Nathan and I are due to fly back to San Francisco today, whilst Max and Charlie plan on staying in Vegas for a few more before they catch their bus to L.A. We head over to their new motel as a collective and share a final meal together – it’s a poignant moment. We then walk on down to Fremont Street whereupon Nathan and I wave down a cab. It has been an honour to have been part of Max and Charlie's American Adventure and I don’t really want it to be over. We bid each other farewell in a very British fashion and Nathan and I are on our way to the airport.
Not before we've stopped off at some warehouse along the way, so Nathan can check out the price of lap-steel guitars. I don't have a problem with this but the music emporium in question lies alongside a major freeway, and I’m left to ponder the impending difficulty of hailing a second cab while Nathan pores over musical instruments.
And so it turns out to be. When Nathan’s done talking with hairy musicians, we end up at a major junction trying to ascertain which side of the road we need to be, with no apparent pedestrian crossing with which to execute our chosen manoeuvre. We do persuade a taxi to stop for us, but it pulls in on the opposite side of the road and it takes us some while to negotiate the crossing to reach it. But we do, and my nascent fear that we might miss our flight soon dissipates.
By the time we land in San Francisco it is dark. The flight only took an hour, but the boarding and disembarking, and the train and the walk back to the Green Tortoise, wipe out the remains of the day. There is just enough time for a final fling down at Delirium, but it proves to be hard work. To liven things up a bit I order in a round of tequila. Nathan reciprocates with another, but it is the proverbial straw and I end up throwing up in the toilets. Apt.