Not a Slot Machine in Sight

There's no showgirls.

Carrot Top does not perform there every night.

You have to bring your own buffet.

But Mt. Charleston, a scenic tree-laden giant hiding about forty miles west of Las Vegas, seems as likely a spot as any in Southern Nevada to provide the type of insight I am looking for. So I fill my van's gas tank to the the brim and head to the top of the mountain. When I get to the first open campsite, I hop out of my vanpartment and grab an envelope to pay for an overnight stay.

My spirits high and my worries few, I hop back into my vandominium, toss the keys in the ignition, and...nothing.

No worries. My vandormitory was made in 1992, so sometimes it takes a second to start up. I turn the keys again. Still nothing. I pop the hood and check the gauges. Everything seems to be in working order. You know, except for the whole "turning on" thing.

Having your mode of transportation break down is never a fun experience, but it is particularly disheartening when you're stuck at the top of a mountain, miles away from civilization, and that vehicle happens to double as your home... and triple as your job.

It also doesn't help that I had to replace the radiator and water pump the second day of my project. I would drive a few miles, park, then look down to see a massive amount of green ooze (coolant) pouring down from the engine to the asphalt below. It looked like a member of the mob had used my GMC Vandura to perform a particularly inventive "hit" on Slimer from the Ghostbusters.

I wander around the campsite, searching for help, meanwhile pondering just how expensive emergency roadside assistance would cost at 7000 feet, and I begin to worry; I had already become attached to the idea of not being contractually obligated to name my first born child "Geico."

The site manager doesn't seem to be home, so I head back to my vantel and wait for the next car to come by. The driver obliges with a jump start, but the battery is not the problem. Dismayed, I head back up to the site manager's pop-up trailer to wait for him and see if he has a phone. When I get there, I notice I shadowy figure at the back of the trailer.

"Hey. My car broke down at your entrance. I was..."

"Yeah. I saw you. I was gonna say something, but you know..." the shadowy figure motions to his belly. "I just ate." He burps. "A real big meal."

Eccentricities aside, the manager is helpful in solving my problem. The issue was just a gas vapor issue that often occurs going from a hot, low elevation to a colder, high point. After leaving the gas cap off for half an hour, my vanplex mercifully starts. Exhausted from worry, I shut down for the night and wait to start anew the next day.

When I wake up the next morning, I am refreshed, excited to use an actual shower. (I had been keeping hygienic through what I call "hobo showers," which I will leave to your imagination, because it's more fun that way). On my way to the bathroom, I pass a site occupied by a few college-aged kids who seem to be having a significantly better time than I. After getting clean, I approach them, hoping to get a video interview for projectmeaning.com.

Though they are at first hesitant, they eventually agree to a group interview when they find out they get to sign my van...(vanhome? vanwam? vangloo? Screw it, I'm going with vangloo). My vangloo.

The group includes:

DJ, an impossibly skinny extrovert with a peculiar style all his own.
( "Sometimes, we're not sure if DJ is absolutely brilliant, or maybe just a little retarded." )

Ryan, a talented guitarist with a trademark mop of curly blonde hair.

Jenelle, a cheery soul with a big smile and a warm presence.

Jenelle's boyfriend, Brandon, a smooth skater type with a tank-top and an ever-present ball cap.

Will, an average-looking guy with a unique ability to make everyone around him feel at ease.

Jenny, a quiet girl with a genuine calm about her.

And Jenny's boyfriend, Jason, a giant man with a giant personality (and a talented guitarist in his own right).

They have gathered up in the mountains to celebrate Jason's 23rd birthday. They will later be joined by Will’s girlfriend Sunny (“I’m Sunny, like my personality!”), Ron, a silently intense young man struggling through some hard times, and Kehau, a larger-than-life rapper with an amazing ability to freestyle. Brandon describes Kehau as “An amazing guy. I love that dude, but sometimes I get the feeling he really wants to kick my ass.”

As I set up my camera, I notice DJ frantically searching through supplies, a look of sheer panic on his face.

"Toilet paper. Toilet paper. Where's the toilet paper?!!!"

After almost a minute, he finally locates his prize and dashes into the woods.

The group wants to wait for another friend before starting the interview, so I head to the next site over to talk to a middle aged couple. Robert, who could most certainly at this point get work as the "before" actor in a Visine commercial, is eager to get his thoughts on film, but his wife Dyana is slightly more hesitant.

"Can I show my boobs on camera?" she asks. "I only wanna do it if I can show my boobs."

"You're more than welcome to," I respond, "but that part's probably not getting past the cutting room floor."

"Oh."

"Plus, I'm going to be honest. As much as I try to model my business practices after Girls Gone Wild, I don't have any t-shirts to give you."

"Oh. Well screw that then."

The couple is funny and engaging in their interview, and I thank them as I head back to the college-aged kids. When I get there, I find DJ walking back from the woods, awkwardly rocking back and forth. As he approaches, it becomes increasingly clear that he has defecated in his pants.

"You shit your pants, didn't you?" Jason remarks, laughing.

"Yeah I did."

"Good thing you brought underwear this time."

There is something oddly endearing about a group that regards such a humiliating moment with casual indifference. Sure, DJ is met with plenty of light-hearted jokes, but I witness nothing but acceptance among his friends after the incident. It made me a little jealous of the guy who just messed himself. That's an accomplishment.

The group of friends immediately warms up to the camera, and supplies me with an honest, warm, and genuine discussion about some of life's biggest issues. It becomes clear that most of them have led very difficult lives, but that they have come out of it for the better. I am pleasantly surprised by their willingness to take me in as one of their own.

Their group dynamic is impressive. There is an effortless comfort and mutual respect that manifests itself in an almost magical calm. As they sit around the campfire, playing songs on their guitars, laughing, and shooting the breeze, I sit back and try to enjoy the moment through them.

It is one of those moments that may not seem extraordinary at the time, but that sticks in your mind for eternity. As if for that brief period of time, up in the mountains of Southern Nevada, life just stood still.

The perfect blend of youth, friendship, and hope.

A winning moment.

And not a slot machine in sight.



Editor's Note: Video footage and interviews from my Mt. Charleston excursion should be available at projectmeaning.com in the coming days.