Going to Las vegas is just so much fun...

[Scrounger]

Had to go over to Vegas (60 miles) today for a Doctor's appointment, so I figured I'd get my 'Blue Card'. I was with the Doctor about 2 minutes max and "come back next week"... The blue card took an hour. Las Vegas, or more correctly, Clark County, has some gun laws the rest of the state doesn't. In order to possess a handgun there, you must have a blue card. If you buy one there, at a gun show for instance, there is a 3 day waiting period if you don't have the card. Or if you carry there... So if you live in this end of the state it behooves you to get the card. To make my day complete, coming home there was an accident. Traffic is very light, there are 2 lanes in each direction separated by a nice flat 100 foot median. Would have been simple to run traffic stops in the south bound lanes and keep the north bound cars moving, but the LEOs wouldn't do that. They thought a 2 lane parking lot 4 miles long (in an hour) was better. The drivers didn't. They sat there getting more and more angry, and when we were released, I saw at least 4 more cars have minor fender benders trying to make up time. Didn't those cops ever see that movie "Red Ball Express"?

[wills]

I can’t even begin to count the times I have seen traffic tied up by accidents and the only thing actually in the traffic lanes blocking the traffic is the cop cars.

[Scrounger]

I can’t even begin to count the times I have seen traffic tied up by accidents and the only thing actually in the traffic lanes blocking the traffic is the cop cars.

A lot of the times I get the impression from them that they're just letting us know who's in charge...

[NVcurmudgeon]

Maybe in this over-lawyered society, the police are being careful to get all the details for their reports. Remember, the job's not complete until the paperwork is done.

[wills]

Well, they can get over on the shoulder of the road to do it!

[Scrounger]

Maybe in this over-lawyered society, the police are being careful to get all the details for their reports. Remember, the job's not complete until the paperwork is done.

I'm sure they're following procedures ordered by their superiors, guided by fear of lawsuit. I just think you don't take the rights, actually restraint, of several thousand citizens, because of a minor accident, simply for fear of a lawsuit. UNLESS there is an injured party who CAN'T be moved, you push the car out of the road and let the rest of the world go about its business. How many thousand gallons of gas do you think was wasted?

[Shepherd2]

I drove 104 miles round trip to work in Columbus, Ohio for 12 years. I wish I had back all the hours I sat in traffic waiting for the police to do the paper work on some minor fender bender. The insurance companies want the accident reports done right and of course the police have to write a citation so the city gets their cut.

It used to be that the police told you not to move the cars after an accident. Now I see that inside the city limits they have signs posted that tell you to move the cars off the roadway in non-injury accidents and call the police. Now if we can do something about the gawkers that have to see what happened.

I don't miss that long commute one bit.

[wills]

Perhaps they need a lawsuit. Someone ought to make a 42 USC 1983 case out of an incident like that.

I remember one day the Houston police found a stalled 18 wheeler on IH 45, at the 610 overpass. They decided to hook it to a wrecker and back (that’s right back) the thing off the overpass. Naturally it jackknifed and blocked all four lanes of the interstate, right at 5:00 P.M. Back then that highway carried about 250,000 cars a day.

And I don’t pay taxes so the police can be doing the spadework for insurance claims or making petty criminal cases out of traffic accidents.

[StarMetal]

Shepherd

Where did you work in Ohio?

Joe

[Shepherd2]

Joe,

I worked for Sysco Food Services in Columbus. They are a food distributor out of Houston, Texas.

Now I work for myself raising sheep and a few cattle down here in the hills. The pay's not too great but the fringes make up for it. No commute, no traffic jams or traffic for that matter. Lots of fresh air and elbow room. When I want to go to the range it's about 75 yards from the back porch.

