Out on Reprieve

Brian, Chutney, Kristin & me at the Something-or-other
rest area overlooking the Whatchamacallit River.

For the first time since May, I'm away from home by myself overnight (actually 3 nights) and... I'm not in a hospital!

I'm in Telluride, Colo., along with literary agent Kristin Nelson, her husband and their little dog too. Kristin and I spoke at an author-agent conference, sponsored by the Telluride public library, on Friday evening and Saturday. The rest of the time we've been hanging out, dining out (sumptuously!) and gadding about.

Seems that right now is a quiet time in Telluride; all hell breaks loose on December 26th. I'm one of only 5 guests at my hotel, and we've easily gotten tables at popular restaurants during peak dinner time without reservations. A dog could have taken a nap in the middle of the main street at noon today, with little fear of being disturbed. (There was a dog asleep on the sidewalk in front of one of the bars; he was there yesterday too.)

View of lunchtime non-traffic from the Floradora Saloon.

There were hardly any lines at the lifts later this afternoon either; not that I was doing any skiing, given my recent injuries. We three took the free gondola up the mountain and had a drink at a (the only?) relatively inexpensive pub, not coincidentally frequented by a much younger crowd than elsewhere.

View from my hotel room balcony.

Telluride is a quaint little town with spectacular scenery and clean evergreen-scented air, but the racket of the nearby snow-making machines sounds as though Paul Bunyan is running his espresso maker. And I have never been so scared walking city streets anywhere as I have been here, at least until the newly fallen snow provided some traction today.

One would think that a pontzy ski resort town, with two (count 'em!) Sotheby real estate offices, and restaurants that fly in fresh seafood from both coasts every day, would have ice-free sidewalks and street lights. But NOOO!!! I crept around like a little old lady, terrified that I'd fall down and rebreak my arm, or something else. My heart was in my mouth Friday night as the three of us minced down the steep, icy and very dark hill to our hotels after a fantabulous dinner at the Excelsior restaurant.

Now I know why I haven't seen any old people in Telluride: They're all home with broken hips.

Street corner with sloped curb for handicapped accessibility (ha!).