This post is dedicated to my blogger buddy Lori of According to Gus, who is travelling the continental U.S. for the next six months, accompanied by her husband, sister, and of course, Gus. They are currently in Colorado.
What idiots come into a resort town at 6:00 on a July 4 long weekend without reservations?
Being Canadians, we didn't even realize what day it was. But as we passed motel after motel proudly flashing their "No Vacancy" signs at us, we managed to figure it out. The next town was a good couple hundred miles away, and there was about as much chance of finding a motel room there as here. Besides, it was getting too late for highway driving. For the first time in years of travel, we were stuck in the car with nowhere to go.
We had left Denver sometime that afternoon, driving through the Loveland Pass into Glenwood Springs. My parents tell me the scenery was breathtaking, but I don't remember. I was reading a book, as always. Apparently, while driving through the Redwood Forest in California, my parents tried to get me to appreciate the surrounding beauty; my only reply was, "If you've seen one tree, you've seen them all."
We were in the middle of our 1973 summer vacation: my parents, my brother, who was 16, my sister, 13, and me, 7 and nine tenths. We always travelled by the seat of our pants, never making reservations because we wanted to do things at our own speed and not be tied down to commitments. This time we misjudged the situation.
Glenwood Springs is a pretty little town, set in the mountains of Colorado, Ignoring the "No Vacancy" signs, we went in to motel after motel, trying to find a cancelled reservation or even an empty couch. Finally, we stopped at the last motel in town; it too was full, but my dad pleaded with the manager. "Do you at least know of somewhere else we might try?"
He though a minute. "Well, there's the Brettelberg Lodge," he said. "It's a ski resort in the mountains. I could call and see if the manager is there. They might be able to take you."
The manager of the Brettelberg Lodge was there, and he said it was no problem for us to come up. My dad asked how far it was, and the motel man said, "Oh, not very. About eighteen miles." He gave directions, and we figured we could make it in twenty minutes.
With directions in hand, we started off for the Lodge. It was almost seven, and already dusk as the sun went behind the mountains. The eighteen miles turned out to be eighteen miles straight up; the directions took us on a long, winding mountain road, and we went about thirty miles an hour all the way. Dad kept saying, "If I'd known the road was like this, I wouldn't have come," and Ma kept answering, "What choice did we have?" For once the back seat was quiet. We sensed our parents' combined nervousness, and no one wanted to get yelled at.
It was pitch dark when we arrived. The manager was waiting for us. He welcomed us and took us up to our room. "If you need anything, just let us know," he said, and went back to his suite.
We opened the door and snapped on the light. It was huge room, with a couch, two chests of drawers, and a desk. There was something missing.
"Where are the beds?"
Where indeed. My brother, always the joker, said , "You have to pay extra for beds." The mystery was solved when we noticed the walls had handles, one set about three feet above another. Pull the handles, out come the beds. Removing the cushions from couch revealed a hide-a-bed as well. The place excelled in hiding its beds.
We had planned on going back into town for dinner, but the unlit mountain road ended that idea. This wasn't really a problem, as my mother always had about 37 bags of food, so we had peanut butter sandwiches with canned peaches for dessert. There was no T.V., so we listened to the radio and read. Once we got bored of that, all we could do was go to bed.
Bed was a problem. I wanted the top bunk. My parents didn't like the top bunk to begin with, and they were sure I'd fall out and break a leg. But I was determined. Of course I got my way, as everyone was too tired to fight with me. Afterwards, when the lights were out and everyone slept, I lay awake in my hard-won territory, afraid to move for fear I'd fall off the edge.
The sun woke us early in the morning. The view was stunning. The lodge was ringed with mountains and overlooked a green valley. A little way from the Lodge was a smaller building that looked like it might be a restaurant. We packed up our bags, and went down to investigate.
While our parents loaded the car, my sister and brother went to check out the restaurant. As for me, I forgot about food. I forgot about waking up in the middle of the night, terrified until I realized that I was still in the bed. There, in the mountains of Colorado, was the most beautiful sight I'd seen all trip, beautiful enough to make me forget The Bobbsey Twins and all their adventures.
He bounded up, tail wagging, and I threw my arms around him. He was all white, and licked my face. The manager came out, and told us the dog was a year old, just a puppy. What would a ski resort be without its own St. Bernard?
"Ma, can I take him home?" I begged.
"No, but you can stay here with him."
Sister and brother reappeared. "Well, it's a restaurant, but we can't eat there."
"It's not open?"
"It's still under construction."
We laughed. The manager said, "Yes, we hope to have it finished by the time we open for the season."
It dawned on us. The lack of other guests. The silence. The time of year. My dad asked in wonderment, "You mean you opened up just for us?"
"Well, we're only open for business from November to April. Ski season."
