We don’t get to Vegas until almost 9:30. Everyone else takes off to shoot a bit, but Will and Shannon keep driving instead of parking, and I stay on board. Granted, this was partially because I was getting homesick again, but I came in helpful when the refrigerator door flew open, spilling out most of its contents, which I clean up. By the time they finish it’s so late that we decide to hang out for as long as we can. I make it to five thirty, wandering around the city. It’s oddly quiet.
My plan to blow off some steam backfires; the next morning I’m convinced I’ve lost a bunch of stuff, and am in a bad mood because of it, passing up breakfast with everyone to try nap, until I decide I can’t sleep and keep looking around. After a little while, I find my stuff – buried in the bottom of one of my bags. I’m not sure if I’m relieved to have found it, or concerned that I’m clearly losing my mind.
On account of recommendations, we go to a shooting range. I'm tempted, it could help blow off steam, but I decide against it, fearing I'll injure myself. And it’s kind of creepy, with borderline racist posters plastered over the walls. However, it didn’t stop me from buying a souvenir t-shirt that read “I Don’t Call 911” with a picture of a handgun.
Moving on, the band splits up from everyone else as we head to Los Angeles. We detour to pick up our drummer Mike, who’s flown in today and waiting for us at our friend’s Matt and Kevin’s house in San Pedro. Tired as I am, I’m excited to get to California. I dreamed of living in California as a kid, and now I’m here. Plus, it means that we’ve actually survived this crazy trip. When we get to the house, there’s a small party going on, with tons of people I haven’t seen in a long time. Lots of hugs are exchanged. Standing around the kitchen, I think, “we made it” with the slightest bit of confidence.
After hanging out for a while, we leave to meet back up with the rest of the comedians. As excited as I’ve been, I am passing out again, with no energy. Before we‘d left Vegas, we had plans to stay at an “abandoned apartment, with no utilities,” but that changed at the last minute, to someone’s relatives house. It doesn’t matter where we were going, I just want to go to sleep, and considering where we’ve spent most nights, I’ll take whatever I can get. Bill wakes me up as we park, and I step out to find that we’ve pulled into the driveway of the nicest beach house I’ve ever seen in my life.
Next up: The RV half of the tour comes to an end.