Aspen and Basalt

Almost forty years ago, when Nancy and I were young squirts, we had a tiny class A motorhome, and a couple of times in the winter we drove it to the Aspen ski area. At that time there was only one RV park with electricity anywhere close to Aspen, and we stayed there. The walls of that primitive camper were paper thin, and it got so cold at night that the furnace pilot light would go out, and we had to negotiate every morning as to who was going to get up and relight it.

All these years later, and that RV park is still the only one in the area with services. It didn't look much different to us.   If improvements had been made, they were too subtle for us to identify.  The campsites and driveways were still gravel, not concrete. There were a few high end motorhomes parked there, but most of the residents were permanent, living in trailers that had seen better days.

We had wonderful memories of Aspen when we were young and hoped we would still love it.  Back then Aspen was the jewel of American skiing, with great restaurants, upscale shops, and an aura of money and class. Even so, we peons had felt comfortable there. Everybody seemed friendly and the snootiness factor was low. We remembered several fabulous restaurants fondly – the Ute City Bank, the Copper Kettle, and especially the Parlor Car Restaurant, which consisted of several railroad cars on a siding, with Victorian decor, private dining rooms, and haute cuisine.

Driving into Aspen, everything looked familiar, but altered. Two wide downtown pedestrian streets were still there, but the trees were much taller than we remembered.

What had been the Ute City Bank restaurant was now a Burberry clothing store.  The shops looked new money instead of old money and didn't seem as classy or charming as before – or maybe we were just nostalgic for what had seemed so magical in our youthful experiences there.

At a tourist information kiosk we asked a lady about the restaurants we had loved. She said, “Believe it or not, I worked as a prep cook at the Parlor Car and the Ute City Bank many years ago.  They're all gone now."  We couldn't find the row of colorful Victorian houses that we remembered.  They've probably been torn down.  Okay, enough senior whining.  Aspen is still a beautiful, picturesque town at the base of the Ajax Mountain ski area. 

One shop that was still there was the Butcher Block, which features overpriced but delicious meat and gourmet items.  We splurged on a rib eye steak and grilled it that night, and it was so good that we didn't share it with the dogs.

Another memory I have from those days is trying and failing to find a Benedictine monastery outside Aspen.  This time I got good directions, and we drove through wonderful landscapes until we reached a modest group of buildings at the base of a magnificent mountain range.  Unfortunately, we didn't see any monks and simply explored the areas in which we were allowed, including a gift shop run on the honor system.

Back at our campground, at the fifth-wheeler parked next to us, we said hello to two couples a bit younger than us - a Canadian man and his Australian wife, and friends of hers from when she lived in Australia.  In the course of a spirited political discussion, the Canadian told me that when Obama delayed the pipeline for a year, his prime minister, Stephen Harper, told the US to screw itself; they were going to sell their oil to China.  I told him that they'd better be careful about going to bed with China; China would try to take over their country and we might not save them. 

I figured that with that promising start, international relations had been dealt a fatal blow - but in the meantime Nancy had asked the others over to our motorhome for a drink before dinner.  The three Australians joined us while my debate opponent remained on the phone with urgent business.  By coincidence, in the refrigerator we had an Australian sweet wine to serve our guests.  We learned all about the great things to see in Australia, and Nancy and I were assured (probably incorrectly) that Australia would be delighted to take us in if we ever wanted to move there.  By the time we exchanged pledges to visit each other, it was ten o'clock, they hadn't eaten dinner, and I suspect the Canadian was fuming.  Unfortunate.

Our campground, by the way, was in the town of Basalt, about fifteen miles from Aspen.  There wasn't much to Basalt when we visited all those years ago, but it's now a charming little village, with several excellent restaurants, cool shops on a pretty main street, and the best modern public library I've ever seen.  A Whole Foods Market is just a couple of miles away, in an adjacent town.  Nancy and I added Basalt to a list of places we might consider if we we're ever run out of Ben Lomond.  In fact, we've talked about possibly returning to our Basalt campground this winter, in February or March, to get back into skiing and see how well we would tolerate the seriously cold weather.