Ordinary Landscapes

En route to the Valley of Fire

Today, we leave Las Vegas behind us.

Sin City is renowned for bright lights and long nights, but yesterday we went to bed shortly after dusk. Now the dashboard reads 4:45 a.m. and we are already on the road, already en route to the Valley of Fire.

We pull out of our motel directly onto the Las Vegas Strip, and immediately, we are engulfed in light. The gleam of crimson taillights guides our path as we drive slowly amidst two-lane traffic. In my peripheral, golden casino bulbs flash in a hypnotic rhythm. An overhead neon sign proudly displays Taco Bell Cantina: Open 24 Hours; underneath, I watch as small groups saunter or stumble through the inviting doors. Vegas is awake as ever.

Our GPS eventually navigates us out of the Strip and onto the Interstate, and it is self-evident that we are not in Vegas anymore. The traffic thins, the crowds disperse. These highway roads are decorated with simple Joshua trees, dotted only with the infrequent corner store and gas station.

Traveling farther from the light-polluting neon city, the blazing artificial flare gives way to a dim moonlight. Despite the faint glow of street lamps, my view of the glittering sky is unobstructed.

It comes to me now that it is still night, that the world has not yet awakened.

I allow myself to fall into a trance, my eyes unalert, peaceful, following the stars.

Familiarity, finally. I eagerly welcome our return to these ordinary landscapes. To the comfort of spaciousness and solitude. To these fields, these roads, these places meant to be lived in. Vegas enchanted me for a moment, but it is only within this expanse where I can rest.

We arrive at the Valley of Fire in time for sunrise, where we are engulfed in brilliant sapphire, orange, and rosy hues. We’ve made it. I let it all soak in. For the first time since arriving in Vegas, I feel like I belong.

Words: William Fei

Photos: William Fei