Inertia is a powerful thing. The older I get, the more pervasive this natural phenomenon seems to become.
Take, for example, a Friday night drive to one of my favorite New England ski areas — Loon Mountain Resort in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Even during the pandemic, the drive from Boston along Interstate 93 can be a crawl, especially if the weather isn’t cooperating (though the widening of the highway south of Manchester has been a plus, it can still bottleneck at the state capital of Concord). I’ve always considered “the drive” to ski resorts as a necessary evil, a chore to endure in order to feed our alpine appetites.
Once we get to our accommodations, I usually make myself an adult beverage, plunk my derriere down in the closest cozy chair or sofa, put up my feet, and call it a day. A big part of that is because many New England resorts, Loon included, are a fair distance from the nearest town. Unlike western resorts — Breckenridge in Colorado and Park City in Utah spring to mind — New England resorts are more “self-contained,” limiting your options for dining and nightlife. A quiet cocktail and light banter with friends and family is all I’m looking for.
Unfortunately, my wife and daughters, who’ve been patient passengers during the drive, are usually eager to get out of the car and move around. That often puts us at loggerheads — me, wanting to be a couch potato, and my girls wanting to play night owls. That can be a formula for a tense evening.