Lake Havasu Run — Short Notice, Long Miles

Anyone who actually reads our stuff—not just the photos—knows one thing:
we’re road-trip people.

So when the call came from London Bridge Resort in Lake Havasu City, AZ, it didn’t take much convincing. That place still feels like home. Honestly, sometimes I wish we’d never left. We stayed there about four years ago—great people, great location, right on the channel next to the actual London Bridge.

There was a catch.
A 90-minute timeshare presentation.

We hate timeshares. Zero interest.
But four days and three nights for less than the cost of a single off-season night?
Yeah—we’ll sit through your pitch.

The hardest part was dates. Schedules never line up. Then, on a Wednesday, I said it out loud:
“Why don’t we just leave this weekend?”

Done. Tuesday through Friday booked.
Departure time: 4:00 a.m. Sunday.

Friday had a doctor appointment. Saturday had a business event. That was as early as it got.

I hit the pillow around 10 p.m. Brain running like it always does. Finally passed out around 1:30. Alarm went off at 3:00. Four hours of sleep in 2 nights, if I’m being generous.

SUV packed. Travel light.
Rolled just after 4:00 a.m.—which, if you know my wife, is nothing short of a miracle.

Southbound

I’ve driven to Vegas more times than I can count, using at least three different routes. This time Google Maps suggested a “faster” option. We wanted to make Olympia to Vegas in one push, so I trusted it.

Down I-5 to Gee Cee’s at Exit 57—our standard fuel and snack stop. Through Portland. Onto I-84. Then Hwy 26 over Mt. Hood.

Great road. I’ve ridden it on the bike.
This time? Snow and ice. About 30 miles of it.

ETA evaporated fast. I don’t push snow and ice—especially after passing a brand-new car folded into the ditch, paper plates still on it.

Central Oregon was cold, windy, and uneventful. Which is nice when you’re driving—but boring when you’re telling the story later. Crossed into Nevada, pointed south, fuel-and-go stops only.

Original ETA: 9:30 p.m.
Actual arrival at the Stratosphere: 10:05 p.m.

Considering conditions and sleep deprivation? I’ll take it.

I’d been awake since 3 a.m. on four hours of sleep across two nights. I was basically sleepwalking through the lobby—until my wife dropped the surprise.

Suite.
Not a room. A suite.

Thing felt damn near the size of a small house. That woke me right back up.

Cleaned up. First meal of the day downstairs. Food was solid, but the waiter stole the show—quick wit, sarcastic, sharp. The kind of guy who makes the shift easier just by existing.

A few games afterward.
We’re not gamblers.

Two days total:
$25 spent.
She won $24.
I lost $5.
Basically even.

Vegas, As It Is

First full day we cruised town. Stopped at Count’s Kustoms. I joked about applying for a job. My wife gave me the look. You know the one.

We wandered sketchy back streets—because somehow we always do. Reminded me of the time we rolled through Crenshaw and Compton at dusk. If you know, you know. That story’s for the book.

Vegas is still a shithole in places.
We still love it anyway.

Somewhere along the way we found a restaurant that flat-out ruined me.
Service was flawless.
Food was unreal.

The bacon alone should be illegal. I saved some for my burger. That single decision turned it into the best burger I’ve ever eaten—and I eat a lot of burgers.

Am I naming the place?
Nope. We’re greedy.
Email me. Maybe.

Stopped at a dispensary too. Nevada’s weed laws are no joke—strict, heavily regulated, consistent. Which explains why their edibles actually behave the same every time. Always interesting what you learn when you leave home.

That night we crashed early. Goal was to beat the line at The Peppermill.

We checked out, got lucky with two counter seats, and ate. Food wasn’t as good as last time—but the staff still brings the energy. That counts.

Then it was time for Hav—
Nope.
Home.
Lake Havasu.

Desert Reset

Heading south on Hwy 95 felt like shedding weight. Sunshine. Warm air. No Washington gloom. Crossed briefly into California near Laughlin, hit I-10, then detoured north to Oatman.

I’ve wanted to stop there for decades. The drive was great. The town? A zoo. Tourists worse than the burros. We bailed, hit a cool shop on the Golden Valley side, and kept rolling.

Havasu still hits the same.

Four years gone, didn’t feel like it. Drove past the old house. The old shop. This trip wasn’t about nostalgia—it was about decompression.

Good food. Thrift stores and pawn shops for her. A few books for me. Nightly sunset walks along the channel like we never left. And our park—everyone else calls it Rotary Park. They’re wrong.

We meant to hike Sara’s Crack, but remembered at 96°. Walked a quarter mile just to say we did, and called it. Next time—early.

Two permanent Havasu staples:

Cha Bones — loud, crowded, worth the wait
Juicy’s — and I’m not a pancake guy, but they made me question loyalty

On the last morning, one more loop through the park. Fueled up at Love’s on I-10. Pointed north.

Plan was to blast Hwy 93 through Nevada, Idaho, and straight home. Halfway through Nevada, I scrapped it.

Instead, we stopped in Jackpot, Nevada.

Yeah. Jackpot.

Ever since watching Roadside Prophets decades ago, I wanted to stay at the 4 Jacks. Old place. Clean. Honest. The kind of spot where history carries more weight than décor. Food was solid. Waiter was great. No regrets.

We slept in. Rolled out around 8:30.
The rest of the drive home was smooth and forgettable.

Which, sometimes, is exactly what you want.

Until next time — keep it between the lines.