Life's Little Journies

This past Saturday, my family and I traveled to Summit County to attend my father's memorial. And just to prove there is always humor in any journey we undertake . . .

My son is no longer afraid of gerbil tunnels. Observe . . .

When we arrived in Breckenridge, we decided to check into the hotel while it was still light. I had booked a room at the Wayside Inn - located approximately 5 minutes outside of Breckenridge. My first impressions were not all that favorable, as when I asked about my reservation, the front receptionist informed me that she had my reservation down for the third of February.


"Ah, yes," I said, "but obviously, I need the reservation today." (I felt it kinder not to let her know the reason I was in town - and that there was NO WAY IN HECK I gave her the wrong date. Considering I was wholly responsible for planning my father's memorial, I'm pretty sure I was fairly accurate on the date. I might have said the 28th instead of the 27th . . . but FEBRUARY THIRD? Not likely.) She handed me the key to Room 9A, then explained carefully that I would have to open the door to 9 - at which point there would be a corridor, and two doors labeled 9A and 9B. "I put you right next door," she said, pointing left.

Only there was no building to the left. Going left led us away from the Wayside Inn and into the High Tor condos.


Insert fifteen minutes of a very confused T. and I circling the Wayside Inn, until we located a Room 9 in the structure to the right of the Wayside Inn. I took the key and tried the lock. The door opened quite easily. . . but the room was filled with ski gear, half drunk bottles of water, and an eye-catching set of pink women's lingerie laid out on the bed . . . in short, Room 9 was quite definitely occupied. Sincerely grateful that the occupants were apparently elsewhere, I backed out, re-locked the door, and headed back to the main office.


The receptionist looked at me like I was an idiot. "9A," she said "is to the left." No one seemed at all disturbed that I was holding a key that very obviously opened the door to at least two rooms. I wandered back out to the car, and T. and I circled to the left again. "There's nothing here," T. said, "except the condos." I shrugged. "Let's see if there is a Room 9." "This can't be right," T. said. "Look at the bikes hanging on the porches . . . and the grills . . ." "Fine," I said, "You get to go back in and ask them this time." "Oh, no. I don't think so." T. pulled up next to Condo Room 9. "I'll get the car ready for a fast get-away in case someone tries to shoot you," he said.

And thus, we located the mysterious Room 9 - which did, in fact, have a 9A and 9B. Not quite sure what to expect at this point, I held my breath as I slipped the key in the lock. It unlocked the door - but then again, I was pretty sure I was holding a key that would unlock a multitude of doors . . . and I wasn't quite sure what awaited on the other side . . .

Much to my surprise, door 9A led to the NEVERENDING STAIRCASE. I began laughing like a loon. It was all so Alice-in-Wonderland-ish. Find the room, find the doors, into the corridor, up the stairs . . . I could hardly breathe because of the high altitude, but I laughed myself silly anyway. T., who was hauling the suitcases, was most unamused.






Then the stairway opened up into an absolutely adorable furnished condo. It was clean, warm, and had everything from a refrigerator and sink to books and movies. It felt like we had stepped into someone else's home. A. immediately fell in love and began racing up and down the stairs. T. and I were very pleasantly surprised. We found a second endless staircase that led upstaris to a loft. And T. immediately collapsed for a nap. A. bounced onto the second bed and claimed it as his.




A long story short - we ended up enjoying our time at The Wayside Inn immensely . . . and I would recommend it to anyone who is traveling in Summit County - though you may want to bring your own security measures. At least the adventure brought a little bit of laughter to an otherwise sobering day.