Reno lies, flat and arid, at the end of a ninety mile meander through high desert pine. Surrounded by scrub-bald mountains, and a scorched skyline, it isn’t as ugly as I’d expected. Not a destination of choice, by any means, but that’s the Amazon-Groupon-LivingSocial curse – the ridiculous deals taunt you to press the “Purchase Now!” button and all-too-quickly you’re printing out your voucher and wondering what the hell you’re going to do for two days and two nights in downtown Reno.
Commanding several city blocks, the Grand Sierra Resort rises 27 stories into the empty sky and is the quintessential circus of excess, the mother of all casinos. Choose your poison: on-site there is the customary sea of neon-festooned coin-spitters with wonderfully literary names like Buffalo Moon and Pyramid of Kings (although my favorite is the one I spotted in the back corner by the restrooms: Rich Little Piggies) and when you tire of feeding these machines, there is a bowling alley, miniature golf, go-karts, indoor/outdoor golf, a kiddie arcade, a driving range, and a multiplex cinema, not to mention the Ultimate Rush Thrill Park and, of course, “The Beach.” As if the area around a child-infested overly-chlorinated swimming pool can be knighted a beach simply by throwing a few shovelfuls of sand among the chaise lounges.
Our room is a den of ragged luxury; 15th floor pool view, cottage-cheese ceiling, sofa/loveseat corner, and a once-elegant mini-bar. We head straight down to the pool, collect our wristbands and claim our plastic loungers amid a frenzy of screaming water-winged youngsters. The adults lounge in the hot tub nursing multi-colored cocktails -- leaning back against the shimmering-blue metallic tiles and bobbing their chins to the Top-of-the-Pops 80’s tunes piped in from the 10-foot speakers ringing the beach. A fountain in the middle spits warm water into the bone dry, 100+ degree heat.