I'm a Las Vegas rookie. I went last summer for quick couple days while traveling on business, and made similarly brief follow up in early January. Recently, I returned on two solo weekends bookending a business trip to California. I was inspired by the many wild trip reports posted on this forum. I tried to go all out and really live it, and this is my report.
But there's a quote in someone's signature that Las Vegas is for the rich and beautiful, and the rest of us pick up the scraps. That's true, isn't it? I'm still a rook, I know my place. Before I take on those big time nightclubs, I need to get my image and style up. And I'm not going to a day pool as long as I have wimpy arms and a poochy stomach. I don't want to be a background character. Besides, as much as I admire the glamor of the glossy hot spots, I also love the grit of dive bars and sawdust joints. So my report will feature some places I haven't seen anyone else write about.
The story begins at about 4:00am on a Saturday morning in my home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. My alarm sounded, I ordered an Uber to the airport and quickly brushed my teeth. By the time I finished, my ride was outside. The flight was long and had no early Vegas revelers. I strove to stay awake, as it was my plan to keep on eastern time for the duration of my trip. If I succumbed to napping, I wouldn't fall asleep early enough. After a stop and layover, I arrived in Las Vegas at about 1:00 local time. I opted for one of those group shuttles. It took forever to arrive. The sun felt good while I waited, though.
I had booked two nights at the Stratosphere on Hotwire. Not the most exciting place to be, but it was a good price. I had an experiment in mind that I wanted to try. I wanted to see how easy/hard it is to use a bicycle to get around in Las Vegas. It's likely not for everyone and not for me on every trip, but I wanted to give it a shot. So the first thing I did after checking in (at the suggestion of a local I met on the sidewalk) was walk about a block north to a pawn shop. I purchased a mountain bike with functioning brakes and inflated tires for $30. I found a lock at a nearby WalGreens. By the way, it turns out that most casinos have a bike rack on the property, but it's probably intended more for employees than customers.
Back at the Stratosphere, I had some (not so good) pizza for dinner and headed up to bed at about 7:00pm, which is 10:00 my time. I awoke at 2:00am. I took a quick shower, shaved and dressed. Now the fun begins: I was going on a strip club crawl.
I went on a similar crawl last summer. I didn't like how they pair you with a girl as soon as you walk in. See, when in Vegas, I want a girl with big boobs – I mean, big, big ones. Last year, they inevitably matched me with an 'A Cup' dancer. We all have what we're into, and if I'm going to pay $20 a swing (or more) for a girl's time, she needs triple Ds, minimum. So, to help communicate my message, I bought this novelty shirt. I figured it might also serve as a good icebreaker in a sufficiently divey environment.
I first rolled up to Cheetah's. The club was pretty dead with few customers, but they assumed I was a local because of the bike and let me in for free. I had a drink and looked around. I saw a few strippers with big ones, but not big. I let one of them convince me to do a quick lapdance then I bounced.
Next was Treasure's, just down the road. Same story, really. Now last year I met a Colombian dancer with F cups. I asked the host if she was around that night and he had never heard of her. Strippers come and go like the wind, after all. I had another drink (they give you two free drinks with your paid admission) and moved on.
The bike got me into Spearmint Rhino for free. That place was packed with customers and dancers. Still, I didn't find any girl with what I was after. Was I being too picky? I don't think so, I found them last year. I think the problem was that by the time I got out, the A team was finishing its shift. I stayed at the Rhino for a good while and a few drinks. It took some time to sift through all the girls and make sure I wasn't missing anything. Then I rode the Sapphire which was totally dead. I left almost as soon as I came in (but again, I didn't have to pay the full cover).
By this time the sun had risen. It was about 6:00am and I still had most of the stack of bills I brought. Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat. I rode to that funky strip mall just down Industrial from the Sapphire. It's got a liquor store, a restaurant, a notorious clip joint called the Can Can Room (read about it) and a bunch of massage salons. I picked a massage place and hoped for the best. Because of it's proximity to the Can Can Room, I was wary of being ripped off. My therapist wanted an unreasonable amount and I was ready to walk out. She was willing to adjust the price, though. Interestingly, she agreed to $180 less than she original asked. If you read around, the rumored taxi kickback for delivering customers to these places is $180. So remember that if you decide to go (and remember not to take a taxi).
