There is unrest in Gringoland today. No, it isn’t an encroaching hurricane. And no, it isn’t that Christmas is only five weeks away and we haven’t even given a thought to holiday shirt designs.
It’s the cold stench of betrayal.
Although why betrayal has a stench, and why it is cold is something I’ll have to Google. At some point. When I get around to it.
And this isn’t the “I’m sure there is a major betrayal going on” variety of betrayal. It’s more of the “I’m not sure if this counts as betrayal, but I’m taking a tough stand” type.
You see, for Thanksgiving, we’re going to the mountains. Not to ski, which might be deemed forgivable by some. The Mad One doesn’t ski, and even if he did, skiing involves an intimate communion with snow that is just… well, it would have my Inner Mad Gringo jabbing me with a pitchfork.
Mad Tom and his family made a controversial call. We are headed to a Colorado Dude Ranch for the holiday. Not the Bahamas. Not Puerto Vallarta. Not Oahu.
And yes, I will probably even find myself on horseback.
This ranch was our summer vacation destination this year, and Mrs. Gringo fell in love with the place. I have to admit, in the Go Slow handbook (which exists only in my mind) it certainly meets the criteria – no schedule, a swimming pool, lounge chairs, the hot tub, and someone else doing all the cooking. It did lack a hammock, and there were no tropical drinks. I knew in advance this was a BYOB kind of place, and was, thus, well prepared.
Now we’re headed back. In the winter. Well, technically its fall, but if we see a flake of snow, it’s winter in my book.
I guess I’m looking for vindication from the far reaches of Gringoland. Is Going Slow just for the beach? Or does a lazy Dude Ranch in the mountains qualify?