This time, I dropped the kids off at the Breckenridge Rec Center for a mini camp where they did crafts and went on a trip to a local hill to go sledding. They had a blast! I was very impressed with the staff and the facilities. When I dropped them off in the morning, they were headed to the gym, where they had big inflatables set up.
The Rec Center seems to be a popular place for local residents. They have a pool, an ice rink, and fitness classes, etc. I would love to have something like this in Baltimore neighborhoods. It’s like the Y on steroids (steroids being money, most likely).
After a full day of ski lessons, I was really sore and dying for that massage that my trainer has been recommending for awhile. So I made an appointment online the night before for a deep tissue massage at Breckenridge Mountain Massage with Tracie Edstrom, LMT. They are right on Main Street, so I made a day of it, exploring the town, checking out the shops, and grabbing a relaxing bite to eat on my own. Tracie was so sweet, she even offered to lend me her sleds if we wanted to take the kids sledding.
I grabbed a hot chocolate and red velvet cupcake at Clint’s and headed to my massage, followed by lunch at The Crown. The chicken salad on a bed of sprouts and spinach and AHHHHvocado was exactly what I needed to ease my guilt from the holidays and that cupcake.
The town was so quaint and friendly, with buildings reminiscent of the Old West. I spent more time than I had planned, got some colorful fleecy leggings at Fun Vs. Awesome, bought some snowflake earrings at a cute jewelry store, and visited Space Cowboy where I was tempted by a Pink Floyd puzzle.
Which brings me to a question that has been nagging at me since visiting one of the shops and witnessing a woman with a couple of friends (or family, who knows)and a store associate modeling a pair of camouflage overalls in the middle of the store, asking for their opinion and saying “you know how I love my overalls!” For further context, this boutique was more on the chic side than country hoe-down. Anyway, she looked ridiculous, in my opinion. Is this a hot style? What would you do in this situation? Is there some sort of code among women that I am violating if I don’t speak up nicely? Do we have a duty to warn in this situation? Wouldn’t you want an honest opinion before you go and spend a pretty penny on something god-awful that you should not be caught dead in wearing (again, my opinion)? And yes, I do realize I sound like Carrie Bradshaw here, and I generally don’t care about what people wear. If she’s happy, what the hell, right? But still…it nags at me. Wouldn’t you want to know?
Moving on…Parking was no big deal. At that time of day at least, there were plenty of pay parking spots available. They are all set up with an online parking system. Log-in, give your license plate number and put how long you plan on staying. Up to a certain point, you can easily extend the time. It was only a few bucks for several hours. I do wonder how they enforce these spots. At any rate, I didn’t bother looking at the time and made it back with 30 seconds to spare. Score! For the evening, I knew not to bother with parking on the street. We parked a couple short blocks up and had no problem.
The difference between the daytime on Main Street and nighttime is like, well…night and day. But both beautiful in their own way.
In the evening, we picked up the kids and headed back to Main Street for dinner. During the day, I had inquired at several restaurants about reservations. Very few of them took reservations and the ones who did were all booked up. There are not many dining options outside of Main Street and this is their busiest time of year. So learn from me, and either make a reservation, go to The Hangar, or just be ready to wait about an hour or so for a table and enjoy the lights and scenery.
An hour wait is probably not so bad without hungry children. You could walk around, check out the shops, and enjoy all the trees lit up. It really is quaint, if busy, this time of year.
We ended up at a random Mexican restaurant (Fiesta Jalisco) that was not anything special, but the wait was only about 20 minutes or so for our table of 5. Kids being kids, they ordered chicken nuggets, which may or may not have been exactly the same as McDonald’s chicken nuggets. I imagine the cook in the back saying, “You order chicken nuggets in a Mexican restaurant, this is what you get Gringo!”
Fortunate Femme 