Anyway, I found the massage to be tranquil and relaxing. Later on, she said she liked massages a little on the rough side. She was very loud and enthusiastic.
It was a grand experience.
But there's a quote in someone's signature that Las Vegas is for the rich and beautiful, and the rest of us pick up the scraps. That's true, isn't it? I'm still a rook, I know my place. Before I take on those big time nightclubs, I need to get my image and style up. And I'm not going to a day pool as long as I have wimpy arms and a poochy stomach. I don't want to be a background character. Besides, as much as I admire the glamor of the glossy hot spots, I also love the grit of dive bars and sawdust joints. So my report will feature some places I haven't seen anyone else write about.
The story begins at about 4:00am on a Saturday morning in my home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. My alarm sounded, I ordered an Uber to the airport and quickly brushed my teeth. By the time I finished, my ride was outside. The flight was long and had no early Vegas revelers. I strove to stay awake, as it was my plan to keep on eastern time for the duration of my trip. If I succumbed to napping, I wouldn't fall asleep early enough. After a stop and layover, I arrived in Las Vegas at about 1:00 local time. I opted for one of those group shuttles. It took forever to arrive. The sun felt good while I waited, though.
I had booked two nights at the Stratosphere on Hotwire. Not the most exciting place to be, but it was a good price. I had an experiment in mind that I wanted to try. I wanted to see how easy/hard it is to use a bicycle to get around in Las Vegas. It's likely not for everyone and not for me on every trip, but I wanted to give it a shot. So the first thing I did after checking in (at the suggestion of a local I met on the sidewalk) was walk about a block north to a pawn shop. I purchased a mountain bike with functioning brakes and inflated tires for $30. I found a lock at a nearby WalGreens. By the way, it turns out that most casinos have a bike rack on the property, but it's probably intended more for employees than customers.
Back at the Stratosphere, I had some (not so good) pizza for dinner and headed up to bed at about 7:00pm, which is 10:00 my time. I awoke at 2:00am. I took a quick shower, shaved and dressed. Now the fun begins: I was going on a strip club crawl.
I went on a similar crawl last summer. I didn't like how they pair you with a girl as soon as you walk in. See, when in Vegas, I want a girl with big boobs – I mean, big, big ones. Last year, they inevitably matched me with an 'A Cup' dancer. We all have what we're into, and if I'm going to pay $20 a swing (or more) for a girl's time, she needs triple Ds, minimum. So, to help communicate my message, I bought this novelty shirt. I figured it might also serve as a good icebreaker in a sufficiently divey environment.
I first rolled up to Cheetah's. The club was pretty dead with few customers, but they assumed I was a local because of the bike and let me in for free. I had a drink and looked around. I saw a few strippers with big ones, but not big. I let one of them convince me to do a quick lapdance then I bounced.
Next was Treasure's, just down the road. Same story, really. Now last year I met a Colombian dancer with F cups. I asked the host if she was around that night and he had never heard of her. Strippers come and go like the wind, after all. I had another drink (they give you two free drinks with your paid admission) and moved on.
The bike got me into Spearmint Rhino for free. That place was packed with customers and dancers. Still, I didn't find any girl with what I was after. Was I being too picky? I don't think so, I found them last year. I think the problem was that by the time I got out, the A team was finishing its shift. I stayed at the Rhino for a good while and a few drinks. It took some time to sift through all the girls and make sure I wasn't missing anything. Then I rode the Sapphire which was totally dead. I left almost as soon as I came in (but again, I didn't have to pay the full cover).
By this time the sun had risen. It was about 6:00am and I still had most of the stack of bills I brought. Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat. I rode to that funky strip mall just down Industrial from the Sapphire. It's got a liquor store, a restaurant, a notorious clip joint called the Can Can Room (read about it) and a bunch of massage salons. I picked a massage place and hoped for the best. Because of it's proximity to the Can Can Room, I was wary of being ripped off. My therapist wanted an unreasonable amount and I was ready to walk out. She was willing to adjust the price, though. Interestingly, she agreed to $180 less than she original asked. If you read around, the rumored taxi kickback for delivering customers to these places is $180. So remember that if you decide to go (and remember not to take a taxi).
Anyway, I found the massage to be tranquil and relaxing. Later on, she said she liked massages a little on the rough side. She was very loud and enthusiastic.
It was a grand experience.
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