Default

Telluride, Colorado--a mining town where the wealthy are now putting gold back into the ground. Go figure.

We left the Grand Canyon on a snowy Sunday afternoon, headed east through Navajo country toward the Four Corners--the point where Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, and Utah meet. After taking a short detour north into Monument Valley--driving through everything from hail to bright sunshine--we reached the Four Corners monument, almost, at about 5:15. I say almost, because the hundred yard road to the monument was closed and locked tight at 5:00. So you have to imagine a picture of the four of us, each standing in a different state. I would have been in Arizona.

We spent that night in the nice little town of Cortez, Colorado where Molly and I went to a movie (Agent Cody Banks, a kind of Disney James Bond where the kids save the world from the Bad Guys as well as their Incompetent Parents) and Mary found a really cool potter.

The next morning, we had one of those unexpected treats that has made this trip so much fun; a stop at Mesa Verde National Park, another gem.

All my life, I've seen pictures of Native American cliff dwellings and been mildly interested; Mary, on the other hand, has always been fascinated with them and was the one to insist that we stop at Mesa Verde. On the way north in Arizona, we had visited a spectacular site called Montezuma's Castle, but it was high on the cliff face and could only be seen at a distance. But in Mesa Verde, you could walk right into the cliff houses themselves (albeit under the watchful eye of the ranger [above]), which was an amazing experience. Built over a thousand years ago, and then abandoned (for reasons nobody knows) before the Europeans came, these architectural marvels are both fascinating and haunting.

Mom and Ben in front of Tree House; the buildings use every inch of the natural cliff overhang and are almost completely protected from the weather--which probably explains why they're still in such amazingly good shape.

Guess who took this picture? Does the fact that his little sister barely made it into the frame give you a hint? The patch on my jacket is for the State of Maine Department of Marine Resources; whenever people ask, I tell them I just retired from state government in Maine. Can I pass for a fisheries biologist, George?

My two favorite girls and the Tree House; Molly is now a Junior Ranger at the Grand Canyon and Mesa Verde.

None of us had ever skied in the west, so we decided that this trip was the perfect time to try; the only question was where. Through a combination of geography, ski area policy, and contacts through friends, we ended up in Telluride, Colorado. The geography involved our already being in the Grand Canyon which is a lot closer to Telluride (on the west side of the Rockies) than Vail or Aspen. Ski area policy kept us away from Alta in Utah or Taos in New Mexico, since neither allows snow boarders, of which Ben is most definitely one.

(I find this "skiers only"
policy pretty bizarre since the only growth in the industry in the last ten years has been in boarders; although I'm a skier, this seems like rank snobbism, and a lousy business decision to boot).

Finally, we have a friend in Maine who has a sister in Telluride whose brother-in-law books ski accommodations, so that settled it; Telluride it was. And what a beautiful, but somewhat strange, place. It's the only town I've ever been in where there are more real estate offices than restaurants (or any other business, for that matter).

The skiing was great--huge mountain, no lift lines, good snow, and a tremendous variety of trails. The town itself is interesting. as well, in that it has a real history apart from skiing. In the late nineteenth century, it was a wide open mining town which had boomed along with other similar spots all over the west (like Bisbee, Arizona, where we had just been). Then the mines closed and the town was on the way to ghost status (there're plenty of them in the west as well) when, in 1972, the ski area was originally developed.

That's when we all should have bought real estate--because now it's a crazy as the Outer Banks, Nantucket, or the coast of Maine. Here's what I mean--

This, I kid you not, is one house. I think it has eight levels (I counted several times going up on the lift) and has to be at least 8,000 square feet. Judging from the real estate listings we saw, the price would probably be somewhere around $8 million. For a part-time home.

Ben was convinced it was a hotel.

Or how about this one? There were dozens like these all over the mountain; all I could think of were the huge "cottages" the Robber Barons built in Newport and Bar Harbor at the turn of the last century. I consider myself a thorough-going capitalist, but still found this a bit much.

At one point, we saw an "Open House" sign at the edge of a trail and, since both of us are real estate voyeurs, we went in to look. It was about five years old and a fairly good size house but nothing spectacular; nothing spectacular, that is, except the price--$3.9 million. The punch line is that while we were there, a local contractor came by to look it over as a candidate for renovation. He said he thought it had a lot of "potential". In other words, a $3.9 million fixer-upper. Wow.

As I said, the skiing was good, but I think the supposed vast difference in snow quality between the west and the east is somewhat overrated. I'm sure this perception dates back to the fifties and sixties (about the time I was learning to ski in New Hampshire) when conditions in the east really were pretty bad at least half the time. Now, however, with the tremendous improvement in snow-making and grooming, places like Sugarloaf (especially with guys like Crusher directing the groomers) can more than hold their own. We had fun, but we're still unabashed Sugarloafers.

Upon leaving Telluride, we took a five hour loop through the Rockies, first west, then north, and finally back south to the town of Durango near the New Mexico border; this shot was taken through the car window on the way. Molly said the mountains looked painted on, and she was right.

About half way through this loop, we came upon the town of Ouray, surrounded on all sides by incredible peaks and containing at it's heart this--

A natural hot springs--open to the public year-round. The pool had three sections, each a different temperature, 104, 98, and 73 degrees. On the Saturday afternoon we happened by, it sure was the town center; the grown-ups hung out and visited in what amounted to a giant hot tub, while the kids played in the cooler end of the pool.

It didn't take Mom and Molly long to get in (this is the 98 degree section) while Ben and I just soaked up the sun. Molly had to take a swimming test to be allowed to swim in the deep end; she passed with flying colors, thanks to Jay, Diane, and the crew at the Bath Y.

And then, on to Durango for some Serious Texas Bar B Q (that was the name of the restaurant--they even had a letter of endorsement from Darrell Royall--this week's quiz, Who is Darell Royall?). We slept at a Best Western (remember, the RV is still in Arizona--we'll pick it up next week) then spent a day exploring and shopping (we all got cowboy belts), before driving south back into New Mexico,

Next stop--Taos, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque--art, cliff dwellings, and the Lady Lobos. See you there!