Tuesday, July 10, 2012

I'm Talking About a Little Place Called Aspen


So where are you headin?

Aspen.

Hmmm... California!  Beautiful!

Late last 4th of July night, we decided to ditch our back breaking plans to xeriscape our yard over the next 3 days and instead take a trip- to a place where the beer flows like wine, where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano.  I'm talking about a little place called Aspen.
I found an awesome deal on a ski condo in Snowmass Village and so we packed up food from our fridge, loaded up the car, and we were off!
Reaching Aspen from Colorado Springs is relatively easy in the summer when Independence Pass is open, crossing the continental divide at 12,095 feet.  The view from this high altitude road (not to mention the lack of oxygen) is breathtaking, and quickly after descending you are driving through deep canyons and thick aspen groves- it's no wonder how this place got its name.
While Aspen sounds like an pricey trip, it certainly doesn't have to be, especially in the summer when the same luxury condos rent for a third of the ski season rates.  Once we arrived we parked our car and didn't drive again as there are free buses to take you anywhere- into town, around ski village, and to the Maroon Bells Snowmass Wilderness.
Maroon Bells is a must for anyone's bucket list.  Living in Colorado it is easy to become a bit jaded when  it comes to mountain scenery, but the Maroon Bells quickly reinstituted my sense of enchantment.  As our bus pulled up the driver let us know that this is one of the most photographed spots in the country.  And then I heard families and kids sigh in disgust- we had just driven into a thick cloud covering the Maroon Bells producing a heavy downpour.  There was no there, there.  It was a somber mood as all 36 passengers trudged off the bus in the rain, some joking that they should just stay on and take the same bus back to town.  We quickly shuttled into one shelter that could barely cover us all and waited.  Already I was regretting my clothing choice- no rain gear and a cotton (cotton?!) long sleeve shirt over a more practical nylon running shirt.  Already I was feeling cold and damp.  We waited with the others, every one tourists no doubt, mostly determined to have a good time despite the rain. 
Then it happened- the sun came out (although it was still raining).  As we all huddled together, this breaking news event was announced by many, meant as an act of encouragement to others who had become disheartened.  We watched in amazement as a pocket of clearing mist opened up and grew in size right over the Maroon Bells.  The sight was breathtaking.  The rain stopped, and one by one we all left the shelter and ventured out to begin our exploration.  The next few hours were spent frolicking around Maroon Lake and then after a 2 mile hike Crater Lake, enjoying our picnic lunch, taking in the views, and dreaming of continuing on the trail to Maroon Pass, further into the wilderness and loveliness.
We boarded the packed 4 pm bus along with many of the same people who we had rode out with.  Everyone had clearly had a good time.  As the bus pulled out another downpour began and the Maroon Bells disappeared once again... I suppose sometimes timing is everything.
Driving up to Independence Pass


Thru the clouds...

To the top



Maroon Bells




Maroon Lake






Hike out to Crater Lake

Crater Lake










Sideways in Santa Barbara County

It was time for a change of pace.  And as my turbo prop landed in dreamy Santa Barbara the change was definitely noticeable.  I had left a high and dry 90 degrees and landed into a humid mid 60's with a sea breeze carrying salt and tropical delights.  As I cruised north on the 101 in my upgraded Mustang convertible, with crashing ocean waves and swinging palm trees in my view, my body in shock from the heady dose of abundant oxygen and moisture at sea level, I thought "We're not in Colorado anymore, Toto".

The plan was simple- retrace the steps of Miles and Jack in Sideways while avoiding any arrests or serious damage (I didn't spring for that extra car rental insurance, you know).  We would stay at the Windmill Inn in Buellton, load up on a hearty Dutch breakfast in the morning, have picnics by day in the vineyard hills, walk (not drive!) to the Hitching Post at night, gorge ourselves at AJ Spurs another night and drink lots of good pinots and syrah (we were not going to be drinking any $%#%^$&* merlot!).

California is sensory overload.  The smells are intoxicating and ever changing as we zip past vineyards, forests and coastline.  The shrubs out here are rosemary- rosemary!  If there is a more fragrant herb in this world I would be hard pressed to find it.  Hints of eucalyptus, lavender, lilac, and pine also make regular appearances.  The tastes are enchanting- a syrah with nuances of crushed violet, mineral, and rich berry, a chardonnay that hits your tongue like a vanilla teardrop from the sky, and multi-faceted pinots that transform in your mouth like an Everlasting Gobstopper.  The sights are undeniably, well, California, and the sounds are mostly the quiet musings in my mind, minus a light breeze or call of a bird.  This is why we come to California.

So, I suppose in the end our trip turned into what it was that Miles was hoping for on his trip with Jack- we drank a lot of good wine, ate some great food, played some golf (okay, we didn't really play golf), and enjoyed the scenery.  Well done!

Santa Barbara

Our sweet ride for the weekend


Foxen Winery



Rancho Sisquoc Winery


Sanford Winery

Zaca Mesa Winery


A hearty breakfast of danish pancakes in Buellton

The Hitching Post




Windmill Inn

Jack and Mile's Room

El Capitan Beach

Giving love to the buffalo at AJ Spurs