We spent Christmas at a ski slope: Sugarloaf in Carrabassett Valley, Maine. I found the place on VBRO.com
- and emailed the owner. Easy.
Myrtle, my GPS, brought me right to the condo. It was dark, so I had no idea where we were in relation to the slopes. Morning came; it always does. I could see 2 chairlifts out the window, and some buildings. People dressed in bright colored puffy suits floated past our windows, heads sheathed in plastic, boards dangling from their feet. People whizzed past the deck, laughing.
A small ravine, with a stream at the bottom, separated us from the slope. I walked out the door and up the hill a few feet and found a wooden bridge across the ravine. I stepped onto the ski slope and watched people cruise by. I looked up the mountain. Snow guns blasted clouds of vapor and trails striped up to the top where the sun blazed through the arctic air. Floating metal benches hustled skiers and riders up up and up.
- and emailed the owner. Easy.
Myrtle, my GPS, brought me right to the condo. It was dark, so I had no idea where we were in relation to the slopes. Morning came; it always does. I could see 2 chairlifts out the window, and some buildings. People dressed in bright colored puffy suits floated past our windows, heads sheathed in plastic, boards dangling from their feet. People whizzed past the deck, laughing.
A small ravine, with a stream at the bottom, separated us from the slope. I walked out the door and up the hill a few feet and found a wooden bridge across the ravine. I stepped onto the ski slope and watched people cruise by. I looked up the mountain. Snow guns blasted clouds of vapor and trails striped up to the top where the sun blazed through the arctic air. Floating metal benches hustled skiers and riders up up and up.
