We were going to go out to Hoover Dam. Neither one of us had ever seen it. It was supposed to be a mind-blowing visual, and I heard the story behind it was powerful. We couldn't've picked a better day for it. The sun was bright, the temperature was in the sixties, and best of all, no wind. Martine brought along a few sandwiches, as well as a bottle of her favorite wine, although we weren't sure if we could do a picnic-kind of thing around the dam. I'm not really a wine type of guy, but for an occasion like this one, I was ready to make an exception. I truly wanted to enjoy the day with her, so I decided not to tell her about the ransacking of Sandra Blake's house, so as not to form any clouds over our little outing. As we drove over to US 95, the freeway to Boulder City and eventually to the dam, we were in high spirits, laughing and joking the whole way. Once we got past Henderson, US 95 petered out into a regular thoroughfare for the final leg into Boulder City, which itself was no great shakes.