[Buckshot]

..............What fries my onions is a traffic backup because some poor schmuck is changing a flat on the shoulder. My commute is 72 miles round trip and I do it backwards to normal traffic patterns. Going IN at 1700 toward LA and coming home at 0600 AWAY from it. Yet there is pleanty of us most anytime. You end up 15 minutes late getting to work because probably a couple dickheads hit their brakes and went from the 4th to the 3rd lane. Then the ripple effect sets in where the rest of the boneheads see brakelights 3 miles ahead and put theirs on. Next thing ya know traffic is backed up 5 exits.

Once the company I worked for moved closer to LA, into the City of Industry. My commute was 128 miles a day. I did that for 9.5 months before I said adios and quit. Between 2.5 hours on a good Friday going home and up to 4 hours sometimes. Three day weekend traffic? I felt like sleeping at work on the couch.

Worst ever was once on the way in at the 60 & 215 freeway interchange one of those flatbed trucks loaded with railroad wheelsets lost his load. I sat for 2.5 hours. Two and a half freaking HOURS without moving. I can't blame anyone as there was no place to go to to get off between me and the rest of the loosers sitting there.

............Buckshot

[Scrounger]

Another trip over the hill today for the Dr. Fortunately no traffic problems this time. Only the massive construction problems in Vegas. They're building houses like they just got the word California is going to break off and fall in the ocean. Thought I'd take care of another chore while I was over there today. A little background. You have no idea how well organized gambling is here. People register at the casinos and get an ATM type card. When they gamble, slots, dice whatever, they swipe their card and the casino keeps track of what they do. I don't know if they keep dollar total or time or what but the player earns points, which can be exchanged for free meals, drinks, merchandise from the gift shop, etc. They also get coupon specials in the mail and free birthay dinners, etc. My sister used her points to buy me something at Silverton's, a casino on I-15 on the south edge of town. Turns out they have a Bass Pro shop in there. I expected a small kind of shop. Right. Take a Super WalMart, add another floor to it and that's the Bass Pro Shop. Not just fishing but hunting, camping, and every other sport I know of. Including a section for Neck-Car, excuse me, I mean Nascar. Is that a sport? Huge gun selection, most of which are out of my price range. Every accessory you can imagine. Stuffed game animals. Live trout and other fish in natural looking pools. An archery range. A pistol range (25 yards) and a rifle range (50 yards). At least 100 "associates" walking around to help you spend money. I spent an hour and a half there and I didn't see half of it. I think this is the way it's supposed to go: You spend a couple of hours looking at toys. When you get tired, you go into the world class buffet to stuff yourself. Waddle around the rest of the store, then go in and have a drink while you try to talk yourself into buying that new Winchester or Browning. Naturally they have it set up so you can gamble while you set there drinking. But you hit the big $250,000 jackpot!!! Rush back into Bass Pro, buy the Browning(s) and add one of the $30,000 Bass boats and a chevy pickup. All without leaving the building. It is a great sight. If you get to Vegas, don't miss it.

[wills]

Came across this, here is an excerpt, sounds like the way things ought to be.

