Last Chance Roadhouse

A single dirt road winds between thousands of sculptures and signs dragged to the desert since before the Fall: a ramshackle memorial for old-world Vegas glitz. At the end of the road sits the Last Chance Roadhouse, scrapped together from old-world Vegas signs. One wall is a giant bowling pin, another a pair of massive casino signs, another assembled from dozens of large church signs. Inside, a service bar runs the entire length of the building with about three dozen piecemeal seats. A center stage of recovered chrome and iron features crooning women singing classic blues and country.
  Co-owned by Duke Holiday and Wayne Osmond, the Roadhouse is one of the few locations in all of Vegasia without gambling tables. The law of neutrality has never been broken; rival racer gangs sit side by side without violence, watched over by half a dozen armed guards with massive belt-fed guns. Outside, a well-kept double oval test track runs between the signs and sculptures. Iron-horse riders, Dieseljocks, street racers, and gearheads from as far as Salt Lake Commune come to test their machines. Tomorrow they might kill each other on the open road, but inside the Roadhouse, everyone is equal.