Ok. Made it through Wyoming unscathed. And Utah. And most of Nevada!
We're in Reno, today, taking it easy and trying to process exactly what DID happen last night...
We slept just outside Salt Lake City, then pushed on past (Hi, Justen!) through the great Salt Flats, broken up only by this freaky statue thing.
The rumble strips are the only reason I did not drive off the road wondering whether I was seeing things. Poorly disguised cell tower? Freakish salt-induced vegetation? Salt-Flat and Heat Induced Delusional art? Apparently C was the correct answer.*
OK. Back to last night.
Pulled into Reno to find somewhere to rest our weary heads. Upon finding out that Motel 8 was $97.96 per night, we opted for the Western Village Inn and Casino for $40 per night.
Inwardly groaning at the smell of stale cigarette smoke and lost hope oozing from the casino, we entered the seedy hotel across the street and took the elevator to the 3rd floor. Expecting the worst, we opened the door to huge suite with memory foam bedding and a 42" flat screen TV. A quick text update later, the sister observed, "Irony is a b*tch."
Free drink tickets and discount restaurant coupons in hand, we headed out. Because who can refuse a place that has pregnant women, the elderly and Joe Dirt all exiting the same black-mirrored doors!? (Ok. We were hungry too. But curious.)
There was no preparing us for what rounded the corner as we locked the hotel room door behind us.
6 nuns. In habits. Dragging roll-aboard suitcases.
I was incapacitated with a case of the giggles and nearly peed my pants making it to the elevator without laughing out loud. Strippers I would have expected in this casino, conveniently located 20 feet from the TA Truck Stop. A drunken trailer park couple, even. But NUNS?
After dinner, we won $1.72 at the penny slots. Enough to cover the tip for our free drinks.
It was a good night.
Onward and homeward tomorrow! Although I don't know if I will have any more stories that beat the nuns...
*Side note: I am the only person in the State of Nevada (perhaps the greater Southwest) who will only eat at McDonalds when armed with a pull-top can of Black Beans. When I whipped said canout of my purse at lunch yesterday and dumped 1/2 on my chicken-less salad, B just shook his head, continuing on into a rare burger/fry/sundae euphoria.