I’ve run enough #milesinvegas to be ready to comment on this. It’s a time-honored tradition of my running to make posts or comments about the things I find whilst out running. Often accompanied by photos, so folks would actually believe me, these “Anyone missing a coffee pot? It’s at 16th & Prairie” or “Full urine sample at 18th & Menlo, probably contaminated” posts were fairly popular.   

#ICYMI Past High (and Low) Lights

·      Blood trail on Summit Ave: I went full-on Detective Benson, assuming it was a fight, probably a bloody nose based the spatter, wondering if we’d run into the fight or just the victim as we followed the trail. I literally ran right into a cop, at which point, my only words were, “I guess you’ve got this covered” as I pointed to the blood trail leading into an apartment building.

·      Cheetos & Ramen Noodles:  Every dog parent has wrestled away food from their fur kid, but neither Alli or Joey was interested in smelling or even eating Cheetos or Ramen found on our runs. My read was that there was no nutritional value in either, so consider that when deciding on whether or not you want to eat those things. Also, Alli would eat her own shit, so apparently that’s more appealing than Cheetos or Ramen.

·      Five gallon buckets of shit: Literally human excrement. Do better, Portland.

·      Spent sharps: This was a Mayberry issue.  

·      Gum: Memorable when stamped into a heart shape. Valentine heart, not an actual heart, but now I’m totally looking for that.

·      Pit bulls guarding bail bonds stores.

·      Toilets: Maybe we just out enough that we see a lot of remodeling projects, but people actually let the toilet set in the yard, sometimes for many days. Metaphor?

·      Spanish high school textbook: Has fallado la prueba?

·      Varieties of snails and slugs: This will always be my favorite part of Oregon running.

Be still my heart.

Be still my heart.

·      An Amy Grant cassette tape: Only note-worthy because it was 2107.

·      Dead, bloated opossum: We smelled it blocks away.

·      A broken dresser: Memorable due to the big blue dildo next to it.

·      A partially consumed bag of red wine: DYI Camelbak?

·      Too many Happy Meals packages, condom wrappers, condoms, tampons, cigarette butts, and various other person trash items to count.

·      A small bong in a melting snowbank: This was also blue, so maybe South Dakotans like to throw out blue things. (Cue the “Close Encounters” music, this means something. I’ll be busying sculpting mashed potatoes for a couple hours.)

Sometimes, I think it would be fun to recreate the experience for you all, but I don’t know if it would be a house of horrors or an art show titled, “Simulacrum of the Foot Traveler.” Maybe a combination of both.

Whatever it is, if it happened, we would serve fried chicken.

friend chicken.jpeg

Why friend chicken, you ask?

Because that’s what I keep finding while exploring Vegas.

Seriously, there should be a YouTube channel called, “Fried Vegas,” featuring people walking around eating fried chicken. There has to be an entire subculture based on the amount of friend chicken I’ve wrestled away from Joey while running.

Sometimes, it’s just a random bone, sometimes it’s remnants of a meal. Once we even came across a plastic bag with a plate inside, silverware arranged to signal the finish of the meal, and cleaned chicken bones neatly placed on the plate.

I’ve found this stuff in downtown Vegas and on the edge of Summerlin, so we’re not talking about a certain neighborhood.

I have no idea how this subculture started, I just know that grabbing a three piece for a walk and then littering the bones is the thread that ties them together. Maybe there are different groups based on whether or not one enjoys Blue Ribbon, Church’s, Popeye’s, or KFC.

Or maybe it just one person who walks around eating chicken as much as I run.

Of all the places I’ve lived, one would think Vegas would provide the most interesting “What I Found Whilst Out Running” stories, but here I am, obsessing over how I don’t complete a run without finding leftovers from a fried chicken dinner on the way.

Bright lights city set my soul on fire, indeed.

This is my Las Vegas.

I’d like that extra crispy.