Sand, Cinder Cones and Sun

Gambling is a form of entertainment, but some people become addicted. Plenty suffer from this addiction in Vegas and Primm, Nevada. I watched a balding man in his sixties play a slot machine. He mechanically punched spin even though the machine dinged with winnings. When his wife asked him how he was doing, he shrugged. All winnings clicked back to play. He had not hit it big enough, I guess.
More interesting to me were the techniques casinos used to stay in business. Buffalo Bills, now owned by Terrible Herbst, closed to renovate. All four extreme rides--roller coasters and sky drops--shut down.
"It makes sense," said Andy, "because this is the slowest season." We stayed in the more upscale Primm Valley for the lower price. Last night a hotel employee slipped a note under our door: stay an extra night for only $10. Good deal for us as non-gamblers. Not so good for the casino. We changed our plans. We can afford to stay another night in posh elegance.
"Do you realize breakfast at Starbucks cost more than the hotel?" asked Andy.
Another casino technique, I thought. Starbucks, renting from Terrible Herbst, increases prices to stay in business. In other places when Starbucks was inside a casino, the franchise would not offer free WiFi since the casinos charged $10.95 to $24.00 a day usage fee for WiFi. Business and marketing techniques, I guess. We have learned some of the tricks.
Kelso Dunes, famous for its resonating sands, fooled us. Andy and I trudged up the lower hills, identifying tiny tracks of kangaroo rats, scuttle marks of darkling beetles and the swirls of fringed-toed lizard tails in the sand around borrego milkvetch bushes. We didn't see any parallel swirls, indicative of side-winders, but larger paw prints with evident claws and several scuffle indentations suggested a kangaroo rat provided dinner for a coyote or a kit fox last night. We listened. A deep rumbling, steady and low pitched, sounded beyond the dunes. "That's the sand," said Andy.

"Are you sure? There's nothing to set it off," I told him. "No wind, no people, nothing on top. Maybe it's a jet."

"No, it's not moving fast enough," he said. "It's a train." He HAD said yesterday that the railroad here was tied to everything. Here it was tied to the resonating dunes.

We pulled in again at Kelso Depot to check plant and animal identifications. Five tracks passed the railroad crossing, and at least ten automobiles had stopped in the parking lot to check out the old jail, browse in the museum and read the desert ID signs. A goose strutted among the mesquite bushes. "That one Canada goose returns year after year," said the ranger. "But only the one. They do come back to places that are home, and we have only limited grass." One Canada goose in the Mohave Desert! He must have a story to tell, I thought.
Over the rim to the northwest a moonscape valley opened before us. Lava flows spread black between 28 or 30 reddish cinder cones. Vetch and creosote colored the in-between clay with shades of grey, green and tan. We stopped in the middle of the road to munch on apples for lunch.

Not a car passed from either direction; we could see at least 15 miles each way. Someday this park might be beautiful and educational. Now it is undeveloped wilderness.

We headed back to Primm to sit by the pool at Primm Valley Resort. In shirt sleeves on December 12, I signed Christmas cards, Andy read travel magazines, and we sunned.