For a tiny little town, there is an inordinate proportion of places to sample wines and beers and a wide variety of places to eat. Alas, my favorite bakery where we used to acquire yummy sandwiches is long since gone, but we found a lovely little place with an outside patio where we could eat and people watch.
After lunch, we roamed around town and did a bit of shopping. I found another choice miniature (the minis I brought back will probably get their own post when I wrap things up) and had a nice conversation with a gentleman who owned a better than average T-shirt and other apparel shop. I had another lovely encounter with a lady in an art store where we ended up talking about a Beethoven print she had acquired in Paris. It was a lovely couple of hours spent in a town that once was a favorite spot of mine.
|Crested Butte, looking toward its namesake mountain|
|Crested Butte Main Street|
It was a picture perfect day.
|Texas-sized lupines in Colorado|
But if you keep on driving through, you begin climbing up into an area that is full of government campgrounds and some of the prettiest, most photogenic mountain scenery you could ask for. The road gets a bit rough in places, but it is well worth the bumpy ride.
|These are the mountains between Crested Butte and Aspen.|
|This is looking back at Crested Butte Mountain from the same point|
as the previous photo. You are surrounded by beautiful mountains on
|David soaking up some clean mountain air.|
|Me, trying to blend into the lush green valley.|
|Just above Gothic|
As a parting side story, there was a time long, long ago when I actually seriously thought about moving to the Gunnison area and a vivid dream of running a yarn store with living quarters above the shop. I subscribed to the Crested Butte paper for awhile and actually applied for a job. I can't remember now what the job entailed, but I'm sure it was some kind of office position. I knew it was an extreme long-shot that I would ever hear back from them, but in fact they did call and we had an interview over the telephone. It turned out that the salary was barely enough to scrape by and not really a good enough reason to pull up roots and move, even with the pull of the mountains as added incentive. So, being the pragmatist I am, I gave up the dream and settled for building that yarn store/apartment above in dollhouse form. Every now and then I think wistfully of what might-have-been and go rearrange the dollhouse a little.
I was floored to find an actual source for yarn in Crested Butte, because I had looked for yarn stores in the areas where we were going to be and nothing had turned up on the Internet searches. I'm fairly sure the lady running the shop doesn't depend on yarn sales for her living, but it was nice to be able to bring home some authentic locally dyed yarn as a souvenir of this trip. It was just a wee bit like living out the dream, if only for a brief moment.