Perfect for two
Our anticipated hotel
We'd been looking forward to reaching Durango, Colorado ever since leaving Vegas. Vaunted as the "darling of the region" by our guidebook, the old mining town had promised much. From its status as a foodie magnet to its alter-ego as the state's unofficial microbrewery capital, Durango seemed like our sort of town.
There it sat, surrounded by snowy mountains offering cheap skiing come winter and mountain biking come summer. Architecturally, it was picture-postcard perfect, its Victorian-era buildings all lovingly restored. Its Main Street was like a scene from an old Hollywood movie. Even its shopping came recommended. To cap it all, the cinema had a 6pm showing of Slumdog Millionaire, which we'd failed twice to see in DC. What could make for a more perfect holiday pitstop?
As it turned out, I'm not sure which "we", we thought were visiting Durango. Certainly not the Mom and Dad and nearly nine-month-old baby that pulled into town last Sunday afternoon. The reality of our new situation slowly sunk in as we meandered around. Bar hopping after a fancy dinner just wasn't going to happen; nor was that 6pm flick. As for skiing: fuggedaboutit. For starters, had I really thought through how on earth I'd cope looking after Louis if I had a bad fall? And did I even have the energy to bomb down the slopes in the first place? "No" and "no", clearly.
In the end, despite initially planning to stay a couple of nights we stayed around just long enough to sample an ice cream, DJ to buy yet another country album and for me to burn some cash in a baby shop (of course). Somehow hotfooting it straight out of town, even a town we'd loved at first sight, was just less painful than hanging around and feeling like we were missing out on all its joys.
Plus, that's the beauty - and tyranny - of the roadtrip. You don't feel like staying someplace, you don't have to. (Even if in retrospect it would have been a better plan to stay put. But that's another story.)