What happens in Vegas, Part 1

Okay, The Excalibur, located on the corner of Las Vegas and Tropicana
Boulevards, was built back in 1990. The two towers, on the left and right,
house over 4,000 rooms while those Disneyland-looking castle towers in the
middle cover the casino, shops, restaurants and everything else. Great place!

"What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas..."

I feel confident we all are familiar with Sin City's above motto. And I am here to say it's true. What happened in Vegas (I drank a crapload of high-test IPAs which caused me to accidentally) stay in Vegas. By just one extra day but still...

So in my usual ass-backwards way, this little story of my trip to Las Vegas starts at the end, not the beginning. Because the end is the bizarre part. I landed in Vegas on the Monday night (March 30) for a little two-day jaunt and was scheduled to leave on Wednesday (April 1st) at just before midnight.

I honestly did not know there was a Dick's Last Resort in
the Excalibur. When I got into the hotel after landing
and found out? Well, lemme say, that was an added bonus!

Everything was going according to plan. I landed, had two wild days of consuming some of the best IPAs that America has to offer and was back at the McCarran Airport in Vegas by 10 pm Wednesday. I got my boarding pass. I cleared my way through the rigorous TSA security check-point and was happily at my gate more than an hour before the flight was scheduled to leave. (Quick TSA Aside: when the TSA agents put you in the X-Ray cylinder and ask you to put your arms straight up, don't start singing "Hands up, baby, hands up, gimme your heart, gimme, gimme your heart..." Nothing really bad happens. They just don't like it at all and ask you to stop. Immediately.) So there I was, at my boarding gate (D20, I believe), alive and well for my trip home. Though to be honest, I was also sufficiently juiced on excellent IPAs. But it's Vegas so it's not like I'm not the first to arrive at McCarran in that condition. I took out a book and...

I fell asleep in the chair. A pretty deep sleep, too, I would suggest. A hibernation, perhaps. Because when I woke up at 2 a.m., I was the only person in the airport. Now either no one bothered to wake me up or, more likely, no one could wake me. Upon reading my predicament on Facebook, an ex-girlfriend messaged me a third possibility. "Perhaps they heard your chainsaw snoring and as a group, voted not to wake you up, thinking, 'Who wants to fly home in the seat next to that guy?'" She was teasing... but not an invalid theory.

This is fairly typical of the kind of hat they
stick on your head at Dick's Last Resort.
Politically correct? Oh no. Not even close.

So very panicked, I scrambled out of the airport and immediately cabbed it back to The Excalibur, the resort I was staying at and said to the reservations desk, "I have Room 2137 booked until tomorrow. I know I checked out but can I get back it for the night?" The young lady smiled, handed me a fresh key and said, "Go get a good night's sleep, cowboy."

The same morning (later on), I woke up, cabbed it back to McCarran and was directed by the Air Canada desk to call the airline's 1-888 number from a nearby pay phone to book a new flight. After sitting on hold forever (or 23 minutes - everyone's definition of "forever" is different), I did precisely that and made my way home 12 hours and 30 minutes after my initial departure was to take place. In all honesty, that single desperate flight home cost $47 more (plus several $5 Starbuck's double-doubles to ensure I stayed awake) than my original flight and hotel cost as a one-shot that I had spent hours researching and then booking online a few weeks earlier. File that under, well, Vegas happens. In relating this story to others, I found the reactions were split down the gender lines. Women rolled their eyes and said words to the effect of "Only you, Don." Guys, on the other hand, found it hilarious and in most cases, related their own "missed flight" story. Though to be honest, the great majority had them still unconscious in their hotel room. I appear to be the only one who actually made it as far as the boarding gate. One guy, who had missed a flight in Florida for similar reasons, noted he wasn't sure if I should get extra points for at least making it to the airport or lose points for being 50 feet away from my plane and still not making it on. In the end, got home, still alive... now, let's talk fun.

This is true. Dick's Last Resort was funny and
rowdy but never too far beyond being naughty

Okay, first of all, to the dudes and ladies at The Excalibur. Outstanding place and also a hotel that I will eagerly book again this Summer. Been at Planet Hollywood (three times) and the former Imperial Palace (now The Linq and a very, very different place) twice in previous visits. Loved 'em both. The Imperial was a dump but it had the rowdiest casino on the strip. And Planet Hollywood, much posher, had rock music blaring everywhere. They both had their unique charms.

But The Excalibur? I checked in, then checked out. Then checked back in on the Wednesday morning when I realized, "Damn, my flight doesn't leave until midnight, it's only 11 a.m. and I need somewhere to keep my crap." And then checked back out. And then checked in because I missed that flight... and then checked back out. And despite my schizophrenic booking activities, they took care of me, never soaked me (yeah, Air Canada, looking at you) and treated me like, well, gold, Jerry, gold! They will be seeing more (likely much more) of my business. Believe me, I am not a travel blogger, just a beer blogger, but yeah, five stars absolutely from this Canadian castaway. Tons of great resorts on the strip. Book this one. Thank me later. (Maybe pay for my next missed flight. Or at least a $5 Starbuck's double-double.)

This is NOT Tall Dude at Dick's Last Resort in
the Excalibur. No, this is OTHER Dude. I took
Tall Dude pics on my phone but they're all blurry
as hell so, well, Other Dude gets the "glory"...

