The Icebox of America, they call this place, which has the lowest average temperature of anywhere in the United States. It’s a short bus or taxi trip from here to Winter Park, where I’d be heading if I’d decided to try and do some skiing on this trip. It’s good that I didn’t… too much trouble for too little payoff, and soon enough I’ll be able to drive up to Bellayre or Windham or maybe even some of my old favorites in Vermont. This fact is one I happily haven’t adjusted to yet, meaning I get to experience a pleasant surprise every time I re-realize it. Skiing is one of those great pleasures I missed most living in the south, to such a degree that I largely tried to avoid thinking about it in order to minimize how often I had to feel disappointed. Crazy I guess, but one more psychosis that’s soon to be remedied.
Fraser looks like most ski towns I’ve seen, albeit a pretty big one.. Once a mining village where they pulled gold and other valuables out of the rocks, it still looks like a place with plenty of money, only now it’s made on the tops of the mountains rather than inside of them. I look forward to skiing here someday… there are ever so many places I’ve yet to try. My next major train trip will be a ski train, perhaps, and I’ll spend a few weeks poking along from slope to slope through these passes.