Beware of the outback, the backside of Purgatory in the time dimension we know as Lift 8. A place removed from modern life where heart rates drop, food digests more slowly and families have time to reunite. We have a place where a ski lift ride feels more like rehab, where sleepwalking could be considered an aerobic exercise. This is life in two-thirds time. Fellini would be proud.
When real estate development and ski area operations collide and no one is present, does it make a sound? Do the parts speed up after the collision or slow down? No string theory needed here its all quantum mechanics and the illusion of movement.
I explain to out-of-town guests that the lift has not stopped again. We call it a Lift 8 layover. They check their calendars, and all is well. I suggest that they take in the beauty of the surrounding views. Beautiful, they say, haltingly so. Life in the Southwest has its own pace, and we Lift 8 zombies are the unwitting metronome that serves to keep it just a bit more relaxed than intended.
The wildlife is beautiful, and we have time to study it. I made eye contact with a Canada Lynx recently, and I think he may have been laughing. You see, he knows ski areas, and he knows better but will not comment. As a green card holder, he has a deal with the Forest Service, and knowing a good deal, he isnt talking.
What to do? Absent getting back to the publicly presented 10-year plan, adding food service from the bottom loading position is a thought a lending library, perhaps, or language classes. An added safety feature should include wake-up calls gentle ones, please, as coming out of hibernation is a process.
It has been a great ride, but all things must pass. Besides, the museum called, and it wants Lift 8 back. The leather boots and hickory sticks are lonesome, the rest of the world needs to share in the rich history of early western travel.
Gaylord Lion, Durango