Which brings me to Dick's Last Resort, a bar that has been set up in their casino for a little more than a decade now. Now originally, Dick's was not called Dick's. No, it was a chain of upper-scale eateries than ended up sinking faster than the Titanic. So the investors kept a small handful (17 or so now) and reopened them... as the most obnoxious, politically-incorrect bars ever. By that, I mean, they don't expect the bar-staff to treat you poorly. They train them to!!!! You want a napkin? They may just throw them at you. I knew of the place and couldn't wait for their treat-people-like-crap attitude. I even had a few lame "sex with yo' momma" retorts at the ready. Well, turns out that while it's crude and lewd, it's not really all that nasty. Tons of obvious innuendo on the t-shirts and walls, playing off their name ("Get a mouthful @ Dick's"). Dudes in Hawaiian shirts manned the bar and the biggest nod to dissing the customers came in their large paper hats they force on patrons with funny things written on them. Tasteful things like: "I'm not a hooker... but $20 is $20", "My hat is wrinkled... just like my balls", "Like the Chicken Pox, everyone's had me at least once", "Thank God for make-up", "Swallowed more sea-men than Moby Dick" and of course, on the guys' hats, too many dick references for me to even begin. Parking it at the bar, I asked if they had any decent IPAs on tap. Yup, Tall Dude (there was a second server - Other Dude) said, Goose Island IPA (out of Chicago). As he plunked it in front of me, we made idle chit-chat. Knowing my name and where I was from, I asked Tall Dude what my hat would say. Thinking for a second, he says, "Missing that Canadian jail dick!" I tipped him anyway because I laughed.

My man, Kenny, pours me a Stone IPA at Pour 24 in the
New York New York resort. The bar is thusly named
because like many Vegas bars, it pours 24 hours a day...

Tapping into Beer Musketeer Stevil St Evil's Google talents, I texted him in Wellington, New Zealand and said, "What's available, craft-wise, at (resort) New York New York?", which is across the street from The Excalibur. He texted back within seconds, noting they had a bar called Pour 24, loaded with craft beers. Conveniently, there is a walkway above Tropicana Boulevard from The Excalibur into NYNY's side entrance. Spotting a little open-concept (no walls) bar just inside the door, I asked the server, "Can you direct me to Pour 24?" He laughed and said, "Walk six more feet in my direction." Apparently, the neon sign directly above my head had eluded me. Well, now, that was easy. Pouring through the menu, I decided to start with a Great Basin Brewing (Sparks, Nevada - and basically the other end of the state) Icky IPA. After the Goose Island IPA I had just enjoyed on draft, this 6.2% offering was a distant runner-up. Very distant. Far too mild, far too malty whereas the Goose Island IPA, even at 5.9% and just 55 IBUs (international bitterness units) had tons of fruit on the nose and bitter grapefruit on the tongue. (Goose Island IPA would be my most-consumed beer of the trip due to its availability on draft taps across the city.)

Much like the saying, "Can't see the trees for
the forest", I couldn't see this sign as I was
standing directly below it. Also, it would
appear the forest was turned into floor tiling.

Never fear, though - Pour 24 also had Dogfish Head Brewing (Milton, Delaware) 60-Minute IPA next on the menu and while Beer Musketeer Glenn had given me a 90-Minute Imperial IPA, I've never had the 60-Minute IPA. I can't say which of the two I enjoyed more because the 90-Minute was over a year ago now but damn, I'll tell you this for free - there ain't nothin' wrong with being a half-hour shorter. Citrus on the nose and citrus bitterness on the tongue, this 6%, 60 IBU was pretty frickin' solid. Like Stone Brewing, these guys don't make a dog.

And speaking of which, for all the Stone Brewing (Escondido, California) products that Glenn has somehow managed to illegally procure over the past year, the one I've never had? Plain old Stone IPA. Fortunately, Pour 24 would soon fix that problem. (Well, okay, maybe a white male first world "problem", anyway.) Okay, given that their Ruination Imperial IPA is pretty much my favourite beer of, well, forever, how does this 6.9%, 77 IBU baby brother beer stack up? Good night, nurse, it was awesome. Magnum, Chinook and Centennial hops give you a bloody nose (well, I also fell off the bar-stool so it may have been that) - grapefruit on the nose and tongue, it could arm-wrestle Ruination to a draw. Or at least, come close enough to take it to a shoot-out.

When it comes to my favourite Las Vegas pub, there is always
time for shenanigans!!! But O'Shea's is new and different now
and we will get to that next time. Tons of Vegas left to go...

I finally noticed that at about 2 a.m., I was running out of gas. I figured that was fairly respectable and then realized my brain (well, what little there was left of it) was still working on Toronto time where it was actually 5 a.m. Small wonder the tank was empty. The stomach, on the other hand? Okay, I'll be honest, it was calling it a night, too.

So we'll stop at Las Vegas Night #1 and continue on next time with a few key revelations such as... why did Tall Dude at Dick's start calling me Osmond? What happened to my favourite Vegas Irish Pub, O'Shea's? How good is Vegas hypnotist Anthony Cools? What does a $1 Michelob taste like? (Hell, I'll answer that now - it tastes like $1.)

But I will leave you with some words of wisdom from Tall Dude at Dick's. On the first night, I asked him if any celebrities ever came into his fine establishment. He thought for a second and said, "Well, I got a really nasty rash last year so maybe Kim Kardashian walked by and looked at us in passing?" Good one. And let's face it - if we knew the Kardashians only by their actions and not as people, we'd probably think a Kardashian was some kind of exercise bicycle for NBA players. Okay, much more Vegas to come. But guys and dolls, that's it, that's all and I am outta here! Until next time, I remain...