"We didn't realize. You really saved our lives last night."
The manager laughed. "What's the big deal? I was here anyway."
"Thanks for letting us come up."
"You're welcome."
The manager and Dad shook hands. My sister pried me off the dog. We set out on the road again. And when we stopped in town for breakfast, we called ahead to make reservations.
What idiots come into a resort town at 6:00 on a July 4 long weekend without reservations?
Being Canadians, we didn't even realize what day it was. But as we passed motel after motel proudly flashing their "No Vacancy" signs at us, we managed to figure it out. The next town was a good couple hundred miles away, and there was about as much chance of finding a motel room there as here. Besides, it was getting too late for highway driving. For the first time in years of travel, we were stuck in the car with nowhere to go.
We had left Denver sometime that afternoon, driving through the Loveland Pass into Glenwood Springs. My parents tell me the scenery was breathtaking, but I don't remember. I was reading a book, as always. Apparently, while driving through the Redwood Forest in California, my parents tried to get me to appreciate the surrounding beauty; my only reply was, "If you've seen one tree, you've seen them all."
We were in the middle of our 1973 summer vacation: my parents, my brother, who was 16, my sister, 13, and me, 7 and nine tenths. We always travelled by the seat of our pants, never making reservations because we wanted to do things at our own speed and not be tied down to commitments. This time we misjudged the situation.
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| Picture courtesy of Wikipedia |
He though a minute. "Well, there's the Brettelberg Lodge," he said. "It's a ski resort in the mountains. I could call and see if the manager is there. They might be able to take you."
The manager of the Brettelberg Lodge was there, and he said it was no problem for us to come up. My dad asked how far it was, and the motel man said, "Oh, not very. About eighteen miles." He gave directions, and we figured we could make it in twenty minutes.
With directions in hand, we started off for the Lodge. It was almost seven, and already dusk as the sun went behind the mountains. The eighteen miles turned out to be eighteen miles straight up; the directions took us on a long, winding mountain road, and we went about thirty miles an hour all the way. Dad kept saying, "If I'd known the road was like this, I wouldn't have come," and Ma kept answering, "What choice did we have?" For once the back seat was quiet. We sensed our parents' combined nervousness, and no one wanted to get yelled at.
It was pitch dark when we arrived. The manager was waiting for us. He welcomed us and took us up to our room. "If you need anything, just let us know," he said, and went back to his suite.
We opened the door and snapped on the light. It was huge room, with a couch, two chests of drawers, and a desk. There was something missing.
"Where are the beds?"
Where indeed. My brother, always the joker, said , "You have to pay extra for beds." The mystery was solved when we noticed the walls had handles, one set about three feet above another. Pull the handles, out come the beds. Removing the cushions from couch revealed a hide-a-bed as well. The place excelled in hiding its beds.
We had planned on going back into town for dinner, but the unlit mountain road ended that idea. This wasn't really a problem, as my mother always had about 37 bags of food, so we had peanut butter sandwiches with canned peaches for dessert. There was no T.V., so we listened to the radio and read. Once we got bored of that, all we could do was go to bed.
Bed was a problem. I wanted the top bunk. My parents didn't like the top bunk to begin with, and they were sure I'd fall out and break a leg. But I was determined. Of course I got my way, as everyone was too tired to fight with me. Afterwards, when the lights were out and everyone slept, I lay awake in my hard-won territory, afraid to move for fear I'd fall off the edge.
 |
| Brettelberg Lodge |
While our parents loaded the car, my sister and brother went to check out the restaurant. As for me, I forgot about food. I forgot about waking up in the middle of the night, terrified until I realized that I was still in the bed. There, in the mountains of Colorado, was the most beautiful sight I'd seen all trip, beautiful enough to make me forget The Bobbsey Twins and all their adventures.
He bounded up, tail wagging, and I threw my arms around him. He was all white, and licked my face. The manager came out, and told us the dog was a year old, just a puppy. What would a ski resort be without its own St. Bernard?
"Ma, can I take him home?" I begged.
"No, but you can stay here with him."
Sister and brother reappeared. "Well, it's a restaurant, but we can't eat there."
"It's not open?"
"It's still under construction."
We laughed. The manager said, "Yes, we hope to have it finished by the time we open for the season."
It dawned on us. The lack of other guests. The silence. The time of year. My dad asked in wonderment, "You mean you opened up just for us?"
"Well, we're only open for business from November to April. Ski season."
"We didn't realize. You really saved our lives last night."
The manager laughed. "What's the big deal? I was here anyway."
"Thanks for letting us come up."
"You're welcome."
The manager and Dad shook hands. My sister pried me off the dog. We set out on the road again. And when we stopped in town for breakfast, we called ahead to make reservations.