Breckenridge and Vail to Fruita, Colorado.
The drive west on interstate 70 was beautiful; as I said, what other interstate passes through and is surrounded by such breathtaking scenery, running alongside the Colorado River and through mountains that change form and color from a granite grey to mesa like oxide reds? The only hitch was the 45 minute traffic hold up not too far west from Denver, due to construction, but with such beautiful scenery who cares, and besides, I wasn’t in a hurry.
I decided I was going to head south off of interstate 70 and visit both Frisco and Breckenridge, both Colorado ski towns that I only passed through when driving to Manitou Springs a few days ago. I’m glad I did. It was also a sobering reminder of the changing season and weather, with temps into the low and mid-60s, although still very nice (although I did wear a sweatshirt), as it was Oktoberfest in Breckenridge. Oh oh, fall is coming.
Breckenridge is lovely, and another one of those my kind of towns. Everything about it seemed nice, at least with respect to its look and feel. The first thing to notice coming into town are the ski lift gondolas hanging over the road, going high into the mountains, which are starting to show fall foliage.
I was lucky enough to get here on Oktoberfest weekend, with a great street fair that was pretty huge, stretching several blocks, with throngs of people enjoying the food and music and, in some cases, dressed for the festival.
Breckenridge has a lovely main street, lined with wonderful buildings housing stores and restaurants, although a little difficult to see today, with all the street vendors. Although a ski town, and no doubt an expensive town for that reason, it nevertheless seemed pretty down to earth and funky, in the best possible way. I really enjoyed being there and walking around, on the main street and residential streets as well. Great place.
Besides the festival and the packed main street, the parks and Blue River running through town are also lovely and well laid out, in this very inviting little town.
After leaving Breckenridge, I headed north along route 9, back to I-70, and stopped off briefly in Frisco, another ski town. Frisco is far smaller, and far less exciting, inviting, and interesting looking than Breckenridge. In fact, compared to Breckenridge, it’s sort of mundane. You wanna go skiing or for outdoor recreation without too much of a town or town life surrounding you, this could be the place to go. It was okay, pleasant enough, but nothing much of interest visible along the main street and downtown area. I came and went.
(or a blog) about.
Once back on interstate 70, I also made a stop in Vail, a well known and VERY upscale ski resort. And that is was I found. It was the exact opposite of Breckenridge, and definitely not my kind of town.
The town is nested into a gorgeous setting, of course, but seems to be nothing but very expensive and large luxurious homes, sprawled along all the winding and twisty residential streets, with no sidewalks, and no parking anywhere except in designated huge multi-story parking garages (which are free, so that’s a plus), which surround downtown. And that downtown area – Vail Village – reminds me entirely of Epcot at Disney World, a contrived “village” that is lovely, but seems entirely contrived, engineered and designed to be the center of life in this incredibly expensive looking resort.
If there is an actual down-to-earth downtown area in Vail, with normal shops and restaurants, and I suppose there must be, I found no evidence of it and could not find anything that resembled a normal town. I tell you, it’s no Breckenridge! I may have missed something, as I didn’t stay too long, but in driving around I could find no downtown area other than Vail Village, and no residential areas where it looked as though “normal” people live.
I’m sure there must be such an area, as obviously not everyone living here lives in those mansions, and the town is obviously serviced by ordinary working and middle class people. Even the lovelier parts of Vail Village, like the river and bridges over the river, seemed designed in this resort town.
Vail, too, was having Oktoberfest, but it was like Oktoberfest in Epcot, unlike the Oktoberfest in Breckenridge, which seemed like a great and down-to-earth street fair. What a contrast between these two skiing towns.
So, I didn’t stay too long in Vail, and got on my way, heading west to Fruita, Colorado, where I’ll spend the night. But, what an interesting contrast between these three skiing towns within miles of one another, all surrounded by and nested in incredible and breath-taking scenery.
My journey today took me about 300 miles all told, and today I passed the 10,000 mile on my journey since leaving Amherst just a few weeks ago. What’s ahead now is the part of the journey that focuses on the where-to-now question, with respect to my present and future life. I’ve been to all those places that were important or significant in some way in my life with Bev, and released all those ashes, and now I’ll be heading to those places that weren’t part of Bev’s life and legacy. I’m still searching the question, what the hell am I going to do now, but not sure I’ll find any answers other than just go on with life and figure it out as it unfolds.
I arrived at Fruita (pronounced just like it reads, Fruit-a), late in the afternoon, settled into the hotel, and then took off for a hike.
I intended to take a hike, or at the very least, a long walk, but never did. Instead, along my drive on route 340, east of the the city, nearing Grand Junction (which is adjacent to Fruita), looking for a hiking trail, I instead drove into the Colorado National Monument and drove Rim Rock Road, which rises to about 7,000 feet, and enjoyed fantastic views of Monument Canyon below. I mean, breath-taking (like everything in this part of the world, it seems).
By now, it was starting to darken. I grabbed some dinner and had a really great bowl of green chile and one of the very best patty melts I’ve ever had, right here in Fruita (I even gave them a 5-star Yelp review), and then sat down to think about tomorrow and beyond (but too far beyond; that’s a little too cosmic, I just mean the next few days).
Tomorrow I head to Ogden, Utah, just north of Salt Lake City, to visit with another good friend of many years, Dave Fowers, and hopefully another good friend, Michelle Gourley, whom I’ve waited until the last minute to contact. Once I leave that neck of the woods, I’ll be visiting Logan, where I lived back in 1976, and from there up into Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming.