Vintage Vegas Crime: Dead & Stinky

I try to keep my crime stories to myself, but sometimes they just come up. Last week, for instance, my friend and co-worker was grief-stricken over the death of a beloved pet.

Early in the day, she said, “Tell me something gruesome so I won’t be sad.”

(I worked for Las Vegas Metro for over 20 years. I wasn’t a cop, but I did work in the Crime Lab's office for 10 years. Yes, that Lab, before “CSI.” I have a few gruesome stories, and my friend loves true crime.)

“Dismemberment would be good,” she suggested.

So I told her about the dismembered body in the car that was towed into the Lab’s garage. In summer.  

On that hot day, a white sedan was unloaded into the garage. The smell of dead body filled our building almost immediately.

The door to the garage was directly across the hall from the door to our conference room. So, behind one door we had the very smelly car with the parts of a chopped-up person in the trunk (legs and arms and such), and behind the other door we had a conference room full of left-over food from a party we’d had at lunch.

Everyone in my office knew that one of us was going to have to go down there, brave the stinky dead body fumes, and put the food away. 

While we were in the midst of avoiding the inevitable task of cleaning up the left-overs, our Captain’s secretary staggered into my office. I’ll call her Pam.

“WHAT IS THAT SMELL?” she gasped, hand over her nose, eyes watering. “And HOW are you all WORKING?”

We summarized: dead body parts in a trunk, 110°, garage.

Pam was a veteran Metro employee, but she had only been in the Lab for a couple of years. We had also just moved into a new building with a garage attached to our offices. For several previous years, we’d enjoyed a building with a detached garage, an arrangement everyone preferred for just this reason.

“Try rubbing Vicks under your nose,” I told her. “Open your door. Turn on your fan. You’ll get used to it.”

Unconvinced, Pam went back to her office.

A few minutes later, my peripheral vision picked up something outside my window. I took a closer look.  In front of our building, out by the parking lot, Pam was leaning against a handicapped parking sign in an “I might pass out” sort of way.

I walked outside and asked her if she was okay. “I don’t know how all of you are working,” she told me.

“Does this mean you won’t be helping me clean up the food in the conference room?” I asked her.

(I know, I know. I couldn’t help myself. That was mean. Shame on me.)

Pam looked seriously nauseous.  I don’t remember if she answered my question, and I’m pretty sure she went home early. I went back inside and cleaned up the conference room.

Later on that day, after the car was towed away and the garage was hosed down, someone from a local government agency (whoever it was that got all the calls from the people in an apartment complex just east of our building) showed up to ask questions about what was generating such an awful smell. My Captain smiled at the guy, showed him her badge, and shooed him away.

If I recall correctly, the man responsible for the dismemberment was eventually convicted, probably at least in part because of the evidence collected that stinky day.

I had to think of more stories throughout the day to distract my pal from thinking about her dearly departed dog friend. After another dismemberment tale and a couple of murders, I was able to segue from gruesome to funny. Clearly, however, sometimes you can have both.

Are you a fan of true crime or police stories?

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Photo courtesy of Alan Cleaver at flickr

Hiking in Las Vegas: The Countdown to Summer

If you love hiking at Red Rock like I do, you probably know that the time to enjoy mild temperatures is rapidly coming to a close. The searing temperatures of summer will be here soon.

I’m determined to take advantage of every bit of spring before Nature turns the broiler on, so this past weekend I got out for hikes on both Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday: A Great View

On Saturday, I took the team (my son and our dog) to a trail near 13 Mile Campground (also known as Red Rock Campground). We’d decided to climb a small hill there (about 200 feet, according to the topo map, although I thought it looked higher than that). Saturday was cool and windy, which we were glad for not long after we set out.

The trail starts at an abused patch of desert filled with uprooted yuccas and dog droppings, but beyond that the trail leads uphill and into the desert. The land gradually gains altitude with three hills that gently increase in height. At the crest of the first hill, there’s a great view of Red Rock’s cliffs and Calico Basin.

Atop the second hill, a four-foot rock cairn greets you.

And at the very top—which is composed of volcanic rock (in sharp contrast to the sandstone found throughout Red Rock)—the Strip rises far to the east, the massive buildings tiny in the distance.

When we got back to the car (two hours later), Gigi, our dog, was worn out. She climbed in the backseat and laid down without waiting for water. The look on her face was plain: “That was great, but I’m bushed. Bring the water to me.” (She’s kind of a princess.) She gulped down three bowlfuls, then belched and went to sleep. Ah, to be a dog.

Sunday: Bouldering in Ash Canyon

On Sunday, my son and I decided to leave Gigi at home because we wanted to do some rock scrambling. Gigi believes (incorrectly) that she’s a mountain goat (or perhaps a Big Horn sheep), so she had to stay at home because I don’t like broken legs.

My son and I went back to Ash Canyon, where we’d had to turn around the week before (due to Gigi the Goat Dog and my whole anti-broken-leg stance).  This time, my son and I bouldered up the wash until we had to go up and around.

Once upon a time, in my previous life as an uber-prepared hiker, I would have had a trail guide with exact directions. Not anymore. I’d done a cursory Google search, so I knew we had to climb out of the wash eventually, but I couldn’t remember if it was the trail on the left or the right side of the canyon.  We chose the left.

By the time we encountered an imposing shelf of sandstone that made me say, “Sorry, but I’m not climbing up that,” we were both ready to turn around and come back.

“I think we should only hike one day of the weekend,” my son commented. “I’m kind of worn out.”

“Probably,” I said, thinking about the chores I had waiting at home.

But the day was clear, the skies a brilliant blue against the red rocks, birds were singing, and the trees were budding. I decided it would have been a shame to have wasted such a day on chores.

“We live in a beautiful place,” my son said several times on the way back.

“Yes, we do,” I agreed. “We certainly do.”

Have you been out to enjoy the desert while the weather’s still nice?

Calico Basin & The Rock Scrambling Dog

For some reason, I assumed that dogs possessed a natural instinct about how to safely navigate rocky terrain. I thought they had some inborn dog wisdom about behaving sanely around heights.

I was wrong. From what I observed on Sunday, my dog thinks she is a mountain goat. 

In the early afternoon, we (my son, the dog, and I) set out for a hike from the Sandstone Road Trailhead in Calico Basin. The area is heavily visited, which normally is something I avoid, but Gigi was delighted. She’s an extroverted canine. “New people? New dogs? And hiking!? If only you’d brought Beggin’ Strips, the day would be perfect!”

Gigi led us up the wide gravel trail toward Ash Canyon. We saw a photo shoot going on just off the trail, with the model (who was wearing black stiletto heels, a sequined bra, and extreme short-shorts) perched atop an impressive chunk of sandstone. In the distance and up high, rock climbers were hanging off the cliffs (which in comparison looked much harder, except for the high heels).

We continued past a rock labyrinth (the largest one I’ve seen so far in Red Rock), through a marshy area, and headed up Ash Canyon.

When a bit of light bouldering was required, I laughed when Gigi hopped over rocks. I mean, she looked adorable. I think I said something out loud to that effect.

When the bouldering got tougher, I climbed up, looking for a way around the boulders that were too high for Gigi. I stopped at a slab of sandstone that I wasn’t sure any of us could get around. “I don’t think we can get through this way,” I told my son, who was also checking out other routes.

Gigi must have thought I said, “Come this way!” because she charged around me, clambered up the rock, then slid down the sandstone like she was in some Canine X Games event.

“Yeah, I can see how she can’t get through this way,” my son commented.

“How’s she going to get back out of there?” I asked him. After surfing down four feet of sandstone, Gigi had landed in a pocket of scrub trees and gravel.

“Good point,” my son said.

Gigi was cheerfully unbothered by her position, and she managed to scramble up and out after a couple of tries. But had she learned that her lack of opposable thumbs (or hooves) was a major disadvantage when it came to rock scrambling? Nope. She soon was trying to scale the rocks ahead of us.

After having visions of carrying an injured dog back to the car (a 50 pound dog, by the way), I decided we needed to turn around.

Once we were on level ground, we met up with two other hikers on their way back to the trailhead. Gigi trotted happily in front of us. One of the hikers told me, “She reminds me of a dog I had named Foolish. He hiked with me in Alaska.” The hiker had seen Gigi trying to tip-toe along the side of a drop-off while we were still in the canyon.

Back at the car, Gigi the Goat Dog had a big drink of water before stretching out in the back seat and falling asleep. After finding out that all my assumptions about dogs and rock scrambling were wrong, I was just relieved that we hadn’t incurred any vet bills.

Do you hike with your dog? 

Finding Sloan Canyon

Over the weekend, I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather (70°, sunny, a few photogenic clouds—a glimpse of spring) to drag my hubby out of the house to go find Sloan Canyon.

A co-worker of mine had told me that Sloan Canyon was easy to find, with “plenty” of signage. “I used to go there for school field trips,” he told me. 

What my young co-worker should have said was that there IS signage at Sloan Canyon. Plentiful? Not so much.

This is the turn-off to Sloan Canyon. That marker is the first “signage” we spotted after leaving paved roads.

From what I’ve read, Sloan Canyon’s limited accessibility is no accident. The area holds rare petroglyphs and striking volcanic rock formations. Because of the increase in vandalism and theft in areas like Sloan Canyon, the BLM keeps information about the canyon to a minimum and isn’t planning to increase accessibility much.

This weekend I didn’t get to see the petroglyphs in Sloan Canyon, but not because of the remote, rugged road or the rock scrambling required to reach what’s been described as “the Sistine Chapel of rock art.” No, I didn’t get to see that part of the canyon because my three hiking companions each quit on me, even the dog.

The first one to stop hiking was my husband, who had major surgery just a few months ago. About 40 minutes into our hike, we encountered a rocky obstacle on the trail. He sat down and announced he was done for the day. Absence totally excused.

Right after I lost companion #1, my teenage son made his own announcement. “I’m hungry and I don’t want to go any further,” followed by, “Can we stop somewhere on the way home and get something to eat? Can we leave now? Aren’t we done hiking? Haven’t we looked at enough rocks?” And so on and so forth.

So I left those two at the outcropping and continued on with Gigi, our dog.

Soon, Gigi’s tail was drooping, her head was hanging, and she was giving me that look, the one that says, “Can we go home now so I can sleep on the sofa until tomorrow?” (We later found Gigi had a paw injury—apparently not uncommon as we ran into a couple with a dog who also had an injured paw.)

I regarded the canyon in front of me. I wanted to keep on hiking. However, it was obvious that on this day I wasn’t going to see much more of Sloan Canyon.  At least I could say I’d found it. The petroglyphs would have to wait for another day.

Gigi and I turned around. At the outcropping, the tired and hungry (and bored) males were tossing pebbles at each other.

Before long, we were in the Jeep, headed home.

Have you been to Sloan Canyon? 

Vintage Vegas Pics: The Days When Lake Mead Had No Bathtub Ring

I was searching through my family pictures this evening, and in between the tintypes and Texas farm houses, I found a handful of these shots taken in 1983, when Lake Mead’s spillways were put to use for one of only two times (the first being when Hoover Dam was built).

Some unknown person from my family captured these shots of the water not long after it first started cresting the sides. Later on, misty waterfalls were created by the water rushing over the spillways. 

The intake towers look like they're floating on top of the water, and you’ll notice there’s not a trace of bathtub ring around Lake Mead,

Today, we’ve got rock outcroppings in front of the spillways. Both the old family photo above and the 2012 shot below are of the Nevada Intake Towers. Quite a transformation, isn’t it?

