House Rules

Casinos and I don't get along.

I don't gamble.

But I do find casinos fascinating if only for the habitat, the wild gaming species that roam the halls, mostly bleary eyed from sitting too long, popping coins into brightly lit, flashing arcade machines, loud ringing noises chiming, binging, attempting to attract the ardour of new suitors. Then there is the species of gambler locked into a life-and-death struggle at a card table or craps, oxygen bottles strapped to little carts by their sides; they long to beat the house, tell grand tales of their successes. While they are clearly in their element, enjoying their time in this artificial daylight, I feel the desperation too. There's always the next game, the next push of the button. I keep hearing stories of how someone spent an inordinate amount of time pumping coins into a slot machine, only to leave in frustration, and watch in anguish as a new gambler sits at the same machine and on the very next turn wins big. If only they had stuck with it one more time, one more roll, held instead of folded. The story is always the same. It's the house rules and the house always win in the end.

Cleveland opened Horseshoe Casino in 2012 and by all accounts it has been a huge success, not only for the casino but the surrounding area, as well. It's brought in new life and unlike the tired old ones in Vegas, it is clean, doesn't smell of musty years of smoking, the perfumey scents pumped through the air ducts to cover the smoky stench. It is bright, clean and loud, a gambler's paradise.

I walked through the area, Cleveland Warehouse District, adjacent to the Flats, the Warehouse District being the happening area, the threat of the Flats nearby, just blocks away, pulling the young and hip towards the Cuyahoga River. That night, Memorial Day, the Warehouse District bustled, wedding parties, bridal showers, groups of young men and women moving from place to place. I holed up in the D'Vine Wine Bar, cherished a Zinfandel with so many spices at the finish, I thought it was hot - too much alcohol - but came to savor it. I moved to a Paso Robles' Cabernet, that I didn't really enjoy, too many tannins, very dry. It would've been a decent steak wine but I wasn't eating.

Cleveland has treated me well and I've learned to appreciate the city. I'm sorry to leave but Madison, Wisconsin and Fargo, North Dakota - and ultimately home and my lady - are calling. It's time to pack the motorcycle, shift into gear, hit the pavement again.