrossing -- and sometimes gruesome -- look at the history of the mob and its impact on American culture. Through hundreds of artifacts and immersive exhibits, the museum examines organized crime from its birth in the 1920s and ’30s through modern times, and explores intersecting themes and events including immigration and prohibition, the Great Depression, the history of Las Vegas and its rise as an entertainment destination, and two World Wars.
At the end of our visit, Dad and I sat in on a very compelling talk delivered by Frank Calabrese Jr., a reformed gangster – and son of notorious Chicago Outfit enforcer and hitman Frank Calabrese Sr. – about his life of crime, his imprisonment and his ultimate redemption after turning his own father in to the FBI. He has a residency at the museum for all of 2024, and delivers the same talk multiple times per day.
Dad and I planned to spend an hour or two at the Mob Museum. We had to drag ourselves out after three hours, only because our parking meter had expired.
From downtown, we drove to the Red Rock Resort and Casino – a hotel I selected for its location on the outskirts of town – as in, plenty of no-stress parking for the Teardrop, and an easy getaway out of town via 215 South in the morning. We have a luxurious and immaculate hotel room on the 19th floor, but we already miss the Teardrop.
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| View from our room |
We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking cocktails at the pool. Actually, IN the pool; it’s the only way, when it’s 110+ outside.
For dinner, we crammed our faces with Mexican food at Leoncito, one of the many restaurants at Red Rock Resort. Then we Ubered back downtown to explore the Neon Museum, a dazzling outdoor display of more than 250 old Las Vegas signs with historic and artistic significance, from landmarks such as the Stardust, the Riviera, Caesars Palace and others. We wrapped up our tour of the “neon boneyard” at about 10:30 p.m. and Ubered back to the hotel; according to the temperature read-out in the car, it was 104 degrees out.
We couldn’t leave Las Vegas without playing a little blackjack, so we wandered the floor of the Red Rock Casino until Dad found a suitable table. His requisites: Players who seem to know what they’re doing and a modest minimum bid. (Turns out, the lowest minimum was $25; it’s a little rich for our blood, but we couldn’t find anything lower.)
Dad bought $200 in chips and played through a few hands. On the last hand, he was dealt two aces, which he split. His next two cards were a ten and a nine. The dealer made 20 – so Dad won with 21 in one hand, and broke even with 20 in the other. He decided that was a great way to end it, and walked away with $88.50 in total winnings.
It took us a while to find our way out of the casino. The floor seems to go on for miles in every direction and is deliberately designed to bewilder and disorient you. Dad and I circled the same banks of slot machines several times before we got our bearings and staggered toward the exit.
It’s so strange to see people just sitting at the machines in their shorts and flip-flops, mindlessly pumping tokens into the slots with slack-jawed expressions on their faces. Las Vegas is weird and wicked– a city of excess and extremes, so it’s odd to see being so casual and passive about the experience. It’s unsettling.
Something else that’s unsettling: The KIDS. There are so many children at this resort – in the pool, at the restaurants, even walking around on the floor of the casino with their parents. When did Las Vegas become a family destination? I mean, I know we brought you guys in 2017, but that was just for one night, so you could get a singular glimpse of the absurd spectacle of it all … not so you could actually hang out and experience it. And in Charlie’s case, it’s like he wasn’t even there, anyway, since he was out of his mind with a strep infection and probably doesn’t remember anything, anyway.
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