About an hour south of Bloomington, in the middle of empty fields and rolling hills, lies an establishment completely out of place in the flannel-wearing, tractor driving communities of southern Indiana. This would be the French Lick Resort and Casino.
The riverboat-shaped casino rose up from the fields and loomed over the tiny shops of the town. Buses of middle-aged and retired gamblers were lined up at the door, like their occupants would soon be lined up at the hotel’s grand buffet. The complex sprawled in a maze of escalators, carpeted hallways, lighted signs, and courteous doormen.
Sam and I were the only guests under the age of thirty, and the only ones to get carded on the way in. I only lost eight dollars on video poker, and Sam a bit more on slots. Neither one of us was brave enough to sit down at a table with real people.
So, if you’re ever randomly in southern Indiana and looking for some time to kill and some money to spend, stop by Larry Bird’s hometown for a good time at the casino. And if you’re up for something a little athletic too, there’s a hill nearby in Paoli that they claim is decent enough for skiing.
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