Nevada

Year of First Visit – 1995
Point of Entry – Hoover Dam

A white Lincoln with a navy blue faux soft top.

That was how I arrived in Nevada the first time I traveled there. And each entrance into Nevada seems to be packed with visual memories.



Like approaching the state line from California in I-15. There in the middle of the Mojave with the rental car's thermostat reading 121, we saw a green hew in the distance. Yes, the grass is greener (actually, it's the only place with even a little grass) when you cross into Nevada with golf courses and resort-style hotels and casinos marking the state line.

Crossing into Nevada from Death Valley in California made me feel like I was in the movies. The long, straight, stunningly desolate road radiating heat at sunset with the full moon rising ahead of me was made for Hollywood.



And what can compare with landing at McCarran on a crystal clear desert night? The neon of the strip is at its most iridescent with the hundreds of miles of pitch-black desolation surrounding it.

Of course, those entrances weren't exactly what they appeared to be. It was my in-law's Lincoln and my wife and I had been riding with them in it since Houston. The green burst along I-15 melts quickly into the desert sands. The movie set is actually a long, long drive back to someplace with a restaurant and hotel. And the landing in Vegas is but the start of a long layover in a crowded airport.



Yes, Nevada has been a great place to make an entrance. And it's been a place where reality, lurking just below the surface, cuts through a bit of its grandness. A harsh desert and its tempting mirages define my Nevada memories.