Breckenridge, Day 1

I was off to a bad start this trip.  Really it started the night before I left.  I landed about 9:20 in St. Louis on my return trip from NC. My flight out to Denver was at 6:15 the next morning.  I overslept.  Oops.

I have this rule: I always set two alarms.  Always, always, always, because doing something like what I did yesterday morning (sheesh, was that just yesterday?  It feels like ages ago!) is perhaps one of my worst nightmares. But I got in bed about 12:20 after repacking my suitcase, and I could not fall asleep. I tossed and turned for over an hour, and this is not a problem that I have. Ever. Probably that's due to my constant state of mild to moderate sleep deprivation, which I guess I can't rely on after a 5-day vacation.

I tried everything. I tried writing down all the things in my head to clear my mind. I tried relaxing all my muscles one at a time.  I tried counting sheep. Nothing. I decided to try a change of location, but this necessitated leaving one of my alarms behind because it plugs in, which in turn necessitated turning it off so it wouldn't wake T, who was going to roll out of bed at 4:59 to leave for the airport at 5:00. Problems ensued.

When I woke up and it was 5:35, I yelled at T to get my bags. We raced to the airport, or at least part of the way there, before T realized he wouldn't make it if he didn't stop for gas. We got there in what would have been probably just enough time for me to race to the gate, but I think they had given my seat to someone else, because they wouldn't even let me try.  So after knocking over some guy's diet Coke, home I went. I came back for the 2:20 flight, which I made, but missed the shuttle that would take me from the airport up to Breckenridge by about 10 minutes, so I had to wait another hour and a half for the next one.  I did the only suitable thing and went to the closest bar for a beer, a Singletrack Ale, which was a little more bitter than what I'm used to, but just what I needed!

Dad and I were sad to have missed a day of fishing, but did not let that put a damper on our dinner plans.  We headed off to Le Petit Paris, this adorable French bistro with possibly the world's bubbliest proprietor, for food.  Their soupe a l'oignon is phenomenal, packed with so many onions, a big hunk of bread, and so much cheese, that there's hardly any room at all for broth - we both had that.  Dad got the last order of their nightly special - bouillabaisse - and I had the poulet, which was tender and sprinkled with kosher salt and came with delicious carrot puree with cumin.  We skipped dessert but had French cafe au laits (cafes au lait, I guess, but that looks weird), which, rather than coming with sugar, come with a molasses-flavored rock sugar stirring stick.  Clever.