Durango Days
February 8-9, 2010

I was excited to route my trip through Durango.  My brother, Mark, lived there years ago and worked at the ski resort bar The Lodge at Purgatory.  Quick story which is one of my favorites, and I may have a few details askew.  Mark left me in charge of his dog, Gulliver, back in Rochester when he went out to Colorado for a friend's wedding.  He decided to stay.  I was very happy, because Gulliver was a beautiful, russet-colored mix-breed with features of an Irish setter, a little Golden Retriever and the athleticism of Jim Thorpe.  It was fun taking Gulliver over to the Eastridge ballfields and honing his Frisbee-catching skills.  The fun ended, and the dog was flown to Colorado.  He adjusted well to life at the ski resort.  Mark took him into work, and Gulliver was welcomed.  As Mark worked the lunch crowd, Gulliver would take off and do his own thing, and then return at the end of the day.  What was Gulliver's thing?  He used to take the tram up the mountain to the top, where there was another cafe for the hungry skiers.  They would order their burgers and sandwiches, get their beverages and chips or whatever and come back to an empty tray.  Gulliver had scarfed their burgers from the tables, to the amusement of some, and maybe not so much for others.  Gulliver became the Robin Hood of Purgatory Mountain, although he could only give back in garden fertilizer.

I like that story better than many of the great train robbery tales, and I'm sure Durango has a few of those.  It's a railroad town, and there is a daily run between Durango and Silverton. 



Durango is a quirky little town with something for everybody.  Main Street is a pretty happening retail center, with several upscale hotels surrounded by jewelry shops, clothing stores, t-shirt shops, many sporting goods, bike, ski and snowboard shops. There are bones thrown to old hippies in the form of smoke shops, advertising pipes, hookahs and other smoking apparatus.  Sprinkled between the banks were antique shops, and at the very end of the street, a classic old movie theater next to the train station.  The people were friendly and the old town community seemed devoid of any sense of hustle and bustle.

 
The Bank of the San Juans — Morrie and Sheldon San Juan.  You definitely know it's a mountain town when the UPS truck has tire chains.  On my way out of Durango, all trucks were required to have chains on to go through the mountain passes.


We felt like we were back in NY again!


On Day 2, Frog Angel and I set out for lunch at Purgatory. I heard they had a "bobsled," but a call to the resort revealed it is an Alpine slide that only operates during the summer months.  One of my dreams is to fly down a bobsled run.  Little did I know that thrill might be reserved for the ride to my new home the next day.

It was quite a bit further than my new friend, Sharon from the Adobe Inn front desk, had indicated.  But 550 cut through tall mountain peaks on both sides of the road, and the drive made me a bit giddy for no other reason than the snow-covered mountains.  I turned into the wide driveway for the Durango Mountain Resort and plodded up the switchback roads past parking lots A, B, C and D, and all were reserved for Lodge guests.  I found a series of cottage rentals, and one that did not have a "Parking by Permit Only" sign.  I parked, and it was a short walk to The Lodge.


Frog Angel arrives at Purgatory.




We entered the big main door, and the front desk clerk directed us to the hallway at the left, go up the stairs and take the hallway to the end where you'll see the doors leading outside, and then to your left, you'll see Purgy's, the lodge's bar.  Well, we followed the hall to the left and walked the entire length and found no stairs.  We doubled back, and no stairs.  At the very end, there was an elevator, and so we took that up one level.  We were emptied into a hall that promised a Purgy's Restaurant.  Instead, all we found was a moderately lit hotel hallway.  We walked the hall, finding no restaurant, no signage other than a poster claiming that a Purgy's Restaurant existed, and nothing other than a hallway with many doors, all locked.  We walked back, and forth, and found nothing.

It dawned on me that this is indeed what Purgatory must be like.  A hotel hallway with many doors, but none that would open.  Frog Angel gave me courage that we would escape an eternity of life without a room key. Ten minutes felt like an eternity.  Door after door after locked door.  A few looked like service closets or hallways, all locked.  No stairs.  But wait!  I did find the fire exit and the concrete stairs leading up or down.  I didn't have permission to use that door, but the worst that could happen was I would set off an alarm and get kicked out of Purgatory.  I went down, and came out on the original floor.  This time, I saw a carpeted staircase, and on the 1-1/2 floor, saw the exit that led to Purgy's. Whew!


FA and I were surprised that the entry to Purgatory was rather understated.  At the lodge, the decor was that of stacked logs.  Is it possible those logs would be used to stoke the fires of.... naw!  Really?!!


A happy Frog Angel, after finding Purgy's Restaurant.
The ski lift takes 'em up...
... and snowboards or skis bring 'em down.  Fast!



People in ski boots walk funny.  FA and I had a personal pizza, and I sat at a table with a view of the entire dining room so FA could people watch while I wrote a press release for a client.  I came to the conclusion I'm not really a ski resort kind of person.  This did not seem like the same place that would be tolerant of a red-haired dog swiping sandwiches.   Or anyone looking for free parking.


This was the sign a worker was putting out next to my car as I left.  Obviously, Purgatory is filled with parking Nazis.


Looking for a honey.  The Mountain Honeys sounded like the ticket. 
I bought some honey wine (mead) too. 


FA perches on top of a giant, non-scary honey bear.  FA insisted she was Rosie O'Donnell.