Fun facts and things you never knew you could do in Nevada's Sin City.
Forget the tawdry thrills of the casinos — the real excitement is just outside Las Vegas, writes Nicholas Jones.
Motorbikes are parked out front of Nevada's Pioneer Saloon and bullet holes mark the walls inside.
Wooden barrels are stacked around the courtyard, each with its own padlock and inscription giving the name of the brew inside: Titty! Titty! Bang! Bang!, Zero One Odyssey (Desert Draft Whiskey), Whiskey Me Away.
Goodspring locals buy a barrel to keep onsite then simply unlock the padlock when they arrive, helping themselves accordingly.
The Pioneer — founded by George Fayle in 1913 — is also a tourist draw. Las Vegas is about a half-hour drive away, past billboards (Jesus Saves, injuredinahotel.com) and through desert shimmering below a red mountain range.
The whiskey and fire pits appeal, but we're here for something more active — a dune buggy tour through the surrounding Mojave.
It's two to each vehicle, and we're warned against overtaking by one of our guides, who wears overalls and resembles Jeff Bridges.
"We've lost two arms out there," he explains.
I'd previously done a quad bike tour of the Gold Coast hinterland and the pace had been set deliberately slow, further held up by group members who lacked confidence.
With the no overtaking rule and past loss of limbs I expect the same approach. But this is the land of the free, and with the front guide setting a quick pace there's plenty of room to determine our own.
On the strait sections the Arctic Cat buggy seems to glide, and the suspension handles the many dips, rises and drops. An untested confidence builds after each obstacle is negotiated, and the throttle is revved a little more.
Each rider has goggles and a bandanna covering their mouth and nose. Dust from the buggies in front billows and a red coating soon covers skin and clothes. There's a Mad Max feel as flags flutter behind each vehicle and they rip through the pink and peach desert landscape.
I drive first and don't realise the effect this has on my passenger Justin until we stop so he can have a go. Life flashed before his eyes, apparently. Backseat driver, I conclude.
That's until he starts driving. With no control over the buggy and its velocity so close to the ground, the ruts, bumps and dips approach at an alarming speed. At one point dust from the buggy in front lingers and blocks our view. It clears to reveal a big drop right before us. It's too late to brake or take any other evasive action. We hurtle over, both laugh-screaming, and, amazingly, emerge with no apparent damage.
Further on we slide around a corner and stick left to avoid an abandoned car. Its smashed windows and chasis flash past like a hallucination. There are times where it's necessary to slow. As well as a chance to regain composure, this also allows an appreciation of the surrounds — so different to the Neon madness of Vegas' strip.
After an hour and a half we roll back into town (the five or six dusty properties that sit next to the Saloon). Everyone is beaming, even those who were nervous beforehand.
On the tour in desert surrounding the Pioneer Saloon, Nevada. Photo / Nicholas Jones
Inside the Pioneer's wood-panelled bar a cowboy-hat wearing barman pours us local IPA beers while a woman in the corner plays guitar and sings about her Mama.
Our group takes a courtyard table to share near-miss stories and order Ghost burgers (like all good saloons, this one is apparently haunted — crew from the TV show Ghost Adventures stayed overnight for an episode).
The excited chatter is still going half an hour later — an adrenaline rush more prolonged than bungy jumping or skydiving is still pumping through our veins, and has made speed freaks of us all. And it didn't cost an arm.
Another off-Strip recommendation is an air tour of the Grand Canyon.
It's about four hours from hotel pick-up to drop-off, 70 minutes of which is spent above Grand Canyon West. The rest is a shuttle ride to and from hotels in Vegas through the desert to the take-off point in Boulder City, the settlement originally built for workers building on the Hoover Dam. The airstrip is lined with dozens of planes and helicopters.
Our DHC 6-300 has 19 passenger seats, of which two-thirds are by windows. The windows are much larger than on a commercial airliner, which gives a clear view to everyone on the plane, even those in the middle row.
Our captain looks like he's just hit puberty, but the fact Grand Canyon Scenic Airlines flies 5000 to 6000 tourists each year provides some reassurance.
The flight is spectacular from the start, as the plane covers desert tussock dotted with electricity pylons and then turns to give a close-up view of the Hoover Dam, with Lake Mead stretching out behind it. The startling blue looks like a brush stroke, such is the contrast with the parched and wrinkled mountains around it. From the air it looks completely lifeless, as though the huge mass of water had only just arrived — a spill to be mopped up. Then, we are at the Grand Canyon, flying almost level with the rim that we all know from postcards. Despite all prior knowledge, the scale still shocks — the late afternoon sun lighting the tops gold, then shade dropping on and on to the river bed.
We are flying slowly enough to feel as though we are hovering, and at some points as if we are almost in the canyon itself.
It unravels before us, deep splits on each side, the forks below us giving the tops the look of islands. Small dots below are helicopters, which have landed to let their passengers out. Each side of the plane swaps views as we turn for Boulder City, the canyon changing with the fading light, rock reddening and shade deepening.
It's heart-swelling stuff. But once we land and as our shuttle rolls back to Vegas, the group is largely silent, such is the difficulty in comparing notes on, or adequately describing, what we've seen.
That feeling only increases back on the Strip, among its neon river of limos, stag-dos and margarita slushies.
The neon lights of Las Vegas. Photo / Nicholas Jones
Checklist
GETTING THERE Air New Zealand flies from Auckland to Los Angeles and San Francisco, with onward connections to Las Vegas on partner airlines. One way Economy Class fares start from $1039.
