We had originally planned to fly into Las Vegas Friday Jan 9, bum around Sin City for a day, get a good night’s rest, then drive up to the mountain resort where my dad was marrying an old high school squeeze.
Alas, weather forced us to postpone our flight one day. Las Vegas was warm, at least. We spent a couple hours in Vegas, then had to drive another hour to Mount Charleston Hotel, at 6200 ft. Welcome, high-altitude headache.
The wedding went off as planned, abundant with genuine sentimentality. I had to restrain myself from leaning over to E and whispering “Wuv. Twoo wuv.”
The food was horrible. I had a slab of halibut I could have used as a blunt weapon. What they did to the prime rib was a crime. The vegetables were overcooked. The baked potato was the only thing on the plate I could eat.
Unfortunately, due to my peristent and worsening headache, I was unable to enjoy the company. E put me to bed at 8pm. We had to get up at 5:30 the next morning to make our flight.
I set the alarm, tested it, then didn’t turn it on. It was only thanks to my internal clock that we woke up in time. My head cleared as we lost elevation. By the time we returned to our barely-above-sea-level elevation, I felt normal again.