No Risk, No Reward At Hoover Dam

A Christmas Miracle. That’s how our impaired Impala (Jack) made it to Hoover Dam. Actually, that’s also how Amanda and I made it without peeing ourselves. Places to “go” on US 93 are as plentiful as girls at comic shops. Unless you like scorpions and plague. If that’s the case, the desert separating you from Grand Canyon West provides plenty of adventure waiting to be discovered.

When we finally made it to Hoover Dam, after a small eternity, traffic slowed to a crawl. Not as slow as watching 2001: A Space Odessy, but slow enough where someone could  get out of their car, take pictures along the rim of the dam, and get back with time to spare.

In true Gump fashion, that’s what I did.

Unfortunately, as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle, traffic picked up. You can add this to the giant collection of stupid things that have happened to me, like becoming the victim of a poop bubble explosion and pretending to do drugs in front of America’s top drug cop.

I didn’t notice the car’s advancement. I was too busy snapping photos of the Colorado River. The scene was tranquil. Beautiful. Like the black cloud of disaster hanging over my head had finally dissipated. Megatron could have bust through the wall, shot the people next to me, and transform into a stunningly inaccurate alien spacecraft and I wouldn’t have noticed. I wouldn’t have even shouted, “You’re supposed to be a gun!”

I turned around to say something to Amanda in the car, but she was now further up the rim. I said something to no one, and started to realize how fucked I was. Amanda and the dying car pulled further away. She started to shout at me in the way people shout at members of the Geek Squad for erasing porn off their hard drives.

I panicked and started to run. Since I have a small motor coordination issue, I imagine I looked like a mildly retarded lion chasing a one-legged ostrich through a mine field.

I weaved in and out of the tourists who wisely parked their cars and decided to take a leisurely stroll along the rim. I hated them for the good time they were having on their trip and for their foresight.

As I passed through the throngs, I  muttered  ”Bonjour” to as many people as I could. If the tourists thought I was French, I thought this would be less embarrassing.

It wasn’t.

Amanda pulled further up the rim, and I thought for sure I’d lose her. Not because I couldn’t catch up, but because I thought one of the tourists would turn out to be disguised members of the Hoover Dam Police.

I can’t imagine the Hoover Dam Police have much to do except play crossing guard. So a skinny guy running around the rim stupidly while shouting hello in French? Yeah, that would arouse interest.

And with my beard, they would probably take me for a terrorist. At the time, I was in full lumberjack mode. It’s a good thing I’m not dark like a Sephardim. Otherwise Amanda would have continued on to Vegas as a widow.

I ran, panting and wheezing as my geeky lifestyle caught up to me, thinking about whether or not I made the right decision to get out of the car. Sure. I could have parked it, but the odds were good Jack might not start back up. While it would be fun to explain to people we were trapped at Hoover Dam after cracking wise to Michael Bay, we wanted to move on. And for all the stupid things we do in life, planning and preparation doesn’t always make it better. You should have a plan, you should play the odds, but sometimes you just need to go for it.

That’s easier said than done. Too many deadbeats and degenerates hide behind their computer and tell you to do something amazing. We both know it’s not that easy. But we also know the rewards … well, they make it all worth it. See the photo?

No risk. No reward.

You can see all of the Hoover Dam photos from this stop here on Flickr.

(A Flickr account may be required to view them.)

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