Horbon, Nevada was a town roughly an hour’s drive north of Las Vegas. Its claim to fame was not any particular aspect the town itself possessed, but rather its quasi-adjacent location to other, more tourist-friendly towns. Horbon capitalized on that convenience in a rather ingenious method—they billed themselves as an economic way-station between popular locales. With an airport that hosted cheaper flights than either LA or Vegas, along with budget-friendly hotels and accommodations, Horbon was the place people went if they wanted to pop by one of the well-known cities, but didn’t feel like spending enough money to stay there. This, quite understandably, made Horbon a favorite of many companies looking to do off-site meetings and conventions without having to reallocate budgets. It was this desirability as a host city that had led Horbon to build the massive convention center that Bubba, Krystal, and I were hauling a small cart through. Piled atop the cart, secured by a few thin strands of rope (and a whole lot of hope) were the boxes we’d hauled over from Winslow.
