I awoke to discover that Tranmere Rovers had got off to their best start to a season in my lifetime. Granted the season is only three games old, proving how low the bar is set, but I’m still missing out on such a momentous achievement!
The hostel definitely attracts the active variety of clientele rather than being a party sort of place. During breakfast everyone seemed to be discussing where they’d be biking or running today. My gentle/moderate hike plans seemed fairly tame. The walk was really nice, up into what would be ski slopes in the winter and back down via a picturesque lake. Walking at altitude is hard work though. The seven miles that the GPS tracker said I’d covered seemed like a lot more and the uphill parts certainly test the lungs. Up in the hills are warnings about potentially dangerous moose (I think that’s the plural). Apparently if they feel threatened they are liable to charge at humans, which is something you want to avoid. Without wanting to sound paranoid, I’d checked out for any potentially treating wildlife beforehand. Apparently around here the brown bears and mountain lions are the animals to avoid. The altitude is too high for rattle snakes though.
While sitting outside a cafe, I thought about how unpretentious Breckenridge was by ski resort standards. The bill then arrived. It was inside a book, as in a novel. This was perhaps one of the most highfalutin things I’ve ever seen!
Back at the hostel I was beckoned over by a fellow British traveller whose name I can’t for the life of me remember but reminded me of a younger version of Miranda Hart, in the nicest possible way. Via some sort of proxy server she had managed to get BBC Olympic coverage and Mo Farrah was running in the 10,000 metres final. With a couple of laps to go the stream started buffering, resulting in a bit of a delay. Just as it looked as though Mo was struggling with half of a lap to go, a notification flashed up on her phone to say that he’d won. We spent the rest of the evening watching the Olympics with NBC’s coverage being a long way behind what could be described as live. I retired to bed before Jessica Ennis failed to win gold, although seemingly being in the minority of people who can’t warm to her, I wasn’t especially bothered.