With gonzo journalism as his guide, TCW writer Scott Leadingham takes us on a road trip through the poverty and wealth of one American landscape.

We were driving south on Indiana's Highway 37, approaching Bedford when the caffeine really started to grab hold of me. I'm normally jittery, but the super-dose of energy drinks flowing through my system had made me feel like a speed freak in the Indy 500. I leaned over to my driver and screamed something like, "Can't you take this piece of crap any faster?" She glanced at me, looked down at the copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas sitting on my lap, and made a disapproving facial gesture.

"What is that book about, anyway?" she asked, obviously having been deprived of the great American classics because of a sheltered upbringing.

"It's about finding the American dream," I replied, cracking a bottle of NoDoz caffeine pills. She nodded, but her glazed look showed no signs of recognition of what I'd just said.

We were on our way to finding our own version of the American dream-- albeit slightly removed from the way Hunter S. Thompson's epic described. Thompson's journey to Las Vegas involved a trunk full of exotic and mind-altering drugs. Our trip to French Lick-- Indiana's burgeoning attempt at its own Las Vegas-- used only legal stimulants and depressants. The caffeine was the stimulant. I was the depressant, along with the three people in the car with me-- my driver, editor, and photographer.

I was the writer. A respected magazine had propositioned me to write a story on the French Lick Resort Casino, which had recently opened its renovated luxury hotels and brought legal riverboat gambling to Orange County.

This is why the caffeine was necessary. Two days prior, I had received a call that had awoken me from a vicious sleep cycle.

"We want you to do the French Lick feature story for Weekend magazine," said the voice on the other end. It was the voice of the editor-in-chief, but it might as well have been the voice of God considering the story he was describing.

"What do you want me to write about?" I asked, still not completely aware of my surroundings.

"Whatever you want. Go see what's happening down there and write about it."

"How much booze will you buy me?"

"We can't pay for your booze. It's our policy, especially after you trashed the Republican Party headquarters when you did the election night coverage."

I remembered that incident-- barely, though the stiff-necked jerks had had it coming. Finally I accepted, despite his reluctance to pay for the booze.

"I'll do it, but only if you get me a driver. And my editor is coming, too," I said. "Oh, and get me a hot shot photographer."

It was a done deal.

We arrived at the resort well ahead of schedule, a testament to my driver's cunning abilities. The resort and casino, controlled by billionaire Bill Cook of Cook Group, operates two formerly competing luxury hotels less than a mile apart.

Our first order of business was the West Baden Springs Hotel, whose obtrusive glass dome was once pitched as the largest freestanding dome in the world. Its recent restoration and reopening has attracted tourists internationally to see the magnificent piece of architecture that was once touted as "The Eighth Wonder of the World."

Inside the domed atrium were dozens of guests milling about like vermin in a dirty apartment. Old men and women who have long since given up on romance sat silent and bug-eyed in comfy lounge chairs, staring blankly into the distance. A lounge singer serenaded the zoned-out patrons with "Sentimental Journey." I wanted to give him a tip but feared that he would spend it on nothing worthwhile-- more music equipment-- when what he clearly needed was a bracing shot of absinthe to spice up his existence.

We also toured the gardens at the hotel, but the not-too-far gone winter and remnants of recent flooding left much to be desired. From this vantage point, one could look across the flooded field and see the sad reality of a derelict town framed by the luxurious hotels. Indeed, most residents of the town-- heck, the entire county-- would never be able to afford a night's stay at either hotel.

While the heyday of French Lick/West Baden at the turn of the 20th century made this area one of the most attractive destinations in the country, the last 80 or so years brought a spiraling decline to the region. By the 1990s, the once-grand hotels were in a state of utter disrepair. The forgotten towns, also once booming, still bear the scars of decades of economic depression and educational shortcomings. Although the hotels have been beautifully refurbished-- and along with them a fancy casino built-- the rest of the county seems destined to live in the grandiose shadows of the hotels. The closest that most locals will ever come to experiencing the hotels is by serving drinks in a cocktail dress serving drinks or washing linens in a maid's uniform.

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