Recent photo of Hoover Dam, Nevada Side Spillway, courtesy of Gnaphron at Flickr. 

Scroll to the bottom of this page from Missouri University, and you'll see photos of the spillways in full waterfall. 

Were you here in 1983? Did you see the spillways turn into waterfalls?

Las Vegas on a Sunday Afternoon

Did your weekend go by too fast? Mine certainly did. Before I knew it – Poof! – Monday morning had arrived and I was driving to work, thinking about my awesome Sunday.

The Scene on Sunday:

A winter afternoon in Las Vegas: blue skies and 70°. The hubby and I have agreed that we don’t care about the football game. It’s 1pm and I say…

Me:    Let’s go to Sloan Canyon.

Hubby:   It’s too late.  

 [Grimacing, making faces at the clock.]

 You have to catch me early.

Me:     I don’t like early.

 [Resisting the urge to point out that it’s only 1pm.]

Hubby:     But you know I like to do things early.

Me:   [Short sigh before realizing this means an hour-long walk alone. Smile and say…]

 Guess I’ll go for a walk. 

Where’s your favorite place to go for a walk on a Sunday afternoon? 

Looking at Old Pictures & Wondering, “Where Was This?”

I thought it might be interesting to dig around my old photo albums (yes, I’m talking film here) for some vintage Vegas pictures. I seem to have every photo I’ve ever taken, so I hoped I'd find some gems.

I sorted through my albums, searching for pictures of Vegas in days gone by. The yield was grim. In those pre-digital, pre-blogging days, I was foolishly taking pictures of my friends instead of documenting the city (and desert) that would soon disappear.

However, I did uncover a bonus of sorts: photos of travels from many years ago, so many years ago, in fact, that some of my photos left me wondering, “Where was this?”

I Knew It Was At Lake Tahoe, But…

Thanks to a diligent Google search, I’ve identified this as the Tallac Historic Site in South Lake Tahoe. 

I knew the picture was taken at Lake Tahoe, but that was the only thing I remembered about this photo's location. My memory of this entire trip is dreadfully dim. (Excessive drinking was involved.) At any rate, I do recall the incredible beauty of Lake Tahoe and an afternoon hike to find this place, which I remember as being not so well-known at the time I explored it (well before it came under the oversight of a public-private partnership in 1996).

A Santa Barbara Mission

Which mission? Beats me.

The interior of the mission was silent, dark, and creepy. I much preferred taking pictures of the photogenic, non-creepy exterior.

During my trip to Santa Barbara, my visit to this mission was one of the few things I did with a companion. For about a week, I spent every day walking about Santa Barbara blissfully alone, taking pictures and doing whatever I pleased. Ah, the memory makes me smile.

I Suspect It’s Slide Rock

When I first drove through Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona, “Hotel California” was selling strong and I was not of legal age to drive a vehicle. The number of trips I’ve taken to this area, over such a long period of time, are so numerous that they’ve run together somewhat—which is why I’m pretty sure this is Slide Rock, but really, I’m not 100%. I love the picture, though.

Not Exactly Red Rock Crossing

I thought I knew the name of this place. As it turns out, I only had it half right.

When I took this picture, finding Red Rock Crossing (outside of Sedona) felt like an accomplishment. Today, it’s not so off-the-beaten-path (like all of Sedona). Thinking about how long ago this picture was taken, I thought I’d better verify that I had the name right.

As it turns out, the rock formation in this picture is Cathedral Rock, and Red Rock Crossing refers to the area where this picture was taken—and specifically to a giant bar of sandstone in Oak Creek.

Somewhere, in one of these albums, there’s a picture of that, too.

Do you ever find pictures that leave you asking yourself, "Where was this?" 

Or am I the only one?

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All pictures by Terrisa Meeks