Friday, January 20, 2006

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys

Every summer, my mother, my daughter, and I go on a "girl's trip." It's always somewhere relatively close by, since we only go for 2-3 nights and don't want to spend half the trip driving. Previous locations have included Stowe, VT, North Conway, NH, and Salem, MA.

One year, in searching for a new destination, my mother came across an advertisement for a dude ranch. It sounded interesting, so she sent for more information. A week or so later she received a packet in the mail, with a brochure and registration forms. The brochure featured several black & white photos, including one of the couple who own the ranch, decked out in plaid shirts and cowboy hats. It boasted that the ranch "combines modern amenities with true country flavor to offer guests a memorable experience complete with horseback riding adventures led by experienced wranglers", and encouraged guests to choose "trail names" for themselves. The package included all meals and two trail-rides a day. There were also canoe rides, a game room for the kids, including a stage and karaoke machine, and a hot tub.

Sounds fun, right?

So we filled out our forms and sent them in, along with the non-refundable fee, paid in advance. Since the ranch would be providing the meals "family-style", if you had any special dietary needs they asked that you list that on your form, so they could accommodate you. My mother doesn't eat red meat, so she made sure to make a note of that. We picked our trail-names (I was going to be "Tumbleweed"), and looked forward to the trip with excitement. The ranch stressed that they would cater to all abilities, from expert-riders to novices, but we arranged a few horseback-riding lessons in advance for my daughter anyway, to give her a little more confidence. She was probably about eight or nine at the time.

So, the big day came, and we packed up the car and headed off to the ranch. And, well, let's just say the brochure was a little...Misleading.

The exterior of the place was more than a little run-down. It consisted of a number of old buildings, badly in need of paint, strung together in a L-shape. We actually considered leaving without even going inside, and just finding a different hotel. But, we figured, how bad can it be? It was only two nights, which we'd already paid for(non-refundable, remember?). So we headed inside.

Mrs. Dude Ranch greeted us at the door, and we could see right away that she was the same woman from the photo, plus thirty years (maybe forty). She had traded in her plaid for polyester, and there wasn't a cowboy hat in the place. In fact, when she led us to our room across the thick shag carpeting, it quickly became clear that nothing at all in the place had been updated since sometime in the seventies. If then. The shag carpet was dark-brown, although I'm not sure if that was its original color or just years of accumulated grime. Our room was supposed to have three beds, two twins and a double. Well, it had three beds all right. Only problem was, one of them only had three legs. There was a shared bathroom down the hall, with no lock on the door. The game room was the garage, which was filled with clutter like you wouldn't believe, along with dusty copies of "Clue" and "Risk". There was a section with a wood floor that probably served as a stage at one time, but now was home to an old, run-down sofa and several mismatched chairs. The game room was also where they served us our dinner of roast-beef, potatoes cooked in beef juices, and salad (so much for no red meat).

Ok, so there's still the riding, right? Right. The "experienced wranglers" consisted of their 12-year-old-granddaughter with a severe attitude problem, who was home-schooled so that she could pop on over whenever Granny & Grampa needed her, and...Oh, that's right, there was just her. And the trails? There were no trails. She led us through thick brush, no trail in sight.

Well, what about the canoeing, you say? Actually the canoeing was the best part of the trip. The lake was about a mile from the ranch, so Mr. Dude Ranch drove the canoe there and we followed in our car. He forgot the life preservers, though, so he said he would go get them and bring them right back. Twenty minutes later when I drove to the ranch, he was watching TV. The actual time spent on the lake was very nice, though.

And the hot tub? It was ok, I guess, but it was in Mr. & Mrs. Dude Ranch's part of the house, (what looked like their dining room, actually) and using it meant traipsing back across the shag rug barefoot. So we used only used it once.

As for the trail names, nobody ever asked them. In fact I don't think they called us by any name. We had a few for them, though.

I know you're all anxious to go visit the dude ranch now, but sadly, it's no longer in business. I can't imagine why.

Posted by The Gradual Gardener :: 9:52 AM :: 8 Comments:

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