48 Hours For Art
Forty-eight hours after my alarm was set for 3:00 Monday morning, we were back in bed, exhausted. We had arisen (I always sleep badly before an early plane trip), flown to Las Vegas, driven to Alamo, Nevada, toured Michel Heizer’s City , and returned home on the red-eye, to collapse in bed exactly 48 hours later. To break it down, and process all that: the first part of the trip was our usual get out of bed at o’dark hundred, dress, maybe eat, drive to the Marriott to park our car, shuttle to MCO, fly to wherever. We usually do this because flights are cheaper before 9:00 AM and we get a full day at our destination, especially if we head west to new time zones. Then it got weird, not just because we were about an hour’s drive east of Area 51, home of the famous UFOs. For someone like me used to subtropical foliage and now central Florida’s coverage of green, the starkness of the scrub north of Las Vegas seems so barren. Plus no cell service. I definitely felt I was in a twilight z...