4 am is not the best time for a sprightly meet and greet strangers encounter, but the query about whether we'd get a chance to stop somewhere for some coffee that wafts down from the back receives a warm response. Daniel the driver assures us we will get a chance to stop for breakfast and offers us a choice of either Rosie's, a classic diner from the 1920's (assuming she's open) or a Starbucks for our pre dawn needs assessment. A unanimous decision at an attempt to awaken Rosie over Starbucks best sees us settle down for the long drive, across the state line into Arizona.
We cross Boulder city as the horizon starts to lighten, and the pale yellow of the yet weak sun streaks the sky in nervous anticipation of another scorcher. It's seldom I get to see the sun rise, and I savour the unending horizon as the fringes of the sun move from the twilight zone to a freshly washed, pink hued, blue sky, unmarred by a whisper of a cloud. We drive past the majestic Hoover dam, awed by the new bridge (due to open in November, but much delayed as evinced by Daniels disgust) and the stark landscape that reminds me of Iceland, and soon pull into Rosie's diner. Still bleary eyed, I fail to notice more than the quaint film like facade and porch but am caught up short inside. A large blackboard announces eggs and ham, eggs and bacon, eggs, ham and cheese and various other titillating combos including a rather odd eggs and cake. My need for adventure lies in different directions and I opt for a tame ham and cheese grilled sandwich and settle myself on the plastic bar stool at the counter, mouth open at being transported to a different time. Rosie is blonde (naturally), loud, has a pencil tucked behind her ear and calls everyone honey. The decor is mostly vinyl, the jukebox ancient, the coffee permanent and the advice eternal. I chuckle as I stare down the barrel of a pistol on the large poster - "Thieves pay attention. Have your ID ready, we notify next of kin". You tell 'em Rosie. Ritchie Sambora pings in my superego and I wonder if she ever was the darling of the high school team or has a rose tattoo tucked away somewhere indiscreet. Shockingly, Rosie also serves tea, and her food hits the spot. She offers Daniel pithy advice and I hear things about dropping three babies and what it'll do to a pregnant woman and focus on masticating instead. We loiter outside for a bit, enjoying the morning and getting used to each other, and I suppress a smile at the sign I'd missed earlier, proudly announcing the beer garden.
It's time to roll, and we do, down Route 66, to experience the natural side of Vegas... as exhorted by the screaming Pink Jeep Company on its side. Viva Las Vegas!
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