Perhaps unsurprisingly, by the time I was on the plane out west, I was. Which helped. Why would anyone want to spend a trip talking to a stranger? I thought. When confronted with Las Vegas, the famously cool den of depravity that I had never before visited, I finally understood the business trippers and solo travelers looking for generous permanent residents.
After wading through a handful of people who wanted to go on an actual date fair enough , I locked in meetups with three guys who both seemed normal and promised to show me un-Googleable Vegas hotspots.
Notepad in my hand and my heart in my mouth, I headed to Sin City ready to see some deeply weird shit and maybe do a smidge of sinning myself. Cam, age unlisted, was the first and best candidate for this story. Clean-cut, responsive, and smiley, not only did he immediately and enthusiastically respond to my Tinder DM, he emailed me a five-part itinerary within hours.
I love a hustler! We narrowed our agenda down to two of his five suggested spots. Cam ended up being a year-old with distinction: He is one of the youngest commercially certified hot air balloon pilots in the world. He arrived at our date with his hair slicked down, wearing black chinos and a maroon button-up bearing the logo of the hot air balloon tour company he co-owned, the aptly named Vegas Balloon Rides.
As a hot air balloon pilot, Cam told me that he works unorthodox hours: To catch the sunrise over the Mojave Desert while in the air, he needs to wake up at around a. This means that he normally goes to bed at what must be a frankly boner-killing or 6 in the evening. Cam and I met in the front room of Mountain Springs Saloon a little past his bedtime: p. Cam told me Mountain Springs is where he brings his balloon passengers post-flight so, around 10 a.