http://www.john-ross.net/vegas.htm

My first taste of Nevada came as a young boy. Uncle Graves had ordered the new 1967 911S Porsche from a St. Louis dealer. This was the one they were raving about in Europe, about 2000 pounds and with a 180 HP two-liter flat six that would rev to 7700 RPM. The car wouldn't be in for another two months, so my uncle bought an identical-body 912 four cylinder model with the promise that they would buy it back for a set price when the 911 came in.
Pre-1973 there were no open road speed limits day or night in Nevada. We were in the 912 on an undivided four-lane headed for a trapshoot in Reno. It was just past noon on a cloudless June day, and my uncle had the 912 going as fast as its little four-cylinder engine would push it. The 911/912 series was very aerodynamically clean, but 90 horsepower can only do so much with a passenger car big enough to carry two adults and two children. The road was almost ruler-straight, and the needle hadn't moved for the last twenty minutes, lingering just under the figure "120" on the round speedometer.
I noticed my uncle glancing in the rearview mirror. I turned in my seat and saw a police car in the distance, gaining on us. Uncle Graves didn't slow. About a minute later, the police car pulled into the left lane and passed us with perhaps a 15 MPH speed edge. In a few minutes it had disappeared in the distance.
A half-hour later, my uncle asked if I wanted a hamburger, and I said yes. He eased off the throttle and the car decelerated as if it had run into a thicker batch of air. A roadhouse was up ahead, with a variety of vehicles filling about a third of the gravel parking lot. The Nevada Highway Patrol car that had passed us was parked near the entrance, its engine ticking softly as it cooled.
We sat at the bar and my uncle ordered a beer for himself and a soda for me, and some food. The hamburgers soon came, thick, juicy, and not overcooked. I was savoring my first bite when I realized that two men had come up to the bar next to us, holding half-empty beer bottles. It was the two Highway Patrolmen. The one nearest us had a concerned look on his face when he spoke.
"Mister, is that your little red foreign car parked out there by the utility pole?" he asked, gesturing towards the parking lot. My uncle admitted it was. "Well," the patrolman said, shaking his head, "if that's all the faster it'll go, I'd keep it off these roads if I were you. This is Nevada."

[wills]

http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/printstory.mpl/front/3416516

[Paul B]

Back about 1962, I was stationed at Nellis Air Force base, just outside Vegas. I was given a three month TDY (temporary duty status for the non-military types) at Indian Springs. I'd commute to Vegas to see my girl friend and usually late at night I head on back up the "Widowmaker" as highway 95 was called back then as it was strictly a two lane road. Lot's of fatal accidents. People commuting from Vegas to the Atomic Energy faciility when they were testing the bomb. Well, at the time I had a fairly hot Oldsmobile Super 88 that wasn't exactly strictly stock. It's about two in the morning and I'm headed for the "Springs" doing maybe a bit over 120 when I see lights in the distance behind me. I back off to about 75 just in case as the highway patrol was never a problem but I was in Sheriff Olsen's jurisdiction and he was a one man speed trap that hated Air Force people. A few minutes later, this Studebaker Avanti passed me like a white streak of light. Oh boy, I hit the pedal and after him I went. I had that Olds wide open with three two barrel carbs pouring gas into that engine like no tomorrow. I never did come close to catching up to that Avanti. Those were the good (?) old days.
Paul B.

[Scrounger]

Back about 1962, I was stationed at Nellis Air Force base, just outside Vegas. I was given a three month TDY (temporary duty status for the non-military types) at Indian Springs. I'd commute to Vegas to see my girl friend and usually late at night I head on back up the "Widowmaker" as highway 95 was called back then as it was strictly a two lane road. Lot's of fatal accidents. People commuting from Vegas to the Atomic Energy faciility when they were testing the bomb. Well, at the time I had a fairly hot Oldsmobile Super 88 that wasn't exactly strictly stock. It's about two in the morning and I'm headed for the "Springs" doing maybe a bit over 120 when I see lights in the distance behind me. I back off to about 75 just in case as the highway patrol was never a problem but I was in Sheriff Olsen's jurisdiction and he was a one man speed trap that hated Air Force people. A few minutes later, this Studebaker Avanti passed me like a white streak of light. Oh boy, I hit the pedal and after him I went. I had that Olds wide open with three two barrel carbs pouring gas into that engine like no tomorrow. I never did come close to catching up to that Avanti. Those were the good (?) old days.
Paul B.

Yeah, that 20 cents a gallon gas...Those were the days. I was living in Vegas then. My next door neighbor was a sergeant in the Dispensary at Indian Springs, Jack Lowery, if I remember rightly.

[Scrounger]

Nevada sure is an interesting place. My nephew works for VOLT, a company that puts in underground cables. Today they're sending him to Beatty, about 75 miles up the road, to a big Brothel (!!!) to install some cables. Wonder if there are fringe benefits